Chapter One #2
Though, recalling the unique color of the gown she’d seen disappearing into the shadows, a heavy weight settled deep in the pit of her stomach as suspicion seeped through her.
She recalled the garment impeccably fitted to the curvaceous form of a stunning woman with silver-blond hair and catlike green eyes.
Several years older than Clara and already a widow twice over, they hadn’t run in quite the same circles, but she had come to Coylton Castle as a traveling chaperone to her cousin and Clara’s friend, Miss Angela Dean.
The woman in elderberry was Lady Celina Upton, and Clara could still hear her sultry voice as she’d conversed with another guest on their way into supper.
“I’ve seen Brinley; your description of him does not do him justice. One must wonder if your other descriptions are lacking as well.”
“You are too much, Celina!” the other woman tittered and then lowered her voice. “I assure you, you will not be disappointed in that regard. The man is insatiable.”
A wave of ice and then fire had flushed through Clara’s veins; she balled her fists in her skirts to keep from turning toward the gossiping ladies and revealing that she’d been eavesdropping.
Heat prickled across her skin as Lady Upton and her friend ducked their heads and considered Lord Pearce Brinley’s prowess with enough lurid allusions that even Clara’s inexperienced imagination bordered on scandalized.
“This party will present quite the fortuitous opportunity for you to make his acquaintance, will it not?”
“Oh, my dear, I plan on doing far more than that,” Lady Upton had responded with a practiced flick of her fan.
“More?”
“I am now two years a widow, and Brinley stands to inherit a substantial estate one day, does he not?”
“My! A third husband, then?”
Clara’s stomach had lurched with sudden ferocity.
“We shall see, won’t we?” Lady Upton’s purr made her feel as if she’d tripped and tumbled to a gravel path.
Now, looking out into the shadows, they beckoned to her to stop whatever was about to occur.
But whom was she protecting? The woman who did not know the cold man Brinley was, or the man who was unaware that he was the target of a woman who’d already buried two husbands.
Why did she care either way?
Regardless, she’d never been one to ignore a powerful impulse.
Glancing over her shoulder, Clara checked to make sure her absence hadn’t yet been noticed, and no one was seeking her out before she pushed open the French door and stepped out into the darkness.
The gardens lay on the newer side of the castle, so there were plenty of windows glowing with warm candlelight by which she could pick her way into the gardens and hedges.
Still, she had to rely upon her knowledge of the grounds to guide her, so she did not turn her ankle or walk straight into a shrub.
She moved relatively quietly in her slippers on the narrow crushed-gravel path, careful to hold up her skirts as she walked.
The gown had been a gift from Amelia from Clara’s favorite modiste in London.
The bespoke garment was crafted from the finest gossamer layers of silk in alternating shades of blue and purple, the colors shifting like the sea at dawn with her every step.
The last thing she wished to do was ruin the hem.
“You aren’t being nosy,” Clara whispered to herself as she passed a dark stone statue of a unicorn rearing up and piercing the inky sky with its horn.
“You are merely looking out for your guests’ wellbeing.
” What if Lady Upton had only gone out for some air and turned her ankle in the dark?
Surely, Clara would be a horrid hostess if she chose to ignore that possibility.
It could be hours before she was located if Clara did not search for her.
Then again, the less-childish part of Clara knew it was entirely possible that the woman she’d glimpsed was fine…and was not alone and helpless at all.
She rolled her lip between her teeth and halted her progress.
What was she doing?
Not only had she slipped away from her own party, but she was wandering the castle grounds alone…
at night…tempting fate…potentially spying upon a pair of guests who had slipped away for a moment of privacy.
In all likelihood, she would be spying upon Brinley, of all people—the infuriating man who had teased her and taunted her for years and then confused her with a single kiss months before.
He should be the last man she wished to see.
But something drew her forward.
She took a few steps more before she paused and listened.
There was a rustle and then an unintelligible whisper.
She proceeded forward, her heartbeat thrumming in her ears, until she turned a corner.
There, in the intimate shadows, was the dark silhouette of a tall, broad man all but entirely obscuring a woman garbed in the same shade of deep, rich purple she’d glimpsed before.
Lady Upton was pressed with her back to the hedges—which Clara thought was likely not particularly comfortable at all, no matter the situation—and one of the man’s knees was pressed deep within her skirts.
Said skirts were balled in one of her partner’s large hands, rucked up so high that the length of one of her legs was exposed all the way up past her ribbon garter, revealing an expanse of cream-white thigh.
Low, ravenous sounds unlike anything Clara had heard before filled the close night air, heating her skin and making her cheeks flair. Lady Upton’s breathy sighs as her white-gloved hands clutched at her paramour’s arms told Clara that the woman was well, indeed, and in no need of assistance.
Heart in her throat, Clara slowly began to back away from the illicit scene; unfortunately, she misjudged her distance from the nearest hedge and the fluttery sleeve of her gown snagged on a branch.
She cursed silently and attempted to wrestle herself free, but the fabric only tore.
It rent with an unnaturally loud rip, causing Clara to stumble to the side, her foot sliding on the gravel against the sudden give.
The woman gasped.
Undeterred, the man murmured, “You like that, do you?” His low chuckle caused gooseflesh to pepper every inch of Clara’s exposed skin. It was at once familiar and foreign—the timber tickled the recesses of her mind, but the lightheartedness was new.
“Stop!” Lady Upton hissed and leaned back from him. “We have an audience. And I’ll not perform for an onlooker, even for you.”
Emitting the most long-suffering sigh Clara had ever heard, the man dropped the woman’s skirts and straightened to his full height, exposing the true, impressive size of his lean form in his jet-black formal coat and tails, and his very familiar head of dark-blond hair…
Before he could turn to face her, Clara spun on her heel and bolted, her heart battering itself against the inside of her ribcage as she fled.
Why him?
Why couldn’t it have been anyone other than him?
She could not claim that the possibility of encountering Brinley wasn’t on her mind, but he was the last man she wished to encounter in a compromising situation with a woman.
The diaphanous layers of Clara’s gorgeous dress caught next, further hindering her escape. She cursed and tugged, but the fabric was caught fast, and it was impossible to undo with her satin gloves and the garden’s poor lighting.
“I thought we were finally past the days of you spying upon me…”