Chapter Twenty-Two
Seb failed to materialise for luncheon as he had promised. Clarissa tried not to be concerned. After the smuggling ship had offloaded last night she supposed the mission was at its most critical stage. Plans would need to be put in place. Reinforcements and the proper authorities would have to be summoned. Instead she helped herself to extra potatoes and did her best to appear interested in Westbridge’s conversation. Annoyingly, he was seated beside her. More annoyingly the other Duke, the one she ferociously hated, was sat the other side. Feigning civility to the man who had beaten Seb and ruined his childhood was proving to be more difficult with each passing minute. Each time he spoke, the urge to stab him in the forehead with her fork was overwhelming. In fact, the urge to stab a few of the so-called gentlemen seated at this table with a fork was overwhelming.
Penny was subdued. They’d had a long and frank discussion about the state of her marriage and the perils of marrying the wrong man, and whilst her friend was still convinced Seb was the wrong man, discussing her own troubles, so long bottled up, had stirred up emotions that up to now had been private. As Clarissa had long suspected, Penhurst’s cruelty was physical as well as mental and he was not averse to beating her if she spoke out of turn or displeased him. Which she apparently did without trying.
The viscount’s infidelities were more than an open secret. They were another stick to beat his wife with. The monster revelled in telling his wife all the sordid details of his affairs, comparing her body to the harlots he preferred as he forced himself on her. Those debasing violations, Penny had assured her, weeping, happened less and less, and she would still not hear of leaving him because of her son. That baby and the long stretches of her husband’s absence were Penny’s salvation. His visits home a nightmare. All bar one of the dates Seb had given her married with the days Penhurst had graced his wife with his presence and subjected her to his abuse.
Clarissa hoped he hanged and was more resolved than ever to help free her friend from the life she had never deserved. It was an extreme solution, but a fitting one for Penhurst. He caught her looking at him and raised his glass, already drinking wine in the middle of the day.
‘Do you have any idea when Millcroft will be back?’ It was the third time he had enquired in the space of an hour. Penhurst’s interest bothered her.
‘Soon, I am sure.’
‘I hope so, for I have something to... Ah! Talk of the Devil and the Devil shall appear.’
Seb strode in and little bubbles of excitement popped in her belly as she waited for him to glance at her in the same heated way he had over breakfast. He didn’t look at her. ‘I’m sorry I’m late—but it is a lovely day and I lost track of time.’ He snapped open the napkin as he sat in a chair next to Penhurst at the opposite end of the long table.
‘Better late than never, old chap.’ The viscount leaned his head and whispered in Seb’s ear. Clarissa strained to hear, but had to settle for seeing Seb nod and then whisper back. Their covert conversation paused as the servants dished up his food and then it continued in earnest. Once it was done, he concentrated on eating, a tightness about his jaw and brows she had never seen before.
‘Did you have a pleasant ride, my lord?’ It wasn’t strictly polite to talk down the table, but then as it wasn’t polite to whisper either, Clarissa didn’t care. For the first time his eyes lifted to meet hers and burned. But not with passion or longing or shared secrets. The venom in them shocked her.
‘Very.’ And as if she were suddenly as insignificant to him as Penny was to Penhurst, he turned his head and plunged head-first into a mumbled discussion with Lord Gaines. Whatever he was talking about, it had all of Penhurst’s odious cronies chortling to the exclusion of the rest of the diners, Clarissa most definitely included.
It had been a pointed cut, and a public one, although she didn’t know why. Rattled, she went back to her plate and tried to ignore her own hurt at the slight and Penny’s weighted stare. There was probably a very good reason why he was ignoring her. Hadn’t he once cautioned that if he ever appeared rude or obnoxious she should pay it no mind because he was playing Millcroft?
* * *
As soon as the meal ended, he was off as if his breeches were on fire, and his foot was already on the stairs to the east wing before she caught up with him. ‘Seb!’ He stilled, but didn’t turn around at first. When he did, his hostile expression had been replaced by one of bland indifference.
‘My lady.’ No mischievous stare. No warmth. No nothing.
‘Is something wrong?’
‘Should there be?’
‘I don’t know.’ He was being Millcroft yet there was nobody close by to witness it. Just to be sure she scanned the hallway. Aside from the ever-present footman at the front door they were alone—but the footmen had ears and he was right to be cautious.
‘You are acting very peculiarly... The morning room should be empty.’ She tugged at his arm and felt it stiffen to granite beneath her fingers. The icy coldness made her panic. ‘Please, Seb.’
‘We have nothing to talk about,my lady.’
‘Of course we do...’ How dared he? They hadeverythingto talk about. Their future. Their hopes and dreams. Their wedding. ‘Why are you angry?’
‘Stop playing games.I know.’
‘Know what?’ Now he was talking in riddles and her own temper flared. ‘Stop this nonsense. What happened this morning? What is the plan?’ She was aware she was babbling, but his behaviour was so uncharacteristic it was frightening.
With deliberate slowness he uncurled her hand from his elbow and stepped away. ‘Stay in your room tonight. By tomorrow it will all be over.’
‘Stay in my room!’ Had he lost his wits? ‘No!’ She reached for him and he stepped away. ‘I want to be with you. Don’t you dare try to shut me out! I’m helping you. Youneedme to help you!’
‘I don’tneedyou at all!’ He spat it with such venom she recoiled. Seb’s cool, detached composure had cracked and his face contorted into a snarl, one he tempered as the two Dukes entered the vast hallway and began to walk in their direction. He barely inclined his head to them, adjusted his cuffs and turned his smile to her. His usually dark, stormy eyes were dead behind the irises. ‘We are done, Gem. We havebothmore than served our purpose.’ Then he calmly, cruelly, walked away.
Clarissa wanted to go after him and demand an explanation but a public slanging match—because that was what Seb’s dreadful behaviour warranted—was out of the question in front of witnesses. One of them would let slip something in anger and potentially jeopardise the mission. She swallowed her temper and stalked to the opposite staircase.
‘Clarissa?’
‘What?’ She didn’t bother smiling at Westbridge.
