Yearn Read Free Page B

distance in a window seat, theoretically absorbed in her embroidery. It was not an atmosphere conducive to either whispered confessions or confrontation. D’Arcy cleared his throat nervously. “I find that I now face potential professional catastrophe, one that could prevent me from being able to support you in the manner to which you are accustomed once we are married.”
    â€œOh goodness”—Clementine yawned prettily, displaying rows of pearly white little teeth—“it does sound tiresome. What kind of catastrophe? I thought you had finally finished with the great heroic literary tome you had embarked upon.”
    For a moment it occurred to D’Arcy that if his fiancée hadn’t been so imbued with both beauty and youth, he might care for her personality a little less, but like a cloud passing over the sun this observation was quickly lost and forgotten. “I have told you the subject of my biography, have I not?” he inquired dryly.
    â€œYou have, the extraordinary adventures and life of one Joseph Hanks, I believe,” she replied, now fanning herself. “The heat today is quite remarkable, remarkable and tiresome. But my love, you’d think if Mr. Hanks was so extraordinary he would have had at least two surnames and a title.”
    Really, D’Arcy thought to himself, if her lips weren’t quite as red, her skin quite as pale, and if those blond tendrils that framed that catlike face not quite so perfect, he might have taken her for being petulant and perhaps even a little stupid. On the other hand, he was comforted by the observation that if she couldn’t even remember the name correctly, she was surely unlikely to have passed on the subject of his biography to her uncle.
    â€œHis name was Banks, Sir Joseph Banks, and he was, by the time of his death, one of the most significant English figures in science of his times, my dear. But I’m sure such details will only give your pretty head an ache, insignificant as he is in your delightfully girlish world, Clementine.” Indeed, it was the seeming purity of the trivia of this world that had attracted D’Arcy to Clementine in the first place. Although lately, to his faint amazement, he’d been finding her lack of intellectual curiosity an irritant. “However, you wouldn’t by any possible chance have told your uncle Horace about my biography? Mentioned Joseph Banks and my name in the same sentence, for example?” he asked, studying his fiancée’s face closely. Clementine’s expression appeared unchanged, although if our young biographer had been a little less infatuated and a little more astute, he might have noticed her fingers tightening around the handle of her lace fan.
    â€œNow, why would I do that? I hardly see my uncle, and certainly not alone,” she protested, now waving her fan furiously at one flushed cheek.
    â€œBut you mentioned he escorted you to Ascot only last week!”
    â€œHe did? I had quite forgotten.”
    â€œJust as you might have forgotten mentioning to him that I was writing the definitive biography of Sir Joseph Banks!” D’Arcy, unable to contain his frustration any longer, exploded. Behind him he heard the sound of Clementine’s aged escort dropping her embroidery; it hit the parquet floor with a clatter.
    Clementine’s large blue eyes seemed to magnify as they filled with tears. “I am sure I have not!” she protested. It was the first time in their two years of official engagement that either of them had raised their voices to each other and already D’Arcy was filled with remorse.
    He edged forward and took her trembling hands in his own. “You have to understand, Clementine, that not everyone is as innocent and without guile as yourself. Your uncle and I have a history that I have tried to explain before. We are in commercial competition. I am Brutus to his Caesar.”
    â€œYou mean to kill