Of course he didn’t have a bloody weapon. He wasn’t an American vagabond who invaded the home of a peer of the realm, waving a pistol and threatening to do him bodily harm.
“This isn’t war, Whitney,” he said gently. “We live in a civilized world. What would you have me do, hire a phalanx of soldiers to guard the damn door?”
“You need to be prepared.” Whitney scrutinized him, appearing to take his measure and making him want to squirm in the process. “I’ve lived through war, my lord. Man can be a savage when life requires it. I’ll never forget that. Whoever wants you dead will try again. Don’t make it easy for him. Don’t put Clara in danger.”
“I would never put Lady Ravenscroft in danger,” he said coldly, for Whitney’s words had affected him more than he cared to admit. Christ, how could he be so selfish? So stupid? He’d hire every brawny, willing man in London to protect Clara if need be. But he couldn’t bear to part with her. Couldn’t countenance the thought of sending her away as Whitney seemed to imply he ought. “Believe of me what you like, Mr. Whitney, but know that I hold your daughter in the highest regard.”
Clara’s father stared him down, seeming to attempt to judge the veracity of his words. Before he could form a response, the study door opened unannounced. The subject of their conversation sailed over the threshold in an elaborate afternoon gown of deep, riveting navy silk trimmed with gold cording.
From her elaborately styled braid to her hem, she was faultlessly elegant, more beautiful than any lady he’d ever before seen. To look upon her, he’d never guess she had so recently been nude and sated in his bed. He shouldn’t have been so coarse with her and well he knew it, but he’d been consumed, too caught up to control himself. Her cheeks were flushed, the sole sign of any discomposure on her part.
“Father,” she exclaimed, her voice tinged with a vibrant affection that would have made him jealous indeed had she addressed any other man.
He was so distracted by drinking in the sight of her that he nearly forgot to stand. Damn it, what was wrong with him? He stood a full half minute after Whitney swept from his chair and met Clara halfway across the study, clasping her to him in an undignified embrace that spoke to the depths of his love.
Julian fought the urge to look away from the unabashed display. He was not familiar with such unfettered emotion and it made him deuced uncomfortable. He was quite certain that neither his mother nor his harsh bastard of a father had ever treated him with a tenth of the adoration Clara’s father so freely showered upon her.
“Clara darlin’.” Whitney’s drawl was infinitely more pronounced as he stepped back, appearing to remember himself. He surveyed Clara as if inspecting her for a sign of ill treatment. “Are you well?”
Clara’s gaze slipped to Julian’s for a moment, and he felt the clash as keenly as he would her touch. The glittering depths of her blue eyes spoke of the abruptness of their last meeting in his chamber. He had been cold to her. Had spilled his seed on her as if he were no better than a rutting animal. And she—regal, elegant, and lovely—shehad accepted his every act. She had not questioned. Had not railed against him.
Had he told her all he could offer her was fucking? Suddenly he wondered if it were true. For how could she inspire such fierce feelings within him, the likes of which he’d never known? No other woman had ever made him feel the way Clara did: possessive, bewildered, helpless but to bask in the brilliance of her presence.
He’d never know what his wife read in his expression. Jesus, he liked to think she could read nothing at all, that he wasn’t a book pried open for her thorough inspection. But whatever the case, she turned back to her father with the air of a woman who had reached a decision.
“I’m very well, Father.” She bestowed a beatific smile upon Whitney and embraced him yet again. “How are you and Lady Bella and Virginia? I must confess that I’ve missed you.”
He felt like an interloper in his own home as he awkwardly watched the tableau before him. Never had he even heard his wife speak with such a soft, lilting drawl. And she’d yet to acknowledge him, a slight that was perhaps unintentional but nevertheless unmissed.
“As I’ve missed you, my dear daughter.” Genuine emotion marked Whitney’s low voice. He stepped away from her then, clearing his throat to ward away what sounded like deep sentiment.
By God, was the devil…weeping? Julian found himself straining closer, longing to see the pistol-wielding, threat-issuing American brought to his knees. And wasn’t that the best bloody joke of them all, one man laid low by Clara hoping that his nemesis was as well?
Hellfire, he was a wreck. Perhaps the blows he’d taken to the head had rendered him prone to madness. Yes, surely that was the explanation for the confounding round of emotions churning through him now.Emotions.From a man who’d believed he no longer had the capacity to sustain them. What irony.
“Oh, Father.” Clara said in soft tones, her smile warm and indulgent. “I’m not far from you here. You’re always welcome in our home. Is that not true, Lord Ravenscroft?”
Her vivid eyes pinned him once again, bringing him back into the conversation as though he’d just stepped into the room for the first time. He gathered his faculties, took a breath. It wouldn’t do to appear undone or affected before Clara. And most especially not before her violent hound of a father. He was the Earl of Ravenscroft. He’d fashioned apathy into an art form.
“Of course, my lady.” He kept his tone as mild as possible given the wildness of his inner thoughts. With great effort, he smiled at Jesse Whitney, who watched him now with the careful air of a man who’d just spotted a rattler in his path and sought how best to distract him to avoid being bitten. “Mr. Whitney, we would be humbled if you and Mrs. Whitney would join us for dinner in the upcoming weeks. Lady Ravenscroft will send a formal invitation, of course.”
The pleased smile Clara sent his way was worth the pride he had to swallow to invite the man to dinner. There was something about Jesse Whitney that went against the grain. The man didn’t like him, didn’t trust him. Part of Julian couldn’t blame him. Part of him wanted to prove him wrong.
“We would be happy to accept I’m sure,” Whitney said easily, sparing Julian half a glance before looking back upon Clara. “Clara, daughter. Might I have a word alone with you?”
Clara’s eyes swung from him to her father. Julian felt his face settling into a familiar mask. Here was a new experience. No one had ever before forced him to vacate his own study, threadbare and dilapidated though it was. Indeed, he’d come frighteningly near to being evicted from the entire home, but that danger was now a thing of the past. Still, he supposed there was a first for everything, and being dismissed from his inner sanctum was certainly that.
“My lord?” she asked, her gaze questioning. Probing. Seeing more than he damn well wanted her to see.
The truth of it was that she didn’t need to ask him permission. He was not her bloody gaoler. Unable to keep the twist of self-derision from his smile, he bowed with as much formal elegance as he could muster. “Of course, my lady. Pray excuse me. I find I’ve important matters to attend elsewhere.”
Another bow and he stalked from his study, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. But just as soon as he asked himself the question, he’d already acquired the answer. Clara. His little dove. Hiswife, damn it. She’d changed everything. She’d even begun to change him.
But one thing remained the same. Her oaf of a father could still bloody well go straight to hell. As he stalked from the chamber, Julian comforted himself with that thought.
Clara tried not to flinch at the sound of Julian slamming the study door. She wished, not for the first time, that she was able to read his shuttered expression and grim gaze with absolute certainty. She thought she’d seen a hint of concern, a spark of caring. Along with something else. The rigid set of his jaw bespoke…what? Irritation? Dissatisfaction?
So much of Ravenscroft remained an enigma to her. At the moment, he was doing his best to keep her at arm’s length. But persistence had always been one of her best qualities. She could meet his determination with some of her own.
