Candice Hern (27 page)

And she vividly recalled her lover's smell, the one that had lingered on the bed linens, and on her skin, long after he'd gone. It had been a seductively musky and masculine scent laced with a hint of bay rum. She remembered it distinctly.

Her eyes flew open.
Oh, my God
. She knew that scent. She knew it. She had just inhaled it again not five minutes ago.

Adam!

He had broad shoulders and longish hair. She'd seen a hint of chest hair whenever he'd removed his cravat in her sitting room. His stomach was flat. And the scent was unmistakable.

Adam! Adam was her secret lover.

She closed her eyes and sighed. Adam. The lover she'd always dreamed about. The man with whom she'd had a platonic friendship for years, but whose touch had recently sent her senses reeling. The one man above all others who she had secretly wished could be her lover.

Adam. Adam. Adam.

She clasped a hand to her breast and stifled a little cry.

It had been Adam, not some stranger, who'd taken her to such heights of passion. Adam who had touched her in ways she'd never imagined. Adam who had made sure it was all about her, all
for
her, who had taken time to insure she experienced the full extent of physical intimacy.

Because Adam knew the truth. He'd known what she'd never had, and he made sure to give it to her.

Oh, Adam. Thank God it was he and no other. The man she most trusted. Her dearest friend.

The bloody scoundrel!

How could he! How could he have done such a thing to her? He was soon to be married to Clarissa. He and Marianne could never be lovers. He knew that. Why had he done it, then? Despite the tension that had lately charged the very air between them, he had known it could never be. Is that why he'd crept into her bed in the dark and pretended to be someone else? Because he knew she would never have accepted him any other way?

She recalled all his teasing about how he would have been glad to be her lover if he hadn't become engaged to Clarissa. Had it never really been teasing at all? Had he wanted her all along? If so, then why the devil hadn't he told her? She would have opened her arms to him in an instant if she'd ever thought he wanted her.

It was all beginning to make sense now. From the beginning, he had made clear his disapproval of her plan to find a lover. Was it because he wanted her for himself? Even though he could not have her? With the exception of Julian, every other potential lover had been eliminated for one reason or another. Had Adam been behind it all? Good Lord, had he even been responsible for Julian's accident?

How dare he! What made him think he could interfere with her life like that? What gave him the right to deny her the opportunity to explore physical passion with another man?

And worse. Rather than allow another man to make love to her, he disabled the poor fellow and took his place. Pretended to be someone else.

He must have known she would discover the truth as soon as she learned about Lord Julian's accident. And then what? Was she to thank him for giving her such pleasure? Even knowing she would never be able to experience it with him again? Was she to thank him for breaking her heart and betraying Clarissa?

A wave of sheer fury swept over her. Marianne was half tempted to tell the driver to turn the carriage around and return to Ossing. She wanted to take Adam out to the archery range and make him stand there like Saint Sebastian while she shot him full of arrows. Or maybe she would push him down the stairs where he had stood and listened to her confession to the Merry Widows, no doubt gloating every time she mentioned how wonderful his lovemaking had been. Or maybe she would wait until he returned to London, leap over the damned balcony, and wring his interfering neck.

Clearly, she was too enraged to face him now. She had to consider what to do.

Marianne stared out the window, too angry and confused to appreciate the scenery. She simply could not believe what Adam had done. And she remembered
everything
he'd done. She closed her eyes and relived every touch, every kiss. He'd given her such glorious pleasure. Perhaps she
should
thank him for that. And despite her anger, it was a huge relief to know it had been Adam and not some stranger to witness her total abandon. When all was said and done, she was glad it had been Adam and none other.

When she considered the efforts he'd made to keep other men from her bed, she had to admit it was rather sweet. In an irritating sort of way.

Blast the man. Her head was spinning with conflicting emotions. Anger at his deception. Relief that it had been Adam and not Sir Neville or anyone else. Aggravation at his interference in her life. Gratitude that he had shown her such pleasure. Wicked delight that he had gone to such trouble to eliminate all those other men as potential lovers. And heartbreaking regret that he had given her one night that could never be repeated.

It had been a good decision to leave Ossing. Assuming the house party continued without Julian, she would not see Adam again for several days. She needed that time alone. She had to think.

She wiped away a tear as she stared out the carriage window.

Oh, Adam. What have you done to me?

* * *

Adam did not return to the house. His heart was crumbling into bits and he could not be sure he would not burst into unmanly tears. He wandered off into the gardens instead. Not the formally planted ones with paths and such, where he might run into one of the guests out for an early stroll. He headed for the thickest grove of trees, where no one else was likely to be found.

He should not have kissed her. It only made everything worse. But she had said good-bye and was about to leave his life forever. He had reached for her desperately, without thinking.

Last night, when he'd held her naked in his arms, he had known, finally and without a doubt, that he was in love with Marianne. Everything in his life had fallen into place with blinding clarity in the darkness of that curtained bed. He knew now that the envy he'd felt for David all those years was not only for his seemingly perfect marriage. It was for his wife. Adam knew that he had never had a serious relationship with a woman because he'd compared them all with Marianne and they had come up short. He'd continued climbing that balcony not to conjure up memories of David, but because he wanted to be with Marianne.

How could he have denied such an obvious truth for so long?

And now she was gone. He would not see her again for a very, very long time. If ever. Punishment, indeed.

Adam walked through the trees for a long while, girding himself for the new life ahead with Clarissa, locking away a bit of Marianne with each step. She was firmly in the past and must be packed away and put aside, like toys in the attic. Clarissa was his future. And Dorset.

He could do it. He could. He conjured up images of Clarissa's beautiful face and the way her body had felt when nuzzled up against his when he'd taught her how to use the bow and arrow. He thought of her sweet innocence and her biddable nature. They would forge a life together, and he would do everything in his power to make her happy.

He walked and walked, thinking of fair Clarissa and banishing Marianne forever to a hidden, forgotten corner of his heart. He did not head back toward the house until he was confident that he could face Clarissa and the other guests with reasonable sangfroid. He had no idea where he was and it took some time before he found a familiar path and made his way back.

There was no footman at the entrance and he let himself in. The grand entry hall with its high ceiling and marble floors picked up sound from all over the house and amplified it. Just now, the room was filled with the echo of raised voices. He could not tell whose voices they were or where they came from. A door slammed. Running footsteps sounded somewhere above.

What the devil was going on?

Adam climbed the main staircase to the first floor. He caught sight of Lady Troutbeck as she walked from the drawing room into one of the small salons with a comforting arm around a distraught Lady Presteign. Miss Jane Stillman, her eyes red from crying, came bounding down the stairs from the second floor and continued past him to the ground floor. Adam heard the echo of her slippers on the marble tile of the entry hall below as she ran through, then the sound of the front door opening and closing.

Good Lord. Had Sherwood taken a turn for the worse? Is that why the ladies were so upset? Oh, please, not that. Adam was weighed down with more than enough guilt already, for Sherwood and Marianne and Clarissa. If it turned out that he'd actually killed Sherwood, he did not know what he would do.

Mrs. Forrester and Mrs. Marlowe came out of the drawing room together. Both gave him a queer look, then rushed past him. Lord Ingleby was the next one to exit the drawing room. His eyes widened when he saw Adam. He cleared his throat nervously.

"Bad doings, old chap," he said. "Devilish bad." He gave Adam a sympathetic clap on the shoulder and walked on.

Oh, God. It
must
be Sherwood. The poor fellow must have died.

He headed for the drawing room, where all the activity seemed to be, in hopes of discovering what had happened. A buzz of conversation grew louder as he approached. When he entered the room, all talk ceased and a heavy silence fell. A dozen pairs of eyes studied him — some with interest, some with sympathy, some with suppressed excitement.

"Good afternoon," he said to the room at large.

Several muttered greetings were returned.

"I am wondering," he said, "if someone can –
oomph
!"

Rochdale had grabbed him by the arm and was literally pulling him to the door. "What the —"

"Quiet," Rochdale said. "Just follow me and don't say a word."

He pulled him into a smaller salon where Lady Presteign and Lady Troutbeck sat together on a settee. Lady Presteign held a cloth to her forehead with one hand and a vinaigrette in the other. Rochdale tugged him along past them into the next room. Even though it was empty, Rochdale did not stop until they reached the third salon. He closed the doors at both ends, then flung himself into a delicate-looking French armchair. He stretched out his long legs and wrapped his hands behind his head, elbows akimbo.

"What the devil is going on?" Adam asked. He was too concerned about the answer to be seated. He stood in front of the fireplace and glared at his friend. "Has ... has something happened to Sherwood?"

Rochdale eyed him quizzically. "And where have you been that you don't know?"

"Out walking. I've just returned." He glanced at the mantel clock and realized he'd been gone for hours. He steeled himself for some wretched piece of news that would add to his troubles. "Now, please tell me what has happened."

Rochdale leaned back, supremely at ease, and flashed one of his devilish grins. "I would have to say that all hell has broken loose, that's what."

The look on his friend's face did not signal a tragedy. Adam breathed a quiet sigh of relief. "What are you talking about?"

"My dear fellow, it seems your fiancée has betrayed you."

"What? Clarissa?" It was the last thing he'd expected to hear.

"Sit down, old boy. It's quite a story. I think you might enjoy it."

"I don't want to sit down. Just tell me what happened, for God's sake."

"It seems, my friend, that your bride-to-be has created something of a scandal. Our stiff-rumped hostess actually fell into a swoon."

"A scandal?"

"Yes. It seems the fair Clarissa has long harbored a secret tendre for our host. They grew up in each other's pockets, or some such thing. Anyway, she's apparently been in love with the fellow for years."

"Dear God. She's in love with Sherwood?"

"So I am told. Bit of a wound to your pride, eh, Cazenove?"

"Damnation," Adam said, and sank into the nearest chair. This was too much to take in while standing. "Go on."

"Yes, well, it appears Miss Stillman knew of Clarissa's affection for Sherwood. Last night, the commotion of getting the chap to his room roused her, and she poked her inquisitive head out her door to see what the noise was all about. Saw Sherwood with his bandaged head and bloody shirt and thought he'd been killed. Good friend that she is, she rushed to your fiancée's room to tell her the sad news. And I am sorry to report that your Clarissa lost all sense of propriety."

"Oh, no. Don't tell me she —"

"She did, by Jove." The wicked grin widened. "Rushed to his bedside and kept vigil all night, her dainty hand clasping his the whole time."

Adam heaved a sigh. The silly little chit. "And I suppose she fell asleep there."

"How ever did you guess?" Rochdale chuckled gleefully. "Our esteemed hostess decided to look in on her poor injured brother this morning, and was shocked — nay, scandalized — to find your Clarissa sound asleep with her head resting on the bed and her hand still clasping that of her one true love. Sorry, old chap, but that would be Sherwood's hand, not yours. Shocking, ain't it? But I have a sneaking suspicion your own hand was busy clasping someone else's, anyway."

Adam refused to rise to that bait. Neither Rochdale nor anyone else would pry that secret out of him. "And I suppose the scandalized Lady Presteign let her outrage be known to all and sundry."

"Screeched like a banshee. Must have been tough on poor old Sherwood with that great pounding lump on his head. Egad, that woman has lungs."

"So. Everyone knows." Adam shook his head in dismay. "That is why they all glared at me."

"Naturally. Anxious to see the reaction of the jilted bridegroom."

Adam raised his eyebrows. "
Have
I been jilted?"

"Ah, that is something you will have to ask the lady herself, I daresay. It is generally assumed, however, that she has transferred her affections to another. A sad story, but there you have it."

It was an incredible story. He could hardly believe it. He would never have imagined Clarissa was in love with someone else. Not that he expected her to be in love with
him
. He was actually rather glad she was not. But to know that all along she had loved Sherwood was quite a shock. And rather irritating. Why had the girl agreed to the betrothal to Adam when her affections were otherwise engaged? Why hadn't the wretched girl said something?