Never Surrender to a Scoundrel Page 4

They would not, of course, press for further details. As professionals, they knew better than to do so. As required, Dominick tossed his orders into the fire.

  “As are we all,” said Mr. Ollister, grinning. “But there is little time for celebration. Let us all return to our duties—that is, except for you, Mr. Kincraig. Enjoy your last evening in London before you are returned to the jaws of danger.”

  “Which, as we all know, is precisely where you wish to be,” said O’Connell with a wink. “The earl is waiting.”

  After confirming his orders had burned to nothing, Dominick continued on to the earl’s private chambers.

  Wolverton sat in his wheeled bath chair beside the window, dressed in his finest for the ball. Seeing him sitting there so dignified, with his kind eyes twinkling in welcome, Dominick suddenly found himself at a loss for words, and his chest grew tight.

  Something about the moment made him think of his own father, from whom he had long ago become estranged. They had never been close—his father always far too busy to trouble himself with the company of children. Then once Dominick had reached a certain age where he could see the world through his own eyes and make his own opinions, everything had truly fallen apart. There had been terrible disagreements over responsibility. Endless silences. And always the expectation that he, and only he, should change. Things had only gotten worse after he’d become a man.

  Yet he knew he would look back on this time and remember each moment with Wolverton as a treasure. Dominick, who had felt so lowered—so humiliated—at being demoted to a security detail had learned so much from the man with whose safety he had been charged, about loyalty, and honor and pride. Looking back on the past two years, he could feel nothing but gratefulness for the time he’d spent with the earl.

  He crossed the room and joined Wolverton at the window. The panes had been pushed open and a pleasant breeze wafted through, carrying in the scent of flowers from the window boxes. Below, carriages crowded the street and elegantly turned out guests proceeded to the door.

  “And so, it is time for us to say good-bye,” said His Lordship.

  Dominick bowed his head. “Yes, my lord. I depart tomorrow.”

  “Very good then.” The old man smiled up at him, his eyes warm with admiration. “We have spent a lot of time together, you and I.”

  “Indeed we have.”

  “I just want you to know that this old man has enjoyed your company,” the earl said quietly. “Our conversations and your humor. I find myself regretting that we must say farewell.” He tilted his head forward. “Not because I wish you to remain here in your official capacity. I know you are capable of much greater things. But I have come to consider you as my friend.”

  On this, his last night in London, there were no words Dominick would rather hear. They bolstered his pride, and he knew he would remember them in the challenging and exciting days to come.

  “I am honored, my lord, and feel the same.”

  The earl smiled. “I know this assignment was not your first choice and that you are eager to return to more exciting pursuits.”

  “Spy games have always been my true calling.” Just speaking the words aloud sent a ripple of excitement through Dominick’s blood.

  Wolverton chuckled, lifting a wrinkled hand that bore a gold and onyx ring that had once been deeply etched but had been worn smooth by wear and time. “There was a time when I played a few of those games myself.”

  “So I have been told. You are quite the legend.”

  The earl chuckled, clearly delighted by the compliment, but then his smile dwindled. “My only regret is if my actions somehow placed my family in any sort of danger, resulting in this need for protection.” A deep sadness came into the earl’s eyes, and Dominick knew he was thinking about the son and grandson who had died such untimely deaths.

  “Yes, my lord, but we don’t know that.”

  The earl nodded. “I just want you to know how very much I have appreciated your devotion to myself and my family. I thank the Lord every day your particular skills were not needed, but I must admit I slept more peacefully at night knowing you, along with O’Connell, Mrs. Brightmore, and Mr. Ollister, were there to protect us.”

  “Thank you for saying so, my lord.”

  “Would you care for a parting brandy?” He nodded toward a small cabinet. “Oh, forgive me—I momentarily forgot that despite your very skilled portrayal of a drunkard, you never—”

  “Never touch the stuff.” Dominick nodded.

  “Well, then. Godspeed, young man, and good-bye.”

  “Stay there, out of sight!” Sophia instructed over her shoulder, before again looking out over the guests who crowded the cavernous vestibule and beyond, into the wide corridor that led to the ballroom. “Mother will give the signal.”

  Clarissa stood at the top of the staircase, with her sisters and eight of her dearest friends, each of whom held wreaths covered in flowers. Well, six of her dearest friends and two Aimsley sisters because her mother had quite insisted, even though they were the worst gossips, but their grandfather had been such a dear friend of Lord Wolverton’s in earlier times. They all clustered about her, in a happy crush of silk, perfume, and flower petals.

  “Everything is so lovely, Clarissa.”

  “We’re having such a wonderful time.”

  “I can’t wait until the dancing starts.”

  “What a wonderful way to end the season.”

  Daphne gestured. “Ladies, it’s time.”

  Sophia quickly lined them up into the order they’d agreed upon. In the ballroom, the orchestra began to play. Each of the young ladies held her wreath and made her way toward the stairs, smiling down over an admiring crowd gone suddenly silent. The moment was just as Clarissa had imagined. The first two ladies began their descent.

  Clarissa asked Sophia, “Do you think the wreaths and the procession and the carpet are too much?” She looked down under their feet, where the pink carpet radiated pinkness back at her. What a perfect hue. She didn’t want to be pretentious, but at the same time, she’d wanted to do something different. The grand finale of the evening would be her engagement.

  The duchess chuckled. “Don’t be silly. It’s your night. Besides, I had twelve attendants, in case you’ve forgotten, and they were all wearing those ridiculous ostrich plumes.” She winked.

  Clarissa moved to take her place on the landing, and the crowd, seeing her, murmured in admiration. In response, a flush moved up her neck, into her cheeks. Her mother and grandfather waited at the bottom of the stairs, their faces beaming up at her, and everyone else, but…

  She tried to be discreet as she searched the guests’ faces, and searched them again.

  “Where is Quinn?” she murmured, and she paused on the step. She couldn’t very well descend the stairs if her fiancé-to-be was not even in the room to see her. But her sisters urged her to follow her attendants down the steps, and she complied.

  “Who did you say you were looking for?” said Daphne, from where she followed just behind.

  Again her gaze swept the room. Had he been delayed? Her blush of happiness turned to one of disappointment. Why wasn’t he here?

  “Did you say Lord Quinn?” said the eldest Aimsley sister, Elspeth, glancing over her shoulder.

  “I didn’t actually say Quinn—” She’d only barely murmured it, more like a whisper to herself. Her chest tightened. She hated fibs, even small ones. They made her feel terribly guilty and like a sneak. “But now that you mention him, why wouldn’t he be here when he and all the rest of his family replied that would attend?”

  The younger Aimsley, Ancilla, turned and said, “I don’t know about the rest of them, but he won’t be coming, of course. He married Emily FitzKnightley this afternoon, and they are already off on their honeymoon.”

  Clarissa’s heart stopped beating.

  “That can’t be true,” she mumbled, her lips numb. She gripped the banister and replayed the words in her head, certain she’d misheard
or misunderstood. Blood pounded in her ears, so thunderously she could hardly hear. “Wouldn’t we all have known?”

  “They married by special license. It came as a surprise to everyone. We ought to know, we are Emily’s cousins and served as her bridesmaids.”

  Elspeth and Ancilla laughed gaily and continued down the stairs, leaving her exposed to the collective attention of the crowd looking up from below. Clarissa’s cheeks burned and her face felt locked in its shocked expression.

  “Wait,” she whispered. “I don’t think…I don’t think I can…”

  “Clarissa, what are you waiting for?” Sophia nudged her from behind. “Everyone’s waiting. It’s your turn to go down. Straighten up and smile.”

  Clarissa did stop whispering. Indeed, she stopped everything, as a rush of dizziness pushed through her. That night in the garden. Quinn’s kisses…his touch. The words and promises they’d spoken. And now he had married someone else? It couldn’t be true.

  And yet she knew it was.

  The chandelier above the staircase seemed to…twist and spin on its chain. The faces around her veered close, as if magnified with a looking glass, and then—in a blink—became distant. She swallowed and shook her head, attempting to regain control over herself, to no avail.

  “I’m so sorry, but suddenly I—” she murmured, swaying forward…then to the side, her arms and legs trembling as if from a sudden fever.

  “Clarissa?” inquired Daphne, touching a hand to her elbow.

  The world pitched—flipping upside down in an ugly tangle of silk, feminine squeals, and pink.

  Dominick read the Aimsley girl’s lips and saw Clarissa’s face go white. Damn it. That she should find out the news of Quinn, there on the stairs in front of everyone.

  He watched, helpless and separated by a sea of people, as Clarissa wavered, then went limp. The room erupted with shouts and screams.

  He didn’t think twice, he just reacted, pushing through the crowd to where she lay amidst a tangle of flowers and feminine limbs, her face pale and eyes closed. Her sisters, who had been behind her, rushed down the stairs calling her name. Gathering her up in his arms, he lifted her, sweeping her away, past Claxton and Havering and Raikes who had rushed forward as well, down the hall.

  Was she hurt? He couldn’t tell. If not, she had to be more than humiliated. For a tender girl with such big hopes and dreams to take such a public fall, on such an important night…

  Bloody hell, he felt responsible. After meeting with the earl, there’d been no opportunity to speak to Havering, no chance to ensure she would be prepared for the unfortunate news she was bound to hear.

  Lady Margaretta followed. “Clarissa?”

  “Tell her…I’m fine,” Clarissa pleaded against his neck, her voice thick and her words barely discernible. Her gloved hand curled into his coat collar, and she burrowed more tightly against him. He clenched his teeth, wanting only to make the moment and every miserable emotion she must be feeling disappear at once.

  “She is well, I believe,” he called back, twisting round halfway. “She must have fainted from the excitement.”

  Her Ladyship nodded and paused midstep with her hands raised. “I shall come straightaway after seeing to the other girls. I pray no one has been injured!”

  Dominick carried her into a small sitting room, where he deposited her—or attempted to deposit her—on a small settee. Her arms seized his neck.

  “Let go, Clarissa.”

  “No,” she retorted, her voice thick with tears.

  “You’re strangling me.”

  She held even tighter and sobbed into his shirt. “For once…j-j-just be a gentleman, please, and suffer through.”

  Knowing not what else to do, he simply sat with her there clinging to him, trying very hard not to notice how disturbingly soft and warm and perfect she felt, because that would serve absolutely no useful purpose at all.

  Fox rushed in. “Is she all right?”

  Thank God. He had no intention of being Clarissa’s savior. That honor ought to belong to someone else. Someone permanent in her life.

  “Take her, please?” Dominick asked, hands raised imploringly behind her back.

  Fox took one step toward them, as if intent on complying, but just then Clarissa’s sisters and their husbands arrived, pushing the young lord off to the side.

  “Oh, Clarissa,” exclaimed Daphne, rushing toward them, arms outstretched. “I’m so sorry.”

  Sophia pressed close as well, touching a gentle hand to her sister’s tousled curls, and bending low to murmur near her ear, “Did you slip? Or did you faint? I couldn’t see, dear, because I was standing behind you.”

  “Is she hurt?” inquired Claxton from the door.

  “No, no, no,” Clarissa cried over his shoulder, toward the wall, still refusing to look at anyone. “I’m fine…only embarrassed, and I feel so stupid.” She trembled against him and whispered the next words. “How could I have been so stupid?”

  Dominick knew, of course, what she meant. She referred to her love for Quinn.

  “You’re not stupid,” assured Sophia. “And you mustn’t be embarrassed. You’re not the first debutante to faint at the moment of her debut. Remember Elizabeth Malloy? At least you didn’t expose your bare bottom to two hundred people the way she did.”

  Raikes murmured, “Did that truly happen?”

  Fox answered quietly, “Oh, yes. I was standing right there, not two feet away.”

  “I’m sorry to have missed that.”

  “Gentlemen!” Daphne rebuked.

  Clarissa seized Dominick’s neck tighter and cried harder. “I am mortified! Humiliated. I just want to be alone.”

  Lady Margaretta entered the room and, after quickly assessing the situation, said, “I think what would be best is if everyone gave Clarissa a moment alone and returned to the ballroom. You can all help her by telling the guests she is well, that she only fainted from the excitement and she’ll be returning to the party as soon as she is recovered.”

  To Dominick’s dismay, everyone left the room, her sisters throwing glances of concern over their shoulders on the way out and their husbands and Fox dutifully following.

  “Are you all right here, Mr. Kincraig?” Her Ladyship asked, touching a comforting hand to Clarissa’s back as she still snuffled against his shirt. God, she’d made a handkerchief of him. No doubt his shirt was a mess, and he’d have to go home immediately after.

  “I’m certain she would rather be with her mother.” He lightly took hold of Clarissa’s arms, intending to lift them from his shoulders.

  “No.” Clarissa held him tighter and shook her head vehemently, pressing her face to his neck. “I can’t look at anyone. I can’t even move. Not yet. Please.”

  Lady Margaretta bit her bottom lip. “I really must go and see about Wolverton. He must be very concerned.”

  Dominick nodded, his hopes of escape dashed. “And so I will…stay with Miss Bevington. If you promise to return.” He smiled tightly. “Quickly.”

  It seemed the appropriate thing to do, although he had no idea how to console an innocent young woman who had gotten her tender heart broken. Truth be told, he wasn’t at all comfortable with such an intense display of feelings, having learned years ago to confine and conceal his own. As far as the women in his life, his own dear mother had rarely expressed any emotion other than perfectly controlled placidity, even as the arguments between him and his father had raged. Neither had Tryphena ever needed gentle comforting. She, a demanding Valkyrie of a woman, had only ever required appeasing. Usually with sex.

  “Thank you, Mr. Kincraig, I’m afraid you don’t have any other choice.” Lady Margaretta winked, despite the worry still etched around her eyes and mouth. Pausing, she reached to touch his hand. “Do you see, I am not the only one who still thinks of you as family?”

  “While I thank you, some might consider me untrustworthy where the ladies are concerned.” Why not give escape one last try?

  “O
h, I shall miss your humor, Mr. Kincraig,” Her Ladyship replied. “Clarissa obviously finds your presence very comforting, like that of…well, family.” Her eyes misted over as, clearly, she remembered the loss of her son.

  “I’m honored,” he murmured.

  “Thank you for this. I will return momentarily.”

  And in the next moment, they were alone.

  “Oh, Mr. Kincraig,” Clarissa moaned, and her body shuddered. “I’m so humiliated.”

  Hearing her speak his name—even if not his true name—somehow pleased him, as did her insistence on remaining in his arms, but only, he assured himself, because he knew they were the last moments they would ever spend together. Perhaps when he was gone, she would remember him fondly.

  “It was that awful pink carpet, wasn’t it?” he teased, hoping to cheer her. “You slipped on it, didn’t you?”

  “You terrible man.” She shook her head and drew away enough to glare at him. Both of her hands rested against his chest, balled into small fists. Even with a puffy red nose and tearstained eyes, she was lovely. “To make light of the most miserable moment of my life. You don’t understand!”

  “I think I do.” No, he wasn’t a woman, but he’d had his heartaches—life-altering ones that made her present disappointment seem like an afternoon tea party. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it into her hand.

  “There is so much more to this moment than meets the eye,” she declared, holding the square of white cloth to hers. “It’s not just that I’ve fallen down a staircase in front of the whole of society, it’s…it’s…”

  She peered at him, and a fresh surge of tears flooded her eyes. Oh, hell. What did he do now? He’d used up his limited repertoire of reassuring phrases. Forthrightness seemed the only way forward.

  He cleared his throat. “I know that the young gentleman you had an attachment to has married someone else. I know about Lord Quinn.”

  She blinked and emitted a small hiccup. “How could you know? We were discreet, and we never told anyone. It was a secret.”

  He shrugged. “The attraction between two people is not difficult to perceive, if one pays attention.” He would leave it at that.