It sounds like he romanticizes his first love, and now you must compete with the ghost of a perfect woman. I hope he will eventually see how fortunate he is to have you, for I know how deeply you love him. Every man should be so lucky...
Adele
Clara was the one hewanted. Seger knew it with absolute firmness of mind when he climbed into bed with her that night.
Yes, he had thought of Daphne a number of times since he and Clara had arrived at Rawdon Hall, but the memories were distant. They were vague and seemed almost childish, for he had been a mere adolescent when he’d first met Daphne. He was only sixteen. He had fallen madly, hopelessly in love, but he was no longer that innocent, optimistic young boy. He had changed a great deal in the years since. He had lived a completely altered existence.
He wondered how he would feel about Daphne if he met her now, for the first time. He would probably not even notice her in a crowd of other women. He was far too experienced, or perhaps jaded was a better word.
“I enjoyed myself today,” Clara said sweetly as she inched down under the covers. “I love this house, Seger, and I love the countryside. I will look forward to returning here after the Season has ended.”
“As will I,” he replied with some surprise. He rolled on top of her, pressed his lips to her delicate mouth, and smiled. “Because this bed—with you in it—is like a little corner of heaven on earth.”
His “experience” had moved him to choose Clara out of an endless sea of eager, predatory females. Now, Clara was there with him, in the flesh. She was no ghost. Her patience and understanding—knowing that he was thinking of another woman from his past—only served to shore up his respect for her. She had understood the complexities of the situation—that he couldn’t help but think of Daphne after returning to Rawdon Hall for the first time since her death—yet Clara had been sympathetic and tolerant.
How could he not love her for that?
Seger kissed her with an unruly passion and helped her pull her nightdress over her head.
Seger did not mention Daphne again during the rest of their stay at Rawdon Hall, but Clara took note of the times he was quiet and melancholy and suspected that he was thinking of her.
Nevertheless, she enjoyed their private time together and felt that by being understanding and patient, she had gained Seger’s respect. They had, in fact, forged a closer bond.
Now, back in London and riding alone in the coach on her way home from a brief shopping excursion, Clara reflected on her marriage and began to believe that a deeper love between herself and her husband was indeed possible. Likely even, if they continued in the direction they were going. They had come forward a great distance since their wedding day. Seger had opened up to her completely at Rawdon Hall. He had held her tenderly in the night, and he had appreciated her understanding.
Clara sighed heavily as a wave of relief and contentment moved through her. She felt optimistic about her marriage now, for the very first time.
The coach stopped at an intersection, and without warning, her door opened, and a man stepped inside.
“Sir!” she shouted. “This is not a hackney cab! Get out please!”
Before she had a chance to call to her driver, the coach lurched forward, and the man settled himself on the seat beside her.
She gazed at the familiar face, and it was as if all the air had been sucked out of her lungs. All she could do was murmur his name.
“Gordon.”
“Yes.” He stared at her for a few seconds. “Upon my word, Clara, you are more beautiful today than you were the last time I saw you. How is that even possible?” He placed his hand on his chest, as if he were trying to still his beating heart.
Panic surged into her veins and Clara had to fight to think clearly. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in prison.”
“I was released three months ago.”
“But you promised you would never contact me again. What do you want?”
He lounged back in the seat and rested both hands on his walking stick. “Straight to the point, as usual. It’s what I always admired most about you, Clara. You always knew exactly what you wanted. Well, almost always.” He smiled—a sinister, knowing smile—and leaned toward her, as if he wanted to sniff her.
Clara slid away from him. “I am married now, Gordon. I don’t wish to see you. I must insist that get out of my coach immediately. Driver!”
But the driver didn’t seem to hear her.
“Yes, I know all about your triumphant marriage,” Gordon said. “It was splashed all over the New York papers.”
Clara tried to keep her breathing slow and steady. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”
“Why do you think I’m here?”
“I don’t know. All I know is that I want you to leave.” How could she ever have been so young and foolish as to allow this man into her life?
