Page 16 of Betting on a Duke
Leticia exhaled as she leaned against the squabs. “I felt something. I know we just met, but I felt as though I could see into his soul and he into mine. It was disconcerting, peculiar, and welcoming all at the same time.” She looked at her, her eyes questioning. “Do you believe he will call upon me?”
“Greyson appears to be a man of his word, although I can’t say for sure. What I do know is that he’s a good brother to be his sisters’ chaperone.”
“Are his parents still alive?”
Clarice tried to remember what she knew about Greyson, but she couldn’t think of anything. “I don’t know about his mother. Except if his father had passed, he would no longer be Viscount Greyson, but the Earl of Danbury.”
Leticia closed her eyes. “It doesn’t matter. When he pays me a call, I’m sure he’ll tell me all about his family.” Without opening her eyes, she asked, “Do you think Stanton will call on you?”
That was a good question, and one she couldn’t answer. But deep down, where she once knew everything about Samuel, she knew he would come. They had unfinished things to discuss. Her insides tightened. She wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight either.
And true to what she thought during the carriage ride home, she lay on the chaise longue in her chambers with a light blanket over her, dressed in her night rail, wide awake. Well, her mind was alert, but her body was exhausted. She wasn’t used to such late hours. As she lay restless, visions of Samuel haunted her. Visions of when they were young. And when her memories arrived on the day they last saw each other, tears trickled down her cheeks.
It was the most wonderful day of her life, until it wasn’t.
The day he proposed.
The day they believed their fathers were negotiating a marriage contract.
The day they made love under a tree and held each other as they rested in the shade.
The day they both believed would be the start of a happy life together, only to have everything they thought and believed ripped away from them. Their united hearts were torn apart and shredded because of her selfish father. How Samuel must hate her father—and her. Except he said tonight that he didn’t hate her. Perhaps he didn’t anymore, but he must have then.
Not that she deserved his hatred, pity more like. She often wondered—well, more than often, more like daily—what Samuel thought about her being married to Chesterfield. An old man. A mean, nasty, resentful old man. He had hated most everyone except for a handful of friends and the world because his first wife, whom he had loved more than life itself, died in childbirth. Their premature and unthriving infant son had died five days later. His second wife, whom he said he’d cared for, had died from a fever. And then came Clarice. He despised her. He loathed everything she represented. Youth, vitality, andfertility, yet not when it came to his seed.
Someday, she would need to have a serious conversation with Samuel.
Her eyes fluttered shut, and her breathing slowed as she drifted into a sleep filled with memories of the past.
She trembled as his loud footsteps stomped closer and closer to her chambers. It was her wedding night to the Marquess of Chesterfield, and she dreaded what was to come. With the help of her new, stern-faced, middle-aged maid, Mrs. Johnson, she was bathed, perfumed from head to toe, and dressed in a see-through, light-blue night rail and matching robe. She had to force her arms to stay by her sides instead of crossing them over her chest.
“My lady, sit on the end of the bed and await his lordship.”
The maid left, and Clarice, on wobbly legs, eased onto the mattress. The time had come to face her husband. Would he know she wasn’t a virgin? More importantly, what would he do if he found out? Just as nerves made her skin crawl, he burst into her chambers from the corridor, shut the door, and leaned against it. His eyes made contact with hers, and she shivered from his icy stare. Her husband, though seventy years old, stood tall and large, with a shockingly enormous amount of snow-white hair. He was opposing and frightening.
“Before we get down to business, I have one question to ask you, and if you lie, I will know. So, for your own good, I suggest you be honest. I don’t take kindly to liars, and you’ll find out soon enough what I mean if you lie. Did Lord Samuel Radcliff take your maidenhead?”
Her entire body shook upon hearing his question. She wanted to lie. But she could tell by the look in his eyes and the words he spoke that she would be wise to speak the truth. Best to face his wrath after admitting to the truth than to face it later. She looked him right in the eye and said one word, “Yes.” And she was shocked that the hatred she witnessed in his eyes could intensify.
“How long ago?” he demanded as he gripped her upper arm painfully.
“Th-three weeks,” she stuttered.
“Have you bled?” he bellowed.
“N-n-no.”
“I will not bed you until you bleed. No bastard of Lord Radcliff’s will inherit my title and lands. When you bleed, Mrs. Johnson will inform me. If you don’t bleed, God help you.”
“Wait!” Clarice cried out as she sat up, gasping for air and her heart pounding inside her chest. When she realized where she was, she flopped back onto the chaise longue and tried to calm her out-of-control emotions. She’d dreamed about this memory before, but tonight it felt like it was happening all over again. As if tonight were her wedding night to Chesterfield. Sometimes she felt he haunted her from his grave, even if she didn’t believe in such nonsense. Although, this was his house. She was an intruder, so maybe hewashaunting her.
The new Marquess of Chesterfield couldn’t get there fast enough.
Maybe she’d dreamed of her wedding night because of the guilt plaguing her after seeing Samuel. She had kept a terrible secret from him. If he didn’t hate her now, he certainly would when he found out. Not that she’d had any control over what had happened. Chesterfield had ensured she was punished in the worst way possible, and he had enjoyed watching her go almost insane with grief. She might marry again, but she would never give that kind of control over to another man ever again.
