Chapter Eight
Seb’s invitation to the Penhurst house party miraculously arrived the next day and without Clarissa having to ask him to attend or even mention it, he had confirmed he would be there. She knew this because Penny had sent a note across Berkeley Square immediately. The next week positively shot by as she made her preparations, buoyed with a fresh optimism which had been missing since Lady Olivia had elbowed her way into Westbridge’s affections. Her Duke certainly appeared significantly more interested in her since Seb had commandeered her. In the two balls and one night at the opera since, the pair of them had been as thick as thieves. Lord Millcroft always had the first waltz and had brought her refreshments and dominated the interval at the opera, and poor Westbridge had been obviously furious at both while sticking to them like glue until Seb had been dragged away by Penhurst.
She always missed him when he was gone. Being with Seb, having a purpose beyond simply looking pretty, was the most fun she had had in years. For the first time since being declared anIncomparable, Clarissa felt important. Vital even. It didn’t matter that she excelled in very little, because the things she did excel at were exactly the things which helped him to do what he needed to do. How many other ladies got to help the government? And whilst that lofty achievement gave her a deep sense of worth, so, too, did being there for him.
Watching Seb work was fascinating. He was so subtle and sharp. Those dark eyes of his everywhere, noticing everything. His memory for names and details was staggering, surpassing her own, but when she asked him how he remembered so much information he simply shrugged and said, ‘I’m a spy.’ As if that was explanation enough.
She wished she could see him in action in the card room. Amongst men he didn’t suffer from the awkwardness which still plagued him—even with her. It was lessened now, although while Millcroft was mysterious and aloof, in the few snatched minutes they had shared where he was just Seb his intelligent eyes still struggled to meet hers and he still blushed occasionally and became tongue-tied and gruff. Knowing the real him was a delicious secret and one she selfishly did not want to share. She hoped they would have ample opportunity to spend more time alone at the house party. Clarissa desperately wanted to know more about him. The real him that only she saw.
According to Penny, Westbridge had been very put out to learn of Seb’s inclusion in the house party and had done his best to get Penhurst to rescind the invitation, fortunately all to no avail as Penny’s foul husband was quite taken with his new friend. Whilst she was pleased for Seb, she was also very satisfied with the way things were going. Now, instead of being on the back foot, Clarissa would cheerfully stride into Penhurst Hall, safe in the knowledge that her othersuitorwould be there, too.
* * *
Seven days of excitement.
The carriage wheels couldn’t turn fast enough.
Once she was presentable, of course. They had stopped at an inn half an hour away from the Sussex estate so that Clarissa could fix the damage caused by hours of travelling. It was a habit she had begun during her first Season to ensure she never arrived anywhere looking anything other than her best. Something Westbridge would expect in his future duchess. Thanks to the dire state of the road to Eastbourne, her dress was crumpled, her perfume was stale and her ringlets were sadly wilting. This quaint little inn a few miles away from the main road was a regular stopping point on her jaunts to Penny’s. She had lost count of how many visits she had enjoyed here and always booked the same cheerful, sunny room well in advance of every Penhurst party. The curling irons were already in the fire and she was stripped down to her chemise after washing with her favourite French soap while her maid was brushing her hair before restyling it.
The innkeeper’s wife knocked on the door and stepped inside. ‘There is a visitor for you, my lady.’ Impossible—aside from the coachmen, nobody knew she was here. ‘He’s waiting in the taproom.’
‘He?’
‘A Lord Millcroft.’ An expensive calling card was thrust into Clarissa’s hand. ‘He says he has urgent things to discuss with you.’
How did Seb know she was here? ‘Tell him I will be down as soon as I can.’ Which would be at least an hour in her current state of dishabille.
‘I don’t have time to wait.’ His deep voice from behind the door brooked no argument, the sound of it sending tingles down her spine regardless. ‘This will only take a few minutes, Gem.’
She knew he would expect to be invited in and she also knew that he wouldn’t be here unless it was of national importance—but, really! She looked a fright. ‘I’m not dressed.’
‘Then put on a robe.’
He’d already seen her hair in rags, so loose and virtually straight was an improvement, but allowing him to see her lacking her usual refinement made her feel uncomfortable. Clarissa didn’t want him to remember the rag incident and had paid more attention to her appearance since knowing Seb would see it. She grabbed her silk dressing gown and shoved her arms in the sleeves. Pulling the belt into a tight knot, she grabbed all her hair in her hand and twisted it to drape over one shoulder in what she hoped was a becoming manner before pinching some colour into her cheeks. ‘Very well. Come in.’
The innkeeper’s wife opened the door and Seb filled the frame. He had a habit of filling doorframes and, wearing a greatcoat, he left little daylight to seep around his imposing silhouette. He stood stiffly for a moment, then in two long strides he was stood before her, his eyes flicking to her maid warily. Clarissa recognised he wanted privacy. ‘You might as well have my dress pressed now, Agnes. You can fix my hair in a few minutes when his lordship has gone.’
The young woman hesitated at the lack of propriety, then bobbed a curtsy as she glared at Seb. ‘I shall be less than ten minutes, my lady. Or sooner.’ She snatched up the fresh travelling dress from the top of Clarissa’s trunk and marched out, still glaring at him. When she was gone he raked a hand through his hair and offered Clarissa a small smile.
‘Your maid thinks I have come to ruin you.’
‘She is blissfully unaware of your lack of seduction skills.’ Although, all windswept from his ride and struggling to meet her gaze, he managed to seduce her regardless. Her fingers wanted to smooth his mussed hair and touch his face, a scandalous thought whilst only a single layer of thin silk separated her gauzy shift from his gaze. ‘How did you know I was here?’
He shrugged and took in the unfamiliar room, the cooling water in the washbowl, the tangled pile of hair pins on the dressing table, the glowing irons in the fire. Anywhere but at her. ‘I’m a spy. Where else would you be?’
‘I mean seriously...’
‘Oh, all right—I had one of my men track you. I knew you would stop at an inn close to our destination.’ The smile turned into a smug grin as his eyes finally locked with hers. ‘Nobody looks as good as you do after hours of travel without a stop to make urgent repairs.’ Sometimes his astuteness was galling. This man wouldneverforget the rag incident.
‘Why the urgency to speak to me?’
‘That fool Westbridge hasn’t left us alone all week and I needed to ask you about the guest list.’
‘Whatever for?’
‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but Penhurst Hall is going to be crammed to the rafters with society, is it not? What if one of the bounders I’m seeking is in attendance?’ So that was why he’d readily accepted Penny’s invitation. A tiny part of her had hoped he had jumped at the chance of spending a week with her. He pulled a folded document from a pocket inside his coat and held it out. ‘What can you tell me about the people on that list.’
Clarissa allowed a mask of boredom to conceal her utter terror at being asked to read when there were no other diversions in the room to plead as an excuse. Instead of taking it, she picked up her brush and began to drag it purposefully through her hair. ‘It will be mostly the usual bunch.’
