Courting Claudia (18 page)

“What makes you think I'm not happy?”

“I know you didn't want to marry again.”

“No, I didn't, but I don't regret it. I'll never regret marrying you.”

“What about Julia?”

“What about Julia? She's in the past.”

“Do you still love her?”

“No. I haven't loved her in many years.”

“You said that day by the pond that your marriage to her was a story for another day. Will you tell me now?”

He shrugged. “There's not much to tell, really. I met her shortly after I returned to London after going to the university and doing some traveling. She enchanted me, and I fell in love with her immediately.”

Claudia tried not to wince. She'd known he'd loved his first wife, but she hadn't been prepared to hear him say it.

He idly rubbed her back while he spoke. “It was a boy's love, though, childish and fanciful. We married a few short weeks after we met, and a year later she was gone.”

“What happened?” she ventured.

“She got pregnant.” He took a deep breath.

“If this is too painful, we don't have to talk about it.”

“It's not painful. Julia had an affair, her lover got her pregnant. Julia wanted to run off with him. She made certain that everyone knew the truth, that everyone knew who the father of her child was.”

“Wasn't that a little risky with her reputation and yours?”

“Yes, but she didn't care. She'd always been reckless, it was one of the things that attracted me to her. I wouldn't let her leave though. I was selfish, I didn't want to let her go.” He released a deep breath. “She died having that bastard's child and he didn't even come to her funeral.”

“And the child?”

“She lived all of three days, then she too died. She's buried at my estate.”

“You gave her your name?” Claudia asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes. She deserved to die with some degree of dignity, even if her parents had none.”

“You are a good man, Derrick.”

He shrugged. “It is all in the past. I was a boy, it was a long time ago, and it's forgotten. Whatever your worries are about Julia, dismiss them. She does not affect our marriage.”

She smiled. “Very well.”

“I do have something I've been wanting to tell you, though,” he said. “I guess it's a day for confessions.” He gave her a weak smile. “There are things about my past that you should know. Twelve years ago, I worked for my father's newspaper, the
Challenger
. I was a journalist. His paper printed mostly political news. The latest of Parliament, scandals, debates, anything regarding politics went into that paper. And it was popular. The sales were great.” He was silent for a moment before he continued.

“Then I got the story of a lifetime. A scandal to beat all scandals. My source was reliable, or so I thought, and when I questioned the gentleman, he had no arguments against my facts. So I printed the story. And it ruined him. He was terminated from his position with the patents office and charged with treason. Two days after the paper was printed, he shot himself. His wife and daughter found him.”

His voice was lined with pain and obvious guilt. She tried to think of something to say, but found no words.

“I swore I'd never write again. And I haven't.
Eventually the paper was ruined. People didn't take too kindly to us ruining that family—we were blamed for his suicide, me especially.”

“But it wasn't your fault. Surely you know that.”

“It wasn't completely my fault. But I am partially to blame. As it turns out, the story wasn't completely true.”

“But the man. You asked him to comment, and he didn't challenge your facts.”

“No, he didn't. I've always wondered why. At the time, I thought he was being a stubborn, righteous old man. But now I know that he was protecting someone.”

“Who?”

“He was being blackmailed to embezzle the money. Of the funds he skimmed, he never spent one cent. It all went to someone else. He should have gone to the crown and reported the blackmailer. But I suppose he didn't see any way to do that. To him, the secret he hid was more important than crimes against the crown.”

“Do you know who it was? The person behind the blackmail?” she asked.

“I have my suspicions.”

“But you won't tell me?”

“Not until I have proof. I don't want to wrongly accuse anyone. I can tell you that my source, the
one I trusted who gave me the original story, was Richard.”

“So that is your past together, why you didn't trust him.”

“Exactly,” he said.

“So your father's paper was destroyed by this one act?”

“Yes. He died shortly after that. That's when I started thinking of ways to recreate his success. I wanted to carry on his good name of providing quality news to people. But I wanted to take it a step further and make it available to everyone. It took me eight years to get the formula right, but I'm proud of my paper. And I think my father would be proud.”

She touched his cheek. “I know he would be.”

“He would have liked you very much.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“You know, that wasn't exactly the first time I'd heard that story.”

“You knew about me?”

“No, not precisely. That day you found Richard and me. He'd told me something similar. I figured he was angry and didn't know what he was talking about.”

“Why didn't you ask me?”

“I felt if it was important, then you'd tell me eventually.”

He was quiet a moment, then asked, “What do you think about it?”

“I'm dreadfully disappointed in myself that I did not see Richard for the man he truly was. Now I understand you trying to protect me from him. As far as the story and the man's suicide, it was unfortunate. Certainly not your fault. I bet you were a wonderful writer.”

She tilted her head and kissed his chin.

“So you believe me?”

She searched his eyes. He was serious, concerned. “Of course I believe you. I trust you.”

“You're amazing.”

She smiled. “I don't think so, but thank you for saying so.”

“I'm serious. I've given you no reason to have faith in me, and yet you do. Unwavering, it seems. You walked out on your father for me. I don't even know how to say thank you for something like that.” His hand brushed her cheek, lingering by her ear.

“You've given me every reason to have faith in you. Aside from your slight prevarication at the beginning of our relationship, you've been nothing but honest with me. You went out of your way to prevent me from marrying Richard, and while
I'm not certain your tactics were the best, under the circumstances—me refusing to see the truth—it was your only choice.

“As for my father, I realized that I've spent my entire life seeking his approval, and it's never going to happen. No matter who I am or who I become, I will always be lacking in his eyes. I much prefer the way I look in your eyes.”

“N
ot that color.”

Claudia eyed her husband. “What's wrong with this color?” She fingered the fine pale blue silk. He'd talked her into going to the dressmaker this morning. They'd been here a full twenty minutes, and he'd rejected every fabric she'd selected.

“It looks like all your other dresses. I don't want you to buy a gown your father would approve of. I want you to select material that makes you feel like a woman.” His voice was a mere breath away, warm next to her ear. “Vibrant colors. Passionate.”

She fought the urge to lean into him. What a wanton she'd become. He didn't even have to touch her, and she melted.

“Show me what you want,” she said.

“Very well.”

She followed him around the aisles of fabric, and nearly bumped into him when he stopped suddenly.

“This is perfect.” He held up a rich, red velvet.

“Honestly, Derrick, I'll look like a harlot.” She reached past him a grabbed a bolt of pink silk. “This is nice.”

“Yes, lovely.” He faked a yawn. “And boring.” He grabbed hold of her hand and smoothed it across the bloodred fabric. “Do you feel that? How can you walk away from something that feels that good?”

“It does feel rather nice,” she admitted.

“And when you wear it”—he leaned in closer to whisper—“I will not be able to keep my hands off you.”

Sold. It was beyond beautiful; the bright, warm tone beckoned for a touch. It would make a glorious ball gown. Perfect for their wedding ball.

“We're not done.” He moved through the store, then stopped and picked up a bolt of deep purple. It was silk and shimmered beneath the lights. He unrolled a portion, then slid it against the bare
skin at her neck. Her nipples hardened in response. Gracious.

“What do you think?”

“I like it,” her voice came out in barely a breath.

“I like it too. I think I will especially like the way it slithers off your body.”

“You are incorrigible.”

He gave her a toothy grin. “Can't help it. You bring out the worst in me.”

“Are you sure about all of this? Not all women can wear such daring colors.”

He turned to face her, tilted her chin so that she looked him in the eyes, and smiled. “Yes, I'm positive. Can you trust me on this?”

Could she? Perhaps everyone would think she looked like a harlot, but for all she knew, they all thought she was a harlot already. Her husband wanted her to wear bold colors; she owed it to him to do so. And truth be told, she rather liked the thought of slipping into that rich, red velvet.

“Yes, I will trust you on this.”

They continued through the store, picking fabric upon fabric, reds, greens, blues, purples in velvet, silk, cashmere, muslin. She would have an entirely new wardrobe, and none of it was pink, she thought with a smile.

He seemed so positive that she was born to stand out, as if those words were absolute fact, not
merely his opinion. She'd spent her entire life trying to melt into the crowd, yet he insisted she was an original.

While the dressmaker measured her, Derrick waited patiently. She'd never known of any man who went to the dressmaker with his wife. But there he sat, a giant among the tiny feminine chairs, hard and masculine amid the soft and lacy fabrics filling the room. He'd helped her select everything: fabric, patterns, hair ribbons, and even some new fans.

The entire experience had been one of the most sensual things she'd ever done. Every color, every texture, all meant to engage the senses. Up until today, she had known nothing about dressing. And she'd learned everything from a man.

She had picked out something all her own, though. When Derrick had been going over the patterns with Madam Silver, Claudia had picked out a sheer nightgown and matching robe and had them wrapped.

 

Two evenings later, Claudia took one last look at herself in the mirror before heading downstairs. She'd never had a ball hosted in her honor before, and it was both flattering and nerve-wracking. But Derrick's aunt had insisted. She'd said it would stop the gossips who were still twittering about their sudden nuptials.

She smoothed her hand along the red velvet bodice, loving the feel of the plush softness, then started down the stairs. For the first time in her life, she realized, she felt pretty. Beautiful, even. She tilted her chin and smiled as she descended the rest of the way to the first floor.

Her husband stood at the base of the stairs looking more handsome than she'd ever seen him. She hadn't thought that a possibility. But there he stood, dressed from head to toe in black, with the exception of his white shirt. He arched one eyebrow, and a sensual grin slid into place. Her heart beat wildly in her chest.

No other man had ever affected her the way Derrick did. She supposed that was how it should be between a husband and wife. But oh, how she wished there was more between them.

Love. Claudia wanted love. Her beloved friend Poppy had her heart broken, and she selfishly wanted more from her otherwise happy marriage.

She reached him, and he leaned down to place a hot kiss at her throat.

“You look stunning, as I knew you would in that dress. We might have to disappoint our guests and disappear for a while.”

“Are you suggesting, dear husband, that we flee from our own ball, so you can toss up my skirts and please yourself?”

He clicked his tongue. “My, what a saucy wench my wife has become. I'll be tossing those skirts up tonight. You can count on that. But I shall not be the only one getting pleasure.”

She had no doubt he was right. It would not surprise her in the least if she were the most pleasured lady in all of England.

“Shall we?” he asked, then held his arm out for her.

She linked her arm with his. “Yes.”

They were announced amid applause and smiles. Whether or not people saw their union as fodder for the rumor mill, everyone was on his best behavior tonight. The cream of Society had turned out in force because of the simple words, “The dowager Duchess of Shelton requests your presence…”

The next two and a half hours sped past Claudia in a whirlwind. She danced with more men than she could count, and handfuls of others had offered to fetch her drinks or escort her here or there. As it was, right now she waltzed with a pleasant-looking man by the name of Lord Clay-brooke, whom she remembered meeting several Seasons before.

“My dear Miss Prattley, or I suppose it is now Middleton, my apologies, I wish to congratulate you on your marriage.”

“Thank you, Lord Claybrooke.”

“I'm not certain if you recall, but we met before. We danced a few times several years ago.”

“Of course I remember you.”

“Excellent. I made my intentions known I wished to court you.”

“You did?”

“Yes. I came to see your father.”

She could see where this was going. He had declared his intentions to her father, and her father had ignored them. Blinded by his plans to see her wed to Richard. And she could have had a regular courtship by this very nice gentleman. Had there been any others whose requests had fallen on deaf ears?

“I see,” she said. “I regret I never got such a message. You must have thought me most ungrateful. I wish I had known.”

“It matters not now. I can see you and your husband are very happy. But I never got a chance to tell you what a charming woman I thought you were. I wanted to do so tonight.”

“Thank you, Lord Claybrooke. That means more to me than you could know.”

For years she'd made excuses for her father's harsh treatment of her, refusing to see the truth—he didn't love her and never had. There was no tenderness when he looked at her and saw a
glimpse of her mother, no moments of pride at the woman she'd become. There was nothing that even resembled love, and Derrick was right, it was time she walked away.

She had a new family now. Someday she'd have her own children, and she'd make certain they knew every day that their mother and father loved them.

The dance ended, and Lord Claybrooke escorted her back to Derrick.

“May I say, Mr. Middleton, that you are a lucky man?” Lord Claybrooke asked.

“You may. And I agree. I am quite smitten with my wife.” He hugged her close to him. Once they were alone, he whispered in her ear. “I do wish these people would leave. I'm crazy with want for you.”

She smiled. “And I for you. But we must wait until our guests leave.”

“What do you suppose they would say if I tossed you over my shoulder and hauled you upstairs?”

“That we had a scandalous marriage, and you are a complete cad.”

“True enough.”

“Behave.”

“Lord Claybrooke seemed to be quite taken with you.”

“Yes. As it turns out, he attempted to court me a
few years ago, and my father neglected to give me that information.”

“Well, as much as I'm sorry your father did such a thing, I'm pleased by the outcome. I'd hate to think of Claybrooke lifting those tempting skirts of yours.”

“Honestly, Derrick.”

“This proves my point, though. You've always believed there was something wrong with you, something about you that prevented you from having a string of suitors. When in fact, it was only because your father is a bastard. I do apologize, my dear, but it's the truth.”

“Let's not talk about him anymore this evening.”

“I'm going to go find my aunt and make our excuses. I can take no more of this. We are going to bed.”

 

Derrick waited in the parlor, knowing there was a good chance this was the worst mistake he'd ever make. He was putting his marriage on the line, gambling the newfound love he had with his wife. But if her father was guilty, it was a risk worth taking to ensure Claudia's safety.

He didn't have to wait too much longer before he heard the rapping of the cane down the hall, and then Lord Kennington entered.

“Middleton. What the hell do you want?”

“Are you this hospitable to all your guests?”

“You can save your sarcasm for someone who has the time.”

“Fair enough. I've come with a business proposition for you.”

“I'm not interested.”

“Oh, but I think you will be.”

He grumbled and found his way to a chair.

“Does the name Chester Edwards mean anything to you?”

A slight flicker in his eye, and then it was gone. “I'm familiar with him, yes. He was a patents officer. Offed himself as I recall.”

“Yes, he did. But I think you knew him a little better than that.”

“What are you after, Middleton?”

“I think you knew him well enough to blackmail him.”

“That's preposterous.” His color heightened, turning his cheeks and neck a cherry-red.

“Yes, I think you blackmailed him so that he would embezzle money for you from the patents office. And I think you used Richard Foxmore as your deliveryman. Only Richard didn't deliver your blackmail letters, did he? No, he must have relied on your threats, and he kept the letters himself, planning to turn the blackmailing tables on you. How am I doing so far?”

“You weave an entertaining tale. But you can prove nothing.”

“Oh, but I believe I can. And I have more to tell. Richard, being the greedy, not quite so smart man that he was, fouled up his blackmail with you when he told you about the letters. That's when you decided to kill him. You simply were not aware that he'd already contacted me with the story. Of course my past with Richard and using him as a source is tainted, so I was reluctant to believe him. Until I saw the letters.”

“Telling people you think you saw letters proving this ludicrous tale will only make you look the fool. People will believe me. I am an important man.”

“Indeed you are. Which will make this scandal all the more explosive. So here is what I propose. You leave quietly. Retire from public life. Move to your country estate and cut all ties with the House of Lords. And cut all ties with Claudia.”

“Are you mad?”

“No. It's a generous offer. Better than the alternative.”

“Which is?”

“Prison. Don't think for a moment that a jury of your peers would not convict you for crimes against the crown. They might not care that you rid the world of Richard Foxmore, but stealing
from the queen…” He clicked his tongue. “Shame on you.”

“You cannot prove any of this.”

“Oh, but I can. And I will. I have a story ready for my newspaper, as well as the hard proof ready to go to Her Majesty.”

“Liar.”

Derrick leaned forward. “Don't tempt me. I'm trying to save my wife some grief and leave her with some pleasant thoughts about her father. Would you ruin everything for her by making me print this story?”

“I care not a whit what my daughter thinks of me. She has betrayed me.”

“Selfish, stubborn bastard. Well, that is my deal.” He stood. “You have twenty-four hours to consider it and get back to me. If I don't hear from you, I will turn my evidence over to the queen and print the story. You have my word on that.”

“Prove to me you have the evidence.”

“Do you think I'm a fool that I would show you? That was Richard's mistake. You'll just have to trust.”

“Like hell I will. You're bluffing.”

“When it comes to my wife, be guaranteed that I don't bluff. Were it not for Claudia, there would be no deal. I would simply turn you over to the authorities. I'm doing this for her, because I don't
want to see her hurt. But the bottom line is, you need to be stopped, and if you won't cooperate, I won't hesitate to bring this to the people.”

“You can't threaten me.”

“I can, and I did. Twenty-four hours. Your decision. The country with a nice quiet life, or life in a tiny, dirty cell in prison. It doesn't seem like much of a choice to me, but I'll let you think about it.”