Never Surrender to a Scoundrel (18 page)

It was a relief to know exactly who he had married in Clarissa.

“Lady Blackmer is the Earl of Wolverton's youngest granddaughter.”

“The Earl of Wolverton.” The tension in his mother's features eased. She relaxed and looked at the ceiling, as if trying to recall something. “A man of great power in his day. If I remember correctly, his heir died some years ago. A riding accident.”

He nodded. “Yes, Lady Blackmer's father. His son died as well, but with issue, a young son.”

“You've married well then.” She let out a dismissive little laugh. “A marked improvement over your first effort.”

He agreed—but still, her comment did not sit well with him. Indeed, it sparked his anger. “Tryphena is dead, Mother. There is no need to speak ill of her now.”

She smiled, as if she hadn't heard him. “I'm just so glad you've come home.”

 “Where is His Lordship?” he inquired.

Likely out with his brother Colin, whom he dreaded seeing more than anyone.

Her brows gathered and, for a brief second, she bit her lower lip. “His Lordship…well, he was here when the footman announced your arrival.” She drifted to the window and peered out over the ocean. “Now I'm afraid I don't know.”

He swallowed down the unexpected slice of hurt that came with her announcement. His father had left upon hearing of his arrival. Yet he supposed His Lordship was justified in holding hard feelings toward him, being that he'd been gone so long.

“I've just prattled on,” said his mother. “You must be exhausted from your journey, and chilled through. Come and sit by the fire, and I'll ring for tea.”

She reached for a silver bell on the table beside her.

“No, Mother. Thank you but don't.”

“You'd like to rest until dinner. Of course.”

“I'd like to find His Lordship. I've matters to discuss with him.”

She nodded, her gaze dimming, as if she already realized what those matters might be. She said quietly, “I shall see you at dinner then.”

He turned to the door.

“Dominick,” she called.

“Yes, my lady?”

Her tone seemed softer now, as did her gaze. “He may have gone to the falcon house. That is usually where he goes when he is—”

Troubled.

“…thinking.” She looked down at her hands, which were clasped on her lap.

Even without her direction, the falcon house was the first place he would have looked. In the entry hall, a servant appeared with his hat and his coat, both immaculately brushed clean. At the stables, he insisted on taking out his own travel-weary horse rather than riding one from Darthaven. A short ride brought him to the falcon house, which was just a small stone shed, where he found the gate locked. Peering through the small window, he saw his father's falcon on its perch, its feathers dull and sparse with old age, but the marquess was nowhere to be seen.

His gaze scanning the landscape for another rider, Dominick rode across the sweeping plain over which Darthaven presided, inhaling the briny scent of the ocean and listening to the crash of the waves against the stones. He continued up the incline, which led to a wide plateau upon which stood an ornamental domed folly, its marble columns strikingly white against a small forest of trees.

From that high perch, he took in the impressive sight of the house, with the sea spread out behind it like a backdrop of dark blue silk.

Just then he heard the sound of horses' hooves on the earth behind him.

S
o you've come home,” said his father.

Only then did Dominick turn his horse around. In the three and a half years that had passed since he'd last seen him, his father had aged. Though sitting in his saddle as elegantly as ever, streaks of gray threaded through his dark hair, and he looked weary and somehow smaller than what Dominick remembered. Dark clouds lumbered across the sky behind him.

“Home?” said Colin, who sat on a horse beside Lord Stade. “When did Blackmer ever consider Darthaven home?”

Dominick ignored him.

“Greetings, my lord,” he answered with a tilt of his hat. “Colin.”

Strange, but he thought he would feel more anger at seeing his brother now, considering the ugly terms upon which they had last parted, but he felt mostly regret. Once they had been brothers. They had been friends.

His brother's eyes did not waver from his own. “Dominick.”

“What brings you to Darthaven?” his father asked, his gaze wary.

“I have married again,” answered Dominick.

His Lordship nodded, his countenance reflecting no change. “We shall meet her at dinner then.”

“Perhaps not tonight,” said Dominick. “She is ill.”

Lord Stade's eyebrows drew together, and Dominick perceived a flash of genuine concern. “Nothing serious, I hope.”

“She is with child,” he answered. “And did not make the trip well.”

“A child, you say? Did you summon the physician?” The rigidity of Lord Stade's shoulders eased a degree. In his heart Dominick knew he had just made his father very happy, at least to some degree. The marquess had never made secret his wish for grandchildren—but, more specifically, for his sons to propagate a healthy line of heirs.

“Yes, my lord. I'm assured she will recover to full health in due time.”

“You must inform Guthrie if anything more can be done to make her more comfortable.”

“If she is in such a delicate state of health, perhaps you shouldn't have come at all,” Colin suggested darkly. “But you weren't thinking about her, were you? Only yourself, apparently. Still the same old Dominick, I see.”

“Perhaps that's true,” he answered calmly, refusing to be goaded. “But we are here.”

“Why?” his brother demanded, his eyes flashing. “Why come back now after all this time? Not for the purpose of a simple introduction, I venture to guess.”

“Colin—” warned their father, lifting a staying hand.

“What?” Colin scowled. “Duty requires him to introduce another wife to us, but nothing else? He is only to travel the world at his whim and marry, hopefully better this time than the last, but not share in any of the responsibilities here at home—”

His brother dared speak of Tryphena to him in such a manner? Dominick's anger, which he'd held in check, exploded.

“Watch your tongue, brother,” he growled. “Else I'll meet you on the ground.”

“Dismount then, because I'll say it again,” Colin spat. “Your first wife was a—”

“
Now.
” Dominick unhooked one boot from his stirrup, his thighs and shoulders tensing.

“Silence!” barked the marquess. The horses, startled, shifted and pranced in place, their harnesses jangling.

Dominick and his brother eased back into their saddles.

“Why have you returned, Blackmer?” asked his father gruffly.

“I've left the consular service.”

“Oh?” his father asked warily. Hopefully. “Permanently?”

“It seems that way.”

“So you've come back here,” his brother chided. “After all this time. Because you've nowhere else to go?”

“I've come to ask for Frost End,” Dominick said, ignoring Colin and speaking directly to his father.

“Frost End?” said his father, dismayed, as if he'd asked to live in the barn. “Whatever for?”

Frost End—not Darthaven—was Lord Stade's ancestral home, a modest domain when compared to the grandeur of the unentailed estate willed to him by Lady Stade's father—the last Earl of Aveling—whose title had lapsed after he died without an heir to continue his line. As a boy, Dominick had spent several summers there with his grandsire, fishing, running through fields, and tending sheep. He remembered those days as the finest, freest times of his life. It seemed a hopeful place for him and Clarissa to start their lives together.

He nodded. “It's been empty for years, I know, and is certainly in need of repair. I'd like to take residence there and work the estate. Draw back the tenants. Make it profitable again.”

His father stared at him coldly.

With a kick of his heel, Colin's mount lumbered forward, coming almost nose to nose with Dominick's.

Colin ground out, “You've been gone for more than thirteen years. Thirteen long years, brother. Leaving me with no choice but to take your place in all but name. No, I'm not the first son, but I've earned a say. Don't think you can just come back and start making demands.”

“Frost End is my birthright.” Dominick sidled his horse alongside his brother's, forcing the other animal to canter aside. “Grandfather intended it for me.”

“Grandfather didn't know you'd betray your family.” Colin pointed at him with his gloved hand.

In a rush, the old anger returned, and Dominick struggled against the urge to knock his brother from his saddle into the dirt.

“I've never betrayed this family. Or you, brother. Can you say the same thing to me?”

His brother's eyes hardened.

“I'd rather burn Frost End down,” Colin muttered, “than see you have it.”

“You want me back here at Darthaven that badly?” Dominick goaded, and narrowed his eyes. “I missed you too.”

“Why Frost End and not here?” asked his father, whose lips had taken on a deeper frown. The nostrils of his aristocratic nose flared. “Are we that offensive to you, even after all this time?”

Dominick held his tongue, refusing to dredge up old disagreements. Old transgressions—namely Colin's dalliance with Tryphena, which he'd never revealed to his parents because as difficult as things had been between them, he hadn't wanted to hurt them in that way. He did not need to. Like a dark cloud it hung between him and his brother, tangled up in all the other difficult family memories. On the precipice of this new life with Clarissa and the baby, he preferred to look to the future.

“It's important for me to have something that belongs to me. That I prove my worth, in my own way, by my own efforts and no one else's.”

“That old man filled your head with nonsense,” said the marquess, his lip curling.

That old man.
His father. Dominick's grandfather.

That old man had been Dominick's hero, and he had challenged him to do more with his life than to live inside the confining box of wealth and privilege. Dominick had done so in the secret service and intended to do so now, just in a different way, building a meaningful life for him and his new family.

“No, my lord,” he answered steadily. “It isn't nonsense at all. It's what I want.”

His father looked to the ground, as if digesting the words, then into Dominick's eyes again. “I've no obligation to convey Frost End to you, not until I'm cold in the grave.”

“Frost End is not, and has never been, of consequence to you—yet it means very much to me, and I'm asking you to give it to me now.”

His father's gloved hand tightened on the reins, and his lips thinned. “What if I refuse?”

“Then I leave again, Father,” he answered quietly. “And I don't come back.”

The words weren't intended as an ultimatum. They were just true. He would take Clarissa and they would leave here and he would find another way. He had been gone too long, become too independent. Though Darthaven—and the family who lived there—had been the bedrock of his past and had formed him as a man in so many ways, for that same reason, they could not be his future. He would make his own way, with Frost End or without it.

“So be it,” Lord Stade answered bitterly. “If you're so determined to
spurn
your family and your obligations here, then go, but please know I've waited long enough for you to return here. My patience is spent. You may have Frost End, but not without consequences.”

Consequences. He'd known there would be.

“Such as?”

“If you want Frost End now, then you forfeit the rest, any claim to the unentailed fortune you would have received upon my death.”

Dominick nodded and without hesitation answered, “I'll agree to that.”

He'd lived this long without benefit of his family's largesse. Fortunes were nice to have, but he would take pride in building his own.

“I will…speak with my advisors, and have the papers drawn.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Dominick answered with all sincerity.

He meant it. He did not despise his father. He loved him. They just weren't alike enough to live together. He directed his horse to turn, and he looked out over the ocean again, appreciating the brace of cold air that swept over his skin.

He heard the sound of a horse's hooves on stone. A glance over his shoulder found Colin nearer, glaring at him.

“If that was all you wanted, you could have just written. Why come back at all?”

Dominick realized their father wasn't in their presence anymore. He'd turned his mount and had already begun to make his way back to the house.

“For one thing, I wanted to see you, Colin. We never spoke of what happened with Tryphena. I was too angry then, but it's important now that I forgive you.”

“I'm not sorry,” Colin muttered. “So don't trouble yourself.”

With a pull of the reins and a jab of his heels, Colin whirled his horse toward the house as well.

Clarissa awakened to what were now-familiar surroundings, a green-wallpapered room darkened by night. In the distance, ocean waves crashed and grew silent, only to crash again. After having been confined to her bed and this room for more than a week, her body ached and she felt vexingly pathetic, but the overwhelming nausea she'd battled since arriving at Darthaven had at last subsided yesterday, and since then she'd slept. At some point in the afternoon, Miss Randolph had helped her into a hot bath, and after a walk around the room, she'd slept again. Now, with her days and nights out of order, she had fallen wide awake.

Restless, she climbed down from the bed, enjoying the luxurious softness of the carpet beneath her toes. Her legs were weak from lack of use, but grew stronger with each step. Pulling the heavy drapery away, she peered out the window into the darkness beyond, but saw only a black bank of fog pressing against the pane. Feeling smothered, she released the curtain and turned again toward the room.

After finding her robe and slippers, she lit a lantern, which she took with her, peeking into the adjacent dressing closet, only ten feet away from where she'd lain for days, but she'd not felt well enough to explore. The lamp illuminated a spacious and expensively appointed room, with a rococo-style dressing table accented with gilt paint and drawer pulls. Oils in ornate frames covered the walls all the way up to the high ceiling, which was thickly framed with carved molding. Her rooms here at Darthaven were far more luxurious than anything she had ever enjoyed at home.

A rustle of movement in the opposite corner alerted her to Miss Randolph, who slept there on a narrow bed. Behind her stood the door that led to Dominick's chamber.

Over the previous days as she'd lain suffering in bed, he'd visited her numerous times, and urged her to eat and drink and rest. It chafed her vanity sorely that her new husband had seen her in such an unattractive state, when she only wanted him to see her at her best. Just knowing he was on the other side of the door sent a tremor of anticipation through her. The shadows brought to mind memories of the night at the inn when he'd made love to her.

His kisses had shattered her. His touch had awakened every inch of her body.

But at present she was angry at him. Furious, actually, and she had to let him know. He'd been an earl all along. It was one shock she shouldn't have had to suffer, especially not in front of Miss Randolph, his mother, and everyone else.

She wasn't a child, plying him with bothersome questions. She was his wife. The person with whom he would share his life, and for that she deserved some measure of respect and consideration. If he wouldn't give it to her outright, then she would demand it.

She withdrew again to her room, where Miss Randolph had left a small basin in close proximity to her bed. She scrubbed her skin, cleaned her teeth, and tidied the sleeping braids that encircled her head, then settled a white lace cap atop them.

Without the lamp, she returned to the dressing closet and passed through, careful not to bump the corner of Miss Randolph's bed. After turning the handle, she entered Dominick's room and secured the door behind her. A small fire burned on the andirons, providing enough light to see. She peered toward the bed, the interior of which was concealed by shadows and dark curtains that hung from decorative cornices on the ceiling.

“Dominick,” she called quietly.

Silence.

“
My lord,
” she added with a touch of impishness. “It is I, Clarissa.”

She found his bedclothes rumpled and thrown back and her husband gone. Finding the outside corridor dimly lit by wall sconces, she descended into a cavernous entry hall, cluttered with settees, chairs, and carpets and all manner of family artifacts and portraiture. Two footmen dozed on a bench and did not awaken as she passed by.

Downstairs, she discovered a drawing room with a vaulted ceiling and, next, a dining room that could have seated the House of Lords, each room darkened by night. As for the next room, she noticed that light shone from around the door, which was slightly ajar. Considering those rooms she'd already seen, she deduced this one might be a library. Perhaps Dominick, unable to sleep, had gone there and found a book or newspaper to read. She lifted her hand to knock on the door—