Seger walked into Clara’s bedchamber shortly before midnight. His breath smelled of whisky and cigars.
“Did you have a nice time tonight?” Clara asked in a pleasant voice, though she was reeling with doubts and anxieties about Gillian and Lady Cleveland. Even that wretched dress Gillian had mentioned.
Seger tugged at his neckcloth and began to unbutton his shirt. “I did. Lord Cobequid is looking well. He intends to return to India in a few weeks.”
Seger told her about their dinner and billiards game. Then he related some of Lord Cobequid’s tales of the British colony abroad and slipped into bed beside her.
“How was your evening?”
“Interesting. Strange,” she replied. “I’m not sure where to begin.”
“How about at the beginning?” He sat back and waited patiently for her to elaborate.
“All right. I spoke to Gillian tonight,” she finally explained, not caring if the subject exploded in her face and drove her husband from the room like it did the last time. At this point, she would welcome a fight if it meant honesty and candor between them, no matter how disagreeable it was for Seger.
To her surprise, he sat forward and took her hand. “I’ve been meaning to speak to you about Gillian.”
Clara felt her brow furrow.
“I wanted to apologize,” he said, “for the way I reacted the last time we spoke about her. It was wrong of me. I should have been a better listener.”
Clara sat up. “Seger, I...”
She what, exactly? She hadn’t expected him to offer an apology, and she didn’t have a clue what she wanted to say in response. She was relieved, of course, but something inside her was suspicious about why he was offering an apology on this, of all nights. He’d had lunch with Gillian that day. Had he suspected, like Clara, that Gillian had feelings for him? Was he ready to take Clara’s side and tell her she’d been right all along?
Or was he trying to appease her because he was hiding something else—a rendezvous with Lady Cleveland perhaps?—and he wanted to keep her happy and prevent her from asking pointed questions?
He pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “I have come to realize that I haven’t always been easy to talk to.”
“Well....”
“I apologize for that as well. Our marriage came to fruition very quickly, and I will admit now that I was apprehensive during our engagement, but I’ve since learned that the reality of marriage is not nearly as frightening as the idea of it. The decision was the hardest part, and now that it’s done, I find married life far more pleasant than I ever could have imagined.”
Clara regarded him warily.
“I believe,” he said, “that we’ve been getting to know each other better. Do you agree?”
She gazed up at him with parted lips. “I suppose.”
Where was this coming from? She wished she could accept it as a simple move toward a deeper intimacy between them, but knowing his previous lifestyle, his reckless desire for women—and considering everything that had occurred that day—how could she help but have doubts?
“You don’t feel that you have given up a great deal?” she asked. “Your whole way of life?”
Assuming that he had actually given it up.
Seger inched closer and kissed her lightly on the mouth. “What I gave up cannot compare to what I have gained.”
He kissed her again, more deeply this time, and despite her desire to hash things out with her husband, Clara couldn’t help but revel in the warmth of his kiss. All that mattered when he touched her was that he continued to touch her, with his masterful hands and his irresistible talent to please. All she wanted was his body.
Clara feared suddenly that deep down, shewantedto be appeased. She wanted him to make her forget all their troubles. She wasn’t proud of that, but there it was.
How thoroughly English she had become.
If only she could believe him. If only Gillian had not been planting seeds of doubt in her mind.
In that moment, the thought of Gillian woke her from her passions and evoked an urgent need to clear the air. Clara could not continue to guess and brood about matters when she did not know the facts. That way lay madness.
Perhaps she was not so English after all.
