Duty Before Desire (40 page)

Claude and Henry had gone to Harrow together, and then Henry went off to Oxford. After that … well, Henry never did come courting. He'd remained a good friend, one she was always happy to see when he visited, but she had long since abandoned fantasies of her next-door neighbor returning the kind of affection she'd carried for him all these years.

Just back from London, Henry had come by earlier today to show off the new horse he'd purchased at Tattersall's. It was the first time Claude and Claudia had seen him in six months. Horse talk had led to tea in the library, which led to an invitation to stay to supper, and then the storm set in and Henry was stuck at Rudley Court for the duration—the unexpected event around which Claudia had hastily formulated her impromptu plan.

Earlier in the evening, when she'd broken the news of her betrothal, Henry's brows had drawn together. “A bit long in the tooth, isn't he?” Henry had asked. Just then, Claudia had wanted to throw her arms around his neck and weep. But the moment passed. He had kissed her cheek and wished her happiness, yet she was sure she'd seen a shadow cross his green eyes.

He would want to help her avoid this marriage, Claudia was certain, even if he didn't approve of her methods. But he would go along with her, as he'd always done.

The long, low mound of his shadow was on the opposite side of the bed. Claudia peeled back the counterpane, revealing the white bottom sheet. She worried at her lower lip while she dithered about what to do. Having seven older siblings meant she was more knowledgeable about particular matters than most young, unmarried ladies. Still, she wasn't entirely certain where to put the blood.

In the regular order of things, the fluid would be beneath her, she decided, in the region of her bottom. She tried to picture where that would be, were she lying on the bed—which she would be, in a moment. That was stage two of The Plan.

She let out a huff of annoyance. This was taking too long. “Bother,” she muttered. It would be easier to place herself in the bed first. Then she'd know for sure how to set the scene.

Claudia set down the bottle of blood and untied the sash around her waist. Her dressing gown fell to the floor, leaving her in just her chemise. The decision of what to wear for the occasion of her ruin had caused a moment of consternation, but in the end she decided her usual night rail was too prim for what was meant to look like a night of wanton debauchery.

She crawled onto the bed. The mattress shifted under her weight and Henry's head tossed. Claudia froze, not even daring to breathe. As she knelt there, staring into the darkness with her bottle once again firmly in hand, Claudia realized she could use Henry as a guide.

When she was sure he still slept, Claudia pulled the counterpane back farther, revealing the side of Henry's body.

Henry's
naked
body.

Claudia gulped convulsively. She hadn't reckoned on encountering an unclothed man tonight, no matter what she meant to portray via The Plan.

It didn't matter, she told herself. Henry was asleep and Claudia would soon be—well, maybe not asleep. It would be difficult, knowing she shared the bed with a naked man. But she had to carry on. It was this, or climb into bed with Sir Saint.

Claudia unstoppered the bottle, but then guilt seized her guts, staying her hand. It wasn't just her who would be affected; Henry, too, would be subject to scrutiny. But she remembered the time a dozen years ago, when Henry had taken the blame for breaking Lady Baxter's porcelain fruit bowl, even though it was Claudia who had been pretending it was the hat portion of her regimentals during a battle reenactment in the parlor. He'd thought nothing of subjecting himself to Lady Baxter's ire to save Claudia from punishment.

But perhaps there was a better way. She hadn't explained her predicament to Henry, hadn't enlisted him in her cause. It was one thing to subject herself to her parents' disapprobation; it was another thing entirely to rope Henry into it without his permission.

Henry rolled onto his side just as lightning flashed. For an instant Claudia was blind, but the image of Henry De Vere's body was seared onto the backs of her eyelids. His torso was sculpted with broad shoulders and lean muscle, tapering to a flat stomach and narrow hips. Even relaxed in sleep, the muscles of his chest looked hard beneath a taut covering of skin. Thank heavens, his heavy thigh draped just so, concealing his most private area. Claudia was already stunned by what she'd seen; anything more intimate might cause permanent injury to her nerves. Memory provided a picture of Henry's handsome face: loose waves the color of ripe wheat falling about his ears, high cheekbones and an easy smile, hooded green eyes brimming with laughter. How on earth had she never suspected that familiar face was connected to a body straight off of Lord Elgin's Greek marbles? Probably, she realized, because she'd never given much thought to what a man's body looked like. Henry was beautiful, a word she never thought to apply to a man.

Gradually, Claudia recovered from her shock. She pulled her eyes away from Henry's recumbent form, saw the bed, and gasped. In her stupor, she'd spilled the entire contents of the bottle onto the bed, the stain stark against the white sheets, and growing larger as the fibers wicked the liquid outward from the center of the puddle.

“It's probably worse than it looks,” she whispered. No, wait. That wasn't right. Drat Henry De Vere and his mind-muddling physique!

Briefly, she considered waking him. Maybe they could burn the sheets? Then what? When the sun rose, Claudia would still have an unwanted fiancé. No, she decided, better to just follow The Plan. Henry would understand; he would play along.

Claudia restoppered the bottle and shoved it under the bed, then gingerly lay down, keeping well away from the damp mess and the disturbingly alluring man across the bed.

She'd set into motion life-altering events. In the morning, she'd be a ruined woman. Sir Saint would cry off, and Claudia would be saved. Her parents would be furious, of course. Queasiness stole through her as she pictured a look of profound disappointment on her mother's face. But she couldn't allow this wedding to happen. Claudia had made her bed, and now she was lying in it.

She curled up on her side, pulled the counterpane around her ears, and willed everything from her mind but the relentless sounds of the storm.

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Praise for
Truth Within Dreams
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“If you enjoy an historical romp, or a little madcap short story, 
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“Intriguing and unique, with likable, human characters ... mixed with competition, sexually charged scenes, and danger, this latest from Boyce is highly recommended for historical romance lovers.” — Library Journal

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it had the intrigue I love about historical romance combined with an excellent storyline that kept me on my toes."—The Romance Reviews

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