Page 53 of A Devil in Silk
“I’ll not hear another word against Miss Dalton.” His voice cut through hers like sharpened steel. “She has suffered more than most and deserves your praise for her fortitude, not your condemnation.”
The colour drained from her cheeks. “Please tell me you’re not in love with her. She’s a walking tragedy. You need a strong companion, not a flighty girl who falls off horses and scowls at the world as if it’s to blame.”
Clara rarely scowled at him—not anymore. She sighed against his lips, panted whenever they were within feet of each other. She laughed, she smiled, she cried, and somehow, he found comfort in it all.
“This will cause Sarah no end of embarrassment.” His mother rose stiffly, folded the blanket with deliberate care, kissed it, and laid it in the crib. She turned to him, her eyes hard. “You’ve humiliated this family in ways I didn’t think possible. I have never been more ashamed.”
Something inside him snapped.
Nothing he said or did was ever good enough. Every pain his mother had endured, she seemed intent on inflicting on him.And though he knew her bitterness wasn’t his fault, it cut deeper than he cared to admit.
“What will it take for you to consider my happiness?” he said, his voice breaking on the last word. “The loss of my leg? A lead ball between my brows? Must I lie dead in a casket before you finally see me?”
His mother recoiled as though struck. “Don’t be absurd. Of course I see you. I’ve only ever wanted what’s best for you.”
“No, you want what’s best foryou.” The ache in his chest felt raw now he’d acknowledged the wound. “You’ve lost so much, you’re terrified of losing me too. So you wield your words like a shepherd’s crook, herding me into a pen you think will keep me safe.”
She clutched her throat, tears welling in her eyes. “What’s come over you? Why are you saying these cruel things?”
“Because I’m dying inside and you’re too blind to notice.”
She stood frozen in her shock.
Silence stretched between them as wide as a chasm.
He wished she would cross it, wished she’d pull him into an embrace and tell him he was wrong. But she only blinked hard against the tears, then turned to the door.
Her hand lingered on the handle. “I’m sorry I’m not the mother you need or want. If life has taught me anything, it’s that I’m far from perfect.”
And then she was gone, leaving him alone in the nursery, the faint scent of her perfume the only proof she’d been there.
Chapter Eleven
The King’s Theatre
Charles Street, Haymarket
Clara had worn red.
A rich red, the silk catching the glow of the chandeliers as she moved through the foyer of the King’s Theatre. The gown’s fitted bodice hugged her waist, encouraging her to keep a straight posture. Sadly, the choker of pearls at her throat, on loan from the Countess of Berridge, did little to detract from her crimson eye patch.
The velvet accessory concealed her left eye in a look both daring and defiant. Still, the hordes stared. She gripped her slender fan like a lame man might cling to a crutch, though it did nothing to steady her trembling knees.
“We’ll move to the private retiring room attached to my box,” the Marquess of Rothley said, noting the sting of a hundred curious glances darting Clara’s way. “Far from prying eyes.”
“Agreed. As I own the vowels of half the men here,” the Earl of Berridge began drily, “I’d rather not risk anyone slippingpoison into my claret.” He turned to Clara, studying her with his dark, compelling gaze. “They say Lavinia Nightshade died much the same way.”
“The investigation is still ongoing.” Yet her mind wandered, not to suspects or motives, but to Bentley and the warmth of his mouth rather than the words whispered at the seance.
She pictured him now, alone with his brandy, dreaming up ever bolder challenges for his private list. He had caressed her scar, kissed her wildly as the wind whipped their hair; days later, he had kissed her again, with such slow, exquisite intent that every part of her still ached.
Lately, she thought more about his list than her own, almost desperate to know what he wanted to do to her next.
“We’ll visit the ladies’ retiring room and join you upstairs.” The countess threaded her arm through Clara’s, giving her a gentle but insistent tug. “We’ll be ten minutes, no more.”
The earl was quick to offer a word of caution. “If any of these imbeciles dare approach you, begging for clemency, remind them they’ll be dealing with me.”
The countess arched a perfect brow. “Only a man with a death wish would cross you, my darling.”
