Then Arthur had to walk in and spoil everything. “What in heavens name are you two doing? Clary, the man came here to woo you, not listen to a concert. Lord Whitcomb, I apologize for my sister. She has no manners at all sometimes. I cannot believe she had the cheek to start banging away at her instrument when she should be acting the gracious hostess.”
Lord Whitcomb cleared his throat. “Actually, I was quite enjoying her singing. I had no idea she was so talented.”
His words sent blood rushing to her cheeks.
“Don’t go complimenting her, my lord. You’ll only give her a big head, and it’s quite large enough already.”
“Arthur!” And he was accusingherof lacking manners? She stood and rushed to Lord Whitcomb’s side, looping her arm through his. “Tell Lord Whitcomb you didn’t mean it, right this minute.”
Lord Whitcomb placed his hand over hers, setting her heart aflutter. “Lady Clarissa, your song was lovely, but I don’t think it’s wise for us to be so familiar. I haven’t even spoken to your father yet.” If she wasn’t mistaken, there was a hint of regret in his eyes as he gently nudged her fingers from his forearm.
With a sigh, Clarissa let her hands fall to her sides.
“Speaking of Papa,” said Arthur, “he’s ready to see you now, my lord. I’ll take you to him.” Her brother gestured toward the door, inviting Lord Whitcomb to follow.
Lord Whitcomb bowed his head toward her. “If you’ll excuse me, my lady.” He backed away and followed Arthur. But just before he disappeared from view, he glanced back. A hint of a smile twitched upon his lips, and amusement twinkled in his eyes. Then he appeared to catch himself and turned away, his stony façade restored
Left alone in the drawing room, Clarissa let out her breath slowly. Spending time in Lord Whitcomb’s presence had left her all in a dither. One moment, she was nearly ready to give up on cracking the ice of his demeanor, and the next, he warmed her heart with some telling gesture that made her heart skip a beat.
He reminded her of Arthur’s cat, Fitzwilliam, who fled her presence every time she tried to approach him but curled up in her lap when she least expected it. Unfortunately, she herself was more like Papa’s retriever, Lady—eager to a fault and loyal beyond all reason. How could two such different people make a successful match?
Oh, la!It wouldn’t do to start doubting Mrs. Dove-Lyon now. Her intended was speaking to Papa that very moment. Before the month was out, she would be Lady Whitcomb. Lady Clarissa Whitcomb. No one needed to know that she’d covered three entire pages with her married name just that morning.
But now her strategy to that happy end was clear: to win her taciturn husband’s heart, she would have to rein in her natural urges and let him come to her instead of pouncing on him at every opportunity. They might have been chalk and cheese to start, but she would find a way to bridge the chasm between them. She had always had a way with wounded creatures. With careful care and tending, her wounded husband would come around too. He had to. She had her heart set on it.
Chapter 5
With a leaden heart, David plodded down the hall of the duke’s townhouse, following the butler after the interview with His Grace. The duke had been very generous indeed with Lady Clarissa’s dowry, and it turned out that Clarissa also had a significant inheritance from her great-aunt that included a London townhouse and a thriving estate in Kent. She could live quite comfortably on her own once they parted ways, and David’s financial woes were at an end, filling him with guilt-tinged relief. But the duke had been every bit as stern about her future as David would have expected.
“I can’t order a man to fall in love. That would be absurd. But I do expect you to approach this with an open mind and heart. Clarissa’s spirit may appear indomitable, but she falls all the harder because of it. I can’t force your regard for my daughter, but I do expect you to refrain from hurting her. She’s been through quite enough already.” The duke’s words looped in his mind and twisted in his gut, as did the lingering memory of Clarissa’s sweet voice and dangerously beguiling touch.
The scent of lemon and bergamot stole into his awareness, as if summoned by his thoughts, and a moment later, the object of his distress looped her hand through his arm. “I’m so glad I caught you before you left. Might we take a turn around the garden? I’d like a word.”
He opened his mouth to object, but she patted his arm. “Don’t worry. Mama said she’d keep an eye on us from the library window, though it’s not as if my reputation could be ruined any further than it already is.” Her smile tightened with her final words. Perhaps her good cheer did have limits, after all.
He felt for her. Truly he did. Her plight was so pitiable that he would have to have been heartless not to. And she wasso beautiful and vivacious it made his heart ache with longing. Beyond that, her musical talent left him breathless and full of yearning. It was going to be difficult to stop Timothy from falling in love with her, for David knew he would. Truly, any man would be lucky to win her affection. But he could not give her what she wanted, and it would have been cruel to mislead her. “Yes. Perhaps we should have a word.”
They made their way into an elegant garden where paths were lined with low box hedges, a living border around a riot of vivid tulips in reds, oranges and yellows. At the center, a fountain tinkled as birds bathed and chirped in their merriment. It was altogether far too romantic a setting for his taste, and they were quite alone. He peered desperately at the house windows for any sign of the duchess and saw none.
“Won’t all these flowers make you sneeze?” He didn’t have another handkerchief to give her.
“The gardener only plants flowers that don’t bother me, so we’re safe here.”
Thank heavens!“I’ll have to consult him about any changes I should make to my own garden before you move into my townhouse. I want you to be comfortable for the duration of your stay.” It wouldn’t do for her to have a sneezing fit every time she wanted some fresh air.
“That’s very kind of you.” She squeezed his arm as they passed a patch of daffodils, sending distracting tingles up his arm. “Lord Whitcomb, I wanted to apologize to you.”
He stopped and stared at her. “Apologize? For what?”
“For forcing you into a marriage you do not want.” The contrite look in her eyes melted his wavering defenses.
He turned and faced her, catching both her hands in his before he could stop himself. “Mrs. Dove-Lyon is forcing me to marry, not you. I’m certain if you had rejected me, she wouldhave matched me with someone else before the week was out. I don’t have the means to pay my brother’s debts any other way.”
He had thought it through at length the night before. There was no other path out of this predicament, and Clarissa was a great deal more palatable as a partner than many of the other women of the ton. She might have been a bit daft when it came to romance, but she wasn’t petty, selfish, or cruel, at least not that he had seen so far. And she was undeniably lovely, much though his attraction worried him. Not to mention rich. Most men in his place would have been grateful for their good fortune. “I wish to reach an understanding with you about how we’ll proceed.”
“Yes, I quite agree.” She pressed his hands and stepped closer, much to his dismay. “I’m not ready to give up hope that we’ll fall madly in love, but I will concede that we must be friends first. Either way, I do not wish to start this union at odds.”
Her unwavering interest in a cynical widower at least ten years her senior was flattering, to say the least. From what her father had said, Clarissa was only nineteen, and David was about to turn thirty. But her confidence gave her a maturity beyond her years, and her sweet scent addled his head with thoughts he hadn’thadin years.
