With a surreptitious tug, Clarissa adjusted her bodice, exaggerating the swell of her breasts over the trim of her neckline. Less than a week ago, she’d been horrified to wear a gown that revealed so much flesh. But if she wanted Christian to help her she had no choice. She had to make him fall in love with her using whatever tools were at her disposal, including her bosom.
Sighing, she shifted on the old trundle bed, trying to get comfortable—although most of her discomfort sprang from her guilty conscience. She hated that she had to be so ruthless. But Christian was the only person who could assist her in clearing Jeremy’s name, and clear it she would, no matter the cost. But first she had to entice him to disobey his orders and search for the information she needed. If she could transform his passing infatuation with her into something he believed was real, he might then be persuaded to help her.
There would be consequences when Christian learned the truth about her actions, but she couldn’t think about that now or she’d lose her nerve.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor of the attic, Christian glanced up from the battered trunk in front of him. Sunlight slanted through the window at the south end of the low-pitched room, gilding his thick hair with glints of amber and casting a glow over his rugged, handsome features. His heavy-lidded gaze skimmed over her figure, lingering on her breasts.
A forbidden thrill rippled through her. It didn’t matter how many silent scolds she gave herself every night as she tossed restlessly on her crisp linen sheets. Whenever he looked at her that way—whenever she remembered his impassioned kiss—her insides quivered.
He cast a lazy smile that made her want to purr like a kitten. “Did you say something, Clarissa?”
“Ah, no,” she replied. “I simply cleared my throat. It is rather dusty up here.”
He arched a brow and glanced around the tidy, well-dusted room that made up the attic of the Archer country manor, but forbore to comment on the idiocy of her remark.
“Would you like to go back downstairs?” he asked politely. “I’m beginning to suspect Lillian is leading us on a wild goose chase, although I can’t imagine why. I’m fairly certain that if there were love letters from Charles II to one of my ancestors, someone would have found them long before now.”
Clarissa choked back a dismayed groan. This was the first opportunity she’d had to get Christian truly alone since they’d arrived at Rosedell Manor yesterday. It was during the short journey into Kent that she’d hatched her desperate plan, but she could hardly launch it with Lillian sitting in the same carriage, right next to her brother. And since then, her friend had stuck to her like glue, clearly trying to distract her by telling one amusing story after another until Clarissa wanted to scream.
Fortunately, while they were lunching this afternoon, Lillian had mentioned an old family tale regarding an ancestral Lady Archer, and her association with the great Stuart king. Letters from the king had apparently survived, but no one had seen them in years. Lillian had mused that they were likely buried somewhere in the attic.
With an inspired flash born of desperation, Clarissa had asked Christian to help her search for the letters. Feigning a boldness that made her stomach hurt, she had pointedly neglected to include Lillian in her invitation. To her surprise, her friend had simply shrugged, claiming she had errands to run in the village.
Clarissa stared morosely at the whitewashed floorboards of the attic. Lillian would be furious that she was manipulating her beloved brother. God only knew if their friendship would even survive.
She sucked in a huge gulp of air as remorse squeezed her heart in an unforgiving grip. Christian looked up from a pile of documents in his lap.
“You need a rest,” he said, looking worried. “We can do this later, after you’ve had a nap.”
She scowled. “I’m not an old lady who needs her afternoon nap.”
A muscle pulsed in his cheek, and she could tell he was trying not to laugh.
“That’s what I’ve been saying all along, Ladybird. But, very well. Since you’re intent on doing this, why don’t you come over here and help me go through this bloody great trunk. It’s full of documents, although I have my doubts we’ll find any love letters.”
She started to comply when a better idea popped into her head. Sinking down onto the bed, she threw him what she hoped was a sultry look.
“You don’t really expect me to sit on the floor, do you? Why don’t you drag the trunk over here and sit on the bed beside me?” she said.
His chin jerked up, and he studied her for a long moment. She held her breath, hoping her smile didn’t look as false as it felt. God help her if he said no.
Relief coursed through her when he finally gave a slow nod and unfolded his long legs. He rose, then dragged the heavy trunk across the floor to the bed. He loomed over her, his face guarded, the wings of his eyebrows pulled together in an aggressive, masculine slash.
She patted the mattress and gave him an inviting smile. “Sit.”
He hesitated, then came down beside her, careful to keep several inches between them. The bed creaked, but the sturdy old frame accepted the added weight of his brawny physique.
“Now,” she murmured, “let’s see if we can find those love letters. If we do, perhaps I can read them to you.”
He blinked and a light flush glazed his cheekbones. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up,” he replied in a puzzled voice.
She wriggled across the mattress, closing the gap between them. He tensed, muscles flexing in his broad shoulders.
“But wouldn’t it be fun if we did?” she prattled, trying not to show her nervousness. “One can only imagine what the king wrote. He was apparently quite a romantic and imaginative lover.”
He shot her a startled glance. “Where the hell would you learn about something like that?”
For a moment, she forgot she was trying to seduce him.
“Really, Christian,” she huffed. “It’s not a secret that the king had several mistresses. And I was married, after all. I’m quite aware of what can happen in the bedchamber.”
Oh, Lord. She hadn’t meant to blurt that out. His eyes turned a smoky blue, and waves of heat raced under the confinement of her stays. Well, that was exactly the reaction she was hoping to elicit from him, wasn’t it?
“I’m sure you are,” he murmured. “But I never expected to hear you admit it.”
“I don’t see why not,” she said lightly. “We’re both adults.”
She leaned forward to peer inside the trunk, giving him a generous view of her breasts. She blushed, shocked by her own behavior, but she couldn’t suppress a niggle of excitement. And a surge of satisfaction when she heard the breath hitch in his throat.
Carefully removing a stack of papers, she gave him ample time to inspect her bosom before slowly straightening up. She turned to look at him, surprised to find she was beginning to enjoy playing the role of seductress. She had never been that kind of woman. One who was confident and sensual, and who could hold a man in the palm of her hand. It was intoxicating, especially when it involved a man as strong and masculine as Christian.
Her enjoyment died a swift death when she met his hard, suspicious gaze.
“What are you up to, Clarissa?”
Flinching at the steel in his voice, she fought the urge to bolt. She must be making a mess of it by confusing him. After all, just a few days ago she had begged him to leave her alone.
She tried again, giving him what she hoped was an adoring smile as she tentatively rested her hand on his thigh. The muscles in his leg felt as unyielding as stone, but the heat flowing into her fingers practically scorched her.
“I thought this was what you wanted,” she whispered, gliding her hand upward.
He hissed out a breath, his fingers engulfing hers and holding them still. “It is. I suppose I’m a fool to question it, but this doesn’t make any sense. You asked me to stay away from you, Clarissa. Have you really changed your mind, or is this some kind of game?” He looked angry, baffled, and … ready to rip her clothes off.
She called up every ounce of internal fortitude and held his gaze, refusing to shrink away from his penetrating inspection. Quelling her fear, she tossed her head and pretended to be as bold as the other widows of the ton.
“A lady can change her mind, can’t she? You were right about me, Christian. I have locked myself away, too afraid to let anyone near. Well, I’ve realized I’m sick of it, and sick of being alone.”
She broke off, stunned to hear the words that tumbled out of her mouth. Stunned to realize those words were true.
The disapproving line of his sensual mouth eased fractionally. “Go on.”
With a terrifying plunge, she finally voiced what she had been denying to herself since that day in the park. “I want you, Christian,” she whispered. “I don’t understand it, but I do.”
He stared down at her, a warrior with a hard, predatory gaze—a gaze that sought to bare all the secrets of her soul. Her heart kicked into a racing gallop and she shrank away, knowing in a brutal flash of clarity that she couldn’t go through with her scheme. Not when he looked at her like that.
But then, as if by magic, the angry warrior disappeared and Christian came back to her. A gentle hand cupped her cheek, and his lips curled into a rueful smile.
“Believe me, Ladybird, I’m not complaining. I want to be sure, because once we start this—once I touch you again—I’ll be lost. I have no defenses against you.”
She swallowed around the lump in her throat, awash with guilt and an astonished, almost fearful, tenderness. Christian was everything that Jeremy wasn’t: confident, sometimes reckless, and full of energy and health.
And yet, he was much like Jeremy, too. He had the same kind and loving demeanor, the same devotion to family and friends, combined with the courage of a man of honor. That’s what terrified her. Not that Christian was so different from her husband, but that he was so much the same.
Wretchedly, she stared back at him, conflicting emotions swirling about inside her. But in all the chaos, she was able to grasp one essential truth. In this moment she wanted to be with Christian, no matter the consequences.
Gently, he held her face as his mouth covered hers in a soft, sweet kiss. She clutched at him with trembling arms, telling herself to push him away. How could she betray him like this? Betray herself, and everything she knew to be right? She had to tell him the truth, had to let him make the decision for himself.
But when his tongue parted her lips, taking hot possession of her mouth, all her guilt and good intentions fell away. Only sensation remained. The tingling feel of his long, muscular thigh flexing against her leg, the exciting roughness of his calloused hands on her cheeks, the wet sweep of his tongue into her mouth. Nothing else mattered but the imprint of his hands on her flesh, the mark of his mouth on her body.
He released her face and lashed his arms around her, crushing her against his chest. Her breasts, spilling over the top of her skimpy bodice, pressed into the soft wool of his coat. The brush of fabric across her sensitized skin made her shiver, and her nipples, barely contained by her stays, contracted into hard little points. He devoured her mouth, licking and nibbling at her lips, sucking on her tongue as if she were a juicy sweet to be consumed. And that’s exactly how she felt—like a hot, honeyed morsel, ready to be eaten.
And, God help her, that’s exactly what she wanted him to do.
She opened up to him, sucking his tongue into her mouth. They tangled, and she relished the taste of him—sweet yet scorching, and powerfully male. His energy streamed into her, filling up the sad, empty places where all had been silent for so long. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes and she gripped his shoulders, struggling to get closer, to plaster every inch of her body to his.
He broke the kiss, lifting his head to look at her. She gasped an incoherent protest, then buried her head in his cravat, overwhelmed and mortified, her need for him robbing her of strength.
“Shh, sweetheart,” he murmured, moving one hand in a soothing glide down her spine.
“Why … why are you stopping?” she quavered, unable to still the tremors racing through her limbs.
He uttered a low laugh that sounded more like a feral growl. “I’m not. But I’ve got to slow down. I’m only seconds away from having you flat on your back with your legs spread wide and me deep inside you.”
She jerked back to look at him. His eyes blazed with lust, and his crude but exciting words made the soft flesh between her legs throb and grow moist.
“Oh, I …”
She trailed off, too entranced by the way his hands were now roaming over her body to speak. His long fingers briefly shaped her hips and waist, then moved up the bare flesh of her arms, leaving a velvety heat in their wake. Her eyelids half closed as he stroked across her collarbones and brushed his fingers up her neck, tilting her head back so he could kiss the shivery spot below her ear.
She sighed with voluptuous pleasure. How could those hands—so calloused and hard from years of soldiering—be that tender against her skin? So able to send shudders of pleasure along her nerves?
“What were you saying, my love?” Christian murmured against her neck. He pushed her hair back and carefully set his teeth to her skin, giving her a tiny, tingling bite.
She jerked in his arms, a hard throb pulsing deep in her womb.
“I—ah, I wouldn’t mind if you did that,” she managed.
He suckled her neck, his tongue soothing the place where he had just set his teeth. She went boneless in his arms, her head falling back. Sensation stormed through her. Never had she felt so much, even during her marriage. She and Jeremy had enjoyed relations, but nothing like this. Christian’s touch made her blood rush and her heart pound. Her limbs trembled, and she had to repress the urge to beg for more, like some helpless supplicant.
“Is that an invitation?” he asked, easing her down onto the trundle bed.
“Yes,” she whispered. The bed was so narrow he had to lie half on top of her, one leg between her thighs as he propped himself up on an elbow.
She gazed up at him through half-closed lids, enthralled by the passion that carved his features into a wild, rough beauty. His lips pulled back in a sensual smile as his fingers busied themselves in the lacings of her bodice. Carefully, he tugged down the delicate fabric, exposing the flesh that plumped up over her stays. Clarissa’s mouth went dry as she watched him draw one finger over the tops of her breasts, skimming the dusky flesh that ringed her nipples. She shivered, sparks of heat dancing along her skin.
“Are you sure?” he whispered.
He looked up, their eyes locking on each other’s. Need flowed between them, linking them with a single, overwhelming hunger. She nodded, too overwhelmed by desire and trepidation to utter a word.
His gaze flared with a possessive heat, his unleashed passion rolling over her like a wave. With a swift movement, he yanked at her stays and her breasts spilled free. Christian hissed out a breath, a harsh, triumphant sound that set her heart pounding with a tiny jolt of panic.
But then he bent and pressed a reverential kiss on her chest, just over her racing heart.
“Christ,” he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen. I swear I’m not worthy to touch you.”
She heard it, then. The doubt in his voice. The fear that he would never be good enough. It had dogged him all his life, living as he did in the shadow of his older siblings.
With a murmur, she stroked his hair.
“Please, Christian,” she pleaded. “I want you. Don’t make me wait any longer.”
He placed another gentle kiss between her breasts, but then his hands were on her, shaping and kneading with a masterful touch. Fire sizzled through her veins. She moved restlessly beneath him, craving more.
“Christian,” she moaned.
He stroked her breasts, tweaking the hard, rosy nipples. The calloused pads of his fingers tortured her until she squirmed with excitement.
It wasn’t enough.
As if he knew, he cupped her breasts in his big hands, plumping them. Then he fastened his mouth on the tight point of one nipple. A hot thrill streaked along her nerves and she arched her back, eagerly pushing her pelvis against his hip, pressing hard through the layers of their clothing. A small, sharp contraction pulsed in her womb, the pleasure so intense she gave a strangled cry.
Christian played with her, languidly moving from one breast to the other. His body pressed her down into the bed. The sense of being captured and restrained drove her wild. A luxurious, tormenting ache that she had almost forgotten these last several months throbbed between her thighs.
He lifted, pulling back with a hard suck, letting his teeth graze over the rigid tip of a nipple. But still, as if he couldn’t help himself, he dipped again and dragged his tongue across her breast one last time before shifting away. She moaned, arching to follow his mouth.
“You have the loveliest breasts,” he murmured as he stroked the tight points. “I could do this for hours.”
She stared up at him, stunned that he would say something … so … so exciting.
His lips curled back, wolflike, exposing strong white teeth.
“Would you like that?” he asked with a wicked grin.
“Ah …” She was at a complete loss. It had never occurred to her that people talked about these things while they were doing them.
He gave a soft laugh. “Another time.”
Swiftly, he unlaced her stays and pulled them from her body. Her chemise came next and then she lay before him, clad only in her stockings and shoes.
Clarissa blushed from head to toe as he gazed at her. But she felt only shyness, not shame. Christian’s face bespoke adoration as much as lust, and his hands were gentle as he settled her more comfortably on the bed. She waited quietly while he stood to strip off his clothes.
As his body was revealed, her breath snagged. She saw a godlike, brawny, and powerful man. But a man who had experienced all the brutalities of war. She couldn’t help clapping one hand over her mouth.
Christian’s head came up and his eyes filled with concern.
“What’s wrong, love?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.
She touched the barely healed bullet wound on his shoulder, and then ran her fingers along the ridge of a cruel scar that bisected the left side of his torso. “Do they still hurt?” she asked.
He carried her hand to his lips. “I’m fine. There’s nothing to worry about. I promise.”
An echo of sorrow rustled in her chest. “I hate that you have to be a soldier.”
He drew her close. She shuddered, loving the feel of his hot, hard body blanketing her limbs.
“Shh,” he murmured. “Don’t think about that. Not now.”
He nuzzled her mouth as one hand shaped the globes of her bottom. Her aroused nipples brushed against the coarse hairs of his chest, forcing a groan from her mouth. Hunger and need poured through her veins, and her thighs dampened.
“Christian,” she panted, breaking free from his tender kiss. “I need you. Now.”
“Patience, love,” he crooned as he trailed kisses along her jaw. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
She grabbed him by the ears and yanked his head up, bringing them nose to nose.
“Ouch,” he yelped. For effect, she thought, since his eyes were gleaming with laughter.
“Now,” she gritted between clenched teeth.
He made a quick, ravishing foray of her mouth, and then settled in the cradle of her thighs. She pulled her legs up around his hips to accommodate his muscled girth.
“As my lady commands,” he said in a rumbling voice.
He flexed his hips, nudging the broad head of his erection into the opening of her body. Holding her head between his hands, he gazed into her eyes as he surged into her. She gasped at the scorching invasion that stretched and filled her to the limit. He stilled, and his head dropped to her shoulder, his breath a pant on her skin.
“Clarissa—” he choked out.
“No,” she breathed. “It’s all right.” She wriggled a bit, and pleasure lanced up from the place where they were joined. It was more than all right. It was wonderful.
With a satisfied hum, she arched her spine, rubbing her breasts against the hardness of his chest. He began to move in short, hard nudges. She greedily absorbed every sensation, running her hands over the broad contours of his shoulders, tracing the rippling of muscles down his back and across his lean flanks.
Her touch spurred him on. He tilted her hips, moving deep, setting off a delicious, fevered ache in her most sensitive flesh. His mouth locked on hers, his tongue hot and caressing between her lips.
Clarissa pulled her knees up, opening herself as wide as she could. She was desperate, sobbing against his mouth, yearning for completion.
Breaking the kiss, Christian lifted on his elbows. She whimpered a protest, needing all of him—on her, in her, bringing her to rapture. Murmuring comfort, he brought his hand down between their bodies, slicking two fingers through her damp folds. She dug her heels in his thighs and cried out as a shuddering release trembled through her limbs.
In response, his muscles began to spasm. He lunged into her, pressing down as he shook with his release. A deep groan broke from his throat, and he collapsed, curling around her.
As they lay there, a panting tangle of arms and legs, Clarissa slowly came back to herself. The pressure of Christian’s body lifted from her chest. She opened her eyes to look at him.
Her heart lurched. What she saw on his face wasn’t some temporary infatuation. It was love—selfless, adoring, and full of joy.
Her plan, God forgive her, had worked.