Chapter 3
Clarissa leaned over the stone balustrade of the terrace and peered at the shadow-filled garden below her. The chill of the October evening made her shiver, but she welcomed the cool air on her overheated skin.
She’d been so eager to escape the ball she hadn’t thought to retrieve her wrap from one of the servants. Flustered, with conflicting thoughts skittering about in her head, she’d been intent only on retreat—mostly from Christian, but also from anyone else who might stop her. She’d always been like that at social functions. Her father had lamented what he called her fatal lack of charm, saying only her looks and his money had made her even passably acceptable. A man wanted a companion, he’d complain. Someone to entertain and amuse him, not some timid mouse of a girl who would bore him to death.
She breathed out an unhappy sigh, resting her forearms on the stone ledge. Jeremy had rescued her from that glittering but nerve-wracking world, but he couldn’t rescue her now. Not from herself and her stupid fears, nor from well-meaning friends determined to push her back into a life she’d never wanted.
Unnerved by the fine tremors coursing through her fingers, Clarissa stood tall and flexed her hands. Blast Christianfor flirting with her like she was just another pleasant diversion whilst on furlough. Still, he was young and handsome and would soon return to the front, so why shouldn’t he entertain himself? Any man in his position would. But why did he pick her, for heaven’s sake?
Her cheeks prickled with shameful heat as she acknowledged a possible explanation. Christian was probably taking pity on her, offering a brief flirtation because he felt sorry for the lonely widow uncomfortable in polite society. Perhaps Lillian, so obviously worried about her, had put him up to it. The very notion that her friend might have persuaded Christian to do such a thing—to make Clarissa the recipient of misguided charity—made her stomach churn.
Carefully gathering her skirts, she sat down on one of the wrought iron benches scattered around the terrace. The cold of the metal seat quickly penetrated her gown and chemise, but despite the chill she couldn’t bring herself to return to the house. Not until she could regain at least some semblance of composure.
And certainly not until she understood her own confused reaction to Christian’s attentions. That was the heart of the matter, wasn’t it? Regardless of his intentions, and what it all meant to him, how didshefeel about it?
After several useless minutes fidgeting with the lace trim on her fan, Clarissa had to admit the truth. Christian had frightened her, but she’d been flattered by his seductive flirtation. More than flattered. Entranced. She’d actually wanted him to take her in his arms and kiss her senseless.
That impulse had lasted only moments, but those moments had been enough. Enough to forget she had been standing in a crowded room full of chattering gossips. Enough to forget she had vowed never to fall in love again, and certainly never with a man like him.
Even worse, when Christian had stared at her, his gaze so hot and knowing, she had forgotten about Jeremy. What re-spectable woman—a widow, barely out of mourning—would so easily betray the memory of her beloved husband?
With an irritated sigh, she rose. Either she could hide like a coward, or she could go back inside with her head high and act like the sensible person she knew herself to be. Whatever disturbing emotions plagued her right now, their cause would soon take himself back to Portugal. All she had to do was keep Christian at a safe distance until he departed. Then life would return to its quiet, safe routine, exactly as she wanted. She owed that to Jeremy’s memory.
She crossed the terrace toward the study. With a little luck, she could find Lillian and Lady Archer immediately and make her excuses for the night. It wouldn’t be a lie to claim she had a headache, since all this fruitless rumination had indeed set her temples throbbing.
As she reached the French doors to the study, a bulky shape loomed out of the darkness. Surprised, she gasped and took a quick step back, catching her heel on the hem of her gown. A beefy hand shot out and took her by the elbow, squeezing it tightly.
“Careful now, Mrs. Middleton,” said an oddly nasal voice. “We can’t have you tumbling down and cracking your pretty head on the paving stones, can we?”
Clarissa let out an involuntary hiss, jerking her arm away. That voice belonged to a man who never failed to make her skin crawl.
Swallowing hard, she forced herself to appear calm. “Lord Blundell, what a surprise. Have you tired of the party?”
He moved forward into a stream of light from the ballroom windows above them. Her stomach took a sickening flop when she saw a lascivious smile lifting his thick-lipped mouth. Brandy fumes wafted over her as he stepped closer.
“I was following you, my dear. I was certain you saw me as you descended the stairs, and divined my intention tospeak with you. Unfortunately, that old blowhard Lord Sobey waylaid me, preventing me from joining you until now.”
She frowned, startled by his impertinent assumptions. “My Lord, I only stepped out for some fresh air, but I find it’s much too cool without a wrap. I’m returning to the ball this very instant.”
The smile congealed on his face, but only for a few seconds. Then a smug look settled on his features as he moved a step closer.
“Ah. You hope to tease me. You always were a minx, Clarissa. I remember your father warning me about that when I first proposed to you. I’ve always regretted that I didn’t take a stronger stand. By the time I realized you needed a firm hand, you had already accepted Middleton’s offer.” He cast her an oily smile. “I assure you, I won’t make the same mistake twice.”
She choked, outrage closing her throat, but he ignored her reaction.
“You wish to punish me just a little for making you wait out here on the terrace, don’t you?” he asked. “But now that I’m here, surely we can dispense with silly games. There’s no need for you to keep me at arm’s length a moment longer, now that you have returned to society.”
He moved forward again, forcing her to retreat to the balustrade. Every nerve in her body shrieked at her to run, but he blocked her only exit. Unfortunately, she was never very good at putting bullies in their place. Still, she tried to muster up a cutting tone.
“You are talking nonsense, sir. Please move aside. It is most improper for us to be out here without a chaperone.”
He crowded her against the parapet, thrusting forward until their bodies almost touched. Even without looking directly down, she could see a bulge in the front of his breeches. She swallowed, willing her dinner to remain in its proper place.
“Ah,” he rasped. “Fortunately, you’re no longer a maiden, but a widow and an experienced woman.”
His queer voice scraped along her nerves. Though a bulky, coarse man, Lord Blundell spoke in a thin tone that seemed to strain his throat. When he courted her years ago, anxiety had slithered through her whenever he opened his mouth. No one had understood how she felt but Lillian. Certainly not her father, whose punishment for refusing Blundell’s suit had left her with painful bruises.
“You offend me, sir,” she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. “I am the widow of an officer who fought by your side—one of your own men. That alone should be reason enough to treat me with more respect.”
