Falling for the Marquess - Julianne MacLean Page 0,33

had removed that particular instinct from his repertoire and chose to offer a different sort of pleasure altogether. He was renowned for it, and the women with whom he associated rarely expected anything outside of that infamous reputation. They knew the rules, knew what he could give them, and most of them accepted it quite happily without making the mistake of asking for more.

Because he always made it very clear he would not give them more.

Wouldn’t or couldn’t?

He took a small breath. He wasn’t sure. It seemed like he had always been isolated. Emotionally removed from everyone—from society, his family, his acquaintances. He’d never had any brothers or sisters.

Was his lifestyle really by choice, or was he incapable of intimacy?

No, he could not be incapable of it. He had loved once, very deeply.

But only once. Eight years ago, when he had been devoted to Daphne.

Was it possible for a man to permanently banish from his heart the capacity for true emotional connections with other people?

Seger exhaled and shook his head. How many times over the past few weeks had he questioned his lifestyle and remembered Daphne? He hadn’t thought of her in years, but lately, their relationship had been coming back to him in little flashes of memory.

Perhaps it was the way Miss Wilson made him feel. She, like Daphne, possessed innocence, and consequently whatever existed between them was fresh, not sordid as most of his relationships had been since Daphne left this world.

Suddenly, he felt dissatisfied with everything about his life. He remembered the things he had wanted when he was twenty, and how eager he had been to become someone’s husband. He had wanted Daphne to be his partner for life, to share his joys and pains. He’d wanted a home filled with children.

He sat in silence, staring unseeing out the window at the passing traffic, barely hearing the clatter of the coach or the noise from the street. He had not wanted anything like that since then. He had given the idea of marriage a very wide berth.

Seger tipped his head back against the seat. Daphne disappeared from his mind.

Instead he thought of Miss Wilson sitting in the duchess’s drawing room across from him only moments ago, sipping her tea. What a vision she had been, beautiful and charming and glowing with smiles. Intelligent as well, discussing light politics and other things. She was a remarkable woman, and she inflamed his senses like no other. She possessed some kind of magic. A power that he feared could bring him to his knees.

Strange, how he feared it and wanted it at the same time.

Then he thought of Clara reading the last letter he had sent. He imagined how she had comprehended his promise not to ruin her. I know how to give pleasure without destruction. What was her expression when she’d read such licentious words? Surely no gentleman had ever written anything like that to her before.

He felt a sudden urge to apologize—a strange and extraordinary impulse for Seger, who had written similar things to other women in the past and never thought twice about it. It was a jarring reaction now. He wished he could take the letter back. He wished he could start over where she was concerned and handle everything differently. More politely.

Those thoughts brought a frown to his face.

Wearing a low cut, royal blue velvet gown and feathers in her hair, Clara walked into the large opera box with James, Sophia, and Mrs. Gunther. Before she sat down, she glanced at the brightly lit theater below. People were filing into rows, taking their seats. A hum of conversation filled the auditorium while the orchestra warmed up with a dissonant array of violins, flutes and trumpets, all practicing scales.

Many seats below were still empty. Clara gazed across to the other side where the more luxurious boxes were filling up. She found herself staring at every fair-haired man who caught her eye, searching for one in particular.

“It’s quite a magnificent theater,” Mrs. Gunther said as she sat down and withdrew her mother-of-pearl opera glasses from her beaded reticule. She held them up to her eyes to examine the elaborate set on the stage.

Clara sat down as well, while Sophia and James remained standing at the back near the open curtain, conversing with someone.

It had been a full week since Clara had seen or heard from Lord Rawdon, and she was desperate to know why. She had not responded to his last letter, taking a chance that