Chapter Seventeen
She wandered around her bedchamber. The maid had turned down the bedclothes and closed the drapes. She pushed the fabric aside so the light of one window would allow her to see the appointments. This chamber must have been decorated fairly recently since it showed gothic elements still coming into vogue.
The grounds below did not look like a typical garden. Rather, little pools, hills, and plantings created vignettes of great appeal. None of the flower beds looked planned, although she knew great care went into such horticultural designs.
Hands circled her waist. Warmth pressed her back. A kiss thrilled the side of her neck. Stratton’s face flanked hers and he gazed out alongside her. “It was my mother’s doing,” he said of the garden.
She leaned against him and he wrapped her in his arms. “I feared I would be a prisoner up here, and all alone.”
“It was my intention to be a considerate host and allow you to rest from your journey.” He kissed her neck again. “Then other intentions conquered that idea.”
“Your other intentions are far more interesting.”
One of his arms moved up her body. His hand stroked her breast, making her gasp. His mouth pressed her neck’s pulse. She closed her eyes and gave herself over to the delicious sensations.
His caresses both soothed and excited her. She no longer wondered about her decision. Of course she had come. For this. For the pleasure and the intimacy. For the chance to feel wanted and cared for.
The touch on her breast aroused her mercilessly. With her back to him she could only accept the way he teased her toward delirium. Her body tensed with anticipation when his other hand began unbuttoning her undressing gown. His slow progress drove her mad with impatience. Firm from her need, her breasts reacted to the slightest stimulation, even the movement of the cloth of her chemise against their tips.
He pulled her undressing gown down, and it pooled at her feet. He held both her breasts and gently rubbed the tips with his thumbs. “Is this what you are begging for?”
She could barely speak, and her mind knew only pleasure and want. As the pleasure grew and spread she flexed against him, her hips pressing his arousal again and again.
Impatience soon plagued her again, until she wanted to cry. She grasped the shoulders of her chemise and pulled them down, so she would feel his touch on her skin. He stripped it down farther, until she was naked in his arms.
Her arousal grew and grew until it became a beautiful power that consumed her consciousness. She let him support her and embraced the abandon. The way he touched her felt too good to bear, and each touch and caress only made her want more.
She ached for what he had done the last time, for his mouth on her breasts and stomach, for his hand pressing up between her legs, for the insanity of having pleasure unhinge her until nothing else existed.
His teeth closed on her earlobe and nipped gently. “I promise that tonight I will take you slowly, but it has been too long and I need you now.” His hand slid down her body to her thighs. He turned her enough so he could kiss her. He held her like that and ravished her mouth while he stroked at her pulsating lower lips.
Each long, hidden caress sent a silent reverberation clanging through her entire body, each one stronger and more thorough in gathering her need into a furious demand for something more, something complete, something final.
He moved her and bent her and pressed her back. He no longer embraced her. Instead she felt brocade beneath her hands. She leaned over the thick arm of the divan face down, her hips resting on its high bulk and her legs dangling down its side.
It seemed a while that he left her like that, posed so scandalously. Then he caressed up her back and over her bottom. One firm palm remained on the small of her back, but his other hand sought again the source of her madness.
The sensation undid her. Sharp, deep and intense, it made her scream. She tried to swallow the sound, but she could not.
She felt him then, entering her, first slowly then hard. The intensity centered on his fullness and his thrusts. She knew relief at first, but then a trembling began and grew, one she could not control. The hard tremors frightened her, and his movements only made them stronger. Her body seemed to disappear except for where they joined, and the intensity tightened into something painful but compelling. It twisted tighter until suddenly the tremor coursed through her in a powerful wave of sensation that submerged her.
* * *
Sight returned, but damned little strength came with it. He grasped the arm of the divan with both hands, steadying himself lest he collapse on top of Clara. Limp and silent, she did not make a sound now, but the chamber still reverberated with her howl of joy a few moments ago.
He bent to press a kiss on the small of her back and then on the soft flesh of her bottom. Even now, sated from a staggering release, the eroticism of her pose entranced him.
He fixed his garments, then lifted her to her feet. With a scoop he picked her up and carried her to the bed. She nestled onto the pillow while he drew the sheet over her. She reached out and placed her hand on his arm and looked him over through heavily lidded eyes.
“You certainly know how to make houseguests feel welcome.”
“I try my best.”
“If that is your best, it is spectacular.” She rubbed the fabric of his sleeve between two fingers. “You did not undress, and you appear ready to meet the queen. I, on the other hand—” She looked down at the gentle hills of her body beneath the sheet.
He bent to kiss her. “I will have the maid sent to you in an hour, and a bath as well if you want.”
“A bath will be wonderful, assuming I can move by then.”
“I will see you later.” He turned to leave.
She turned on her side and snuggled the pillow. “I can still feel you. Can still feel what happened,” she murmured sleepily.
As could he. He gently stroked her cheek and watched her fall asleep, then sought his own chambers.
Unlike Clara, he did not sleep. He did not even rest. He continued what he had been doing before thoughts of her led him to her chamber.
In the ducal apartment, soon books sat on the floor instead of in their cases in the sitting room. The wall behind one case stood open, revealing a gaping cavern. Its former contents were now strewn on the desk.
He walked past the bag of gold coins and the stacks of papers and headed to the dressing room. He pulled back the carpet and knelt in one corner, feeling with his fingers on the wood. He found the spot he sought and pushed hard. A section of the floor, a foot square in size, bounced up on a hidden hinge. He felt down into the underlying structure of the house.
Learning the locations of these hiding places had been as much a part of his education as learning the history of the Tory party. These secret spots had been built into this house, just as others could be found in most of their other properties. Gold coins often found homes in spots like this.
He groped, sliding his fingers along joists, making sure nothing remained tucked beneath one. His hand closed on a small sack. He dragged it into the light and opened it. Jewelry poured into his palm.
The piece bore no resemblance to that item missing from the last inventory. Nor did its silver, pearls, and purple stones fit the description of anything in any of the inventories he saw. It looked very old. Perhaps it had been stuck down there for generations.
He dropped it back in its hiding place and replaced the section of floor. This had been the most likely house if those missing jewels had been stored and, like that silver necklace, forgotten. Now he would have to search Drewsbarrow, which would take a very long time.
* * *
“I trust your friend did not scold you too badly.” Stratton poured some wine while he made the observation.
They had dined on a fine meal. They still lounged at the table, enjoying the last of the claret.
A nap and a bath had reinvigorated Clara. She had not even blushed when she came down to join the duke for dinner. She should, however. The afternoon had been a revelation in several ways, not the least being how exciting she found the masterful way he handled her.
Another day she would contemplate what that might mean about him. She would also have to consider what it said about her, she supposed.
“She only cautioned that there would be the devil to pay if there was one slip. I already knew that.” Althea had offered a bit more advice that would not be shared with the duke. About the difficulties of having a truly discreet affair. About the danger for a woman never married. She had spoken as if from experience.
“I have an acquaintance with her brother, but confess I had not seen her before you introduced us.”
“Althea has an unfortunate history. Unlike my father, hers left her dependent on that brother. When he attempted to marry her off to a man whose favor he wished to curry, she refused and instead married an army officer who unfortunately died in battle. She has been treated like the poor relative she is ever since. A governess would live better.”
“She appeared fashionable when I met her. Not impoverished.”
“She has a knack with a needle that means she can turn herself out well enough to be comfortable with the friends of her youth. Now, tell me about this house.” She changed the subject quickly because speaking about Althea had moved them close to the workings of the journal.
Althea indeed had talent in needlework, but that was not how she maintained her appearance. That was a fiction designed to explain to everyone, but especially to her sister-in-law, the carefully chosen wardrobe additions that would appear from time to time. It would never do to explain that Althea had employment as both a writer and an editor at the journal. Clara paid her for her help, and not enough, considering the role Althea played.
The duke had begun describing the house’s history. “Perhaps you would like to see it,” he offered.
“Yes, please.”
While they toured the public rooms on the ground level, she noticed again and again that, like her bedchamber, they all displayed fairly recent decorating. The rich colors, unlike what had been popular even twenty years ago, enhanced various exotic details. The morning room, for example, gave the impression of an Arabian courtyard with its distinctively pointed moldings, filigree screens, and blue and green tiles on the fireplace.
“I think this is not an obscure property rarely visited,” she said.
“It was the one we used the most. We rarely went to Drewsbarrow. This proved more convenient because it is close to town.”
She wondered if the reason they rarely visited Drewsbarrow had anything to do with the bad feelings shared with another major family in that county. Probably so. The late duke would not want to attend a county event only to find himself taking pains to avoid the other lord present.
What a tangled mess that disagreement had created. And all over a stupid piece of property. Both families surely had plenty of land.
They mounted the stairs and Stratton beckoned her to a chamber attached to the library. “This was added around ten years ago.”
Paneled like the library, this chamber contained no books. Instead a big billiards table took pride of place in the center of the space. She clapped her hands with delight. “Can we play?”
“Do you know how?”
“Not at all. My father began to teach me, but my grandmother insisted it was not ladylike, and he stopped.”
“He took you hunting and taught you how to shoot but agreed billiards was beyond the pale?”
“I think it was because others might see me with the cue, but might never see me with a musket. You can teach me, however. I am a very quick learner.”
“That I already know.” He took two cues from a heavily carved long cabinet and handed her one. “Do as I say, and you will be an expert in no time.”
“You mean soon it will seem very normal to me. Very natural.”
He did not miss the allusion. “Exactly.” He set up the balls, then used his cue to break them up. “One quick snap. See?”
“Perhaps I should practice that first.” She gathered all the balls together again and moved to stand beside him. She positioned her cue.
“You must bend in order to aim,” he said.
“Like this?”
His palm gently pressed her back. Much as it had a few hours ago. “More like that.”
She looked over and up at him. “I think I understand Grandmamma’s concern. I would not have yesterday, of course.” She tried to do as he had done and failed miserably. One of the balls bounced high enough to leave the table. “Perhaps I should let you take the lead, since you are far more experienced.”
He set the balls together again. “We will start simply. If you find you enjoy it, with time I will show you more sophisticated ways to play. There are some interesting techniques that are not for novices.”
“You are tempting me to want to do nothing else, if great mysteries await.” She bent to aim her cue.
He bent over her and repositioned her hands. “Now, aim for the center of the front ball.”
“Should I try a direct and firm thrust or one that is carefully placed and effective due to artistry more than force?”
He laughed. A smack landed on her very available rump. “You are incorrigible this evening. A very bad young lady.”
She giggled and eyed her cue’s end. “I will have to muddle through if you will not instruct me further.”
She opted for less force and more precision. None of the balls bounced off the table, at least.
They played the game, but she only had her turns when she thought he deliberately missed shots. Whenever she went to shoot he helped her, his body covering hers and his long arms teaching hers where to go and how to attack the ball she chose.
“I am going to lose,” she said while she dipped low to try what would surely be her last shot. “You are supposed to let me win. Any gentleman would.”
He hovered again, his voice near her ear. “I assumed you would be insulted if I deliberately lost. Not that I could have even if I tried, since you refuse to obey my instructions.” He moved her hand on the cue’s back end. “If you would hold this stick as I said, you would have improved far more by now.”
“So I should hold the hilt firmly like this, but let my fingertips caress the tip so it slides through. That does seem more effective. The next time you tell me how to hold a stick, I will listen.” She aimed, but her shot did not even hit the ball because again he swatted her rump.
Only this time his hand remained there. “You have a ribald sense of humor for a well-bred young woman, Clara.”
She straightened, right up into his arms. “It must be the wine. Have I shocked you?”
He laughed and pulled her closer. “I don’t think you can shock me.”
“How disappointing. I tried hard to do so.”
“If you are determined, you will probably succeed someday.” He kissed her. “I suspect you are accustomed to having your way in most things.”
“I am too ignorant to know what my way is yet, in some things.”
He held her head to a fevered kiss. “We will rectify that soon enough.”
There was no more banter, no more game. That kiss never ended. She clung to him and soared into the excitement he spun as their kisses turned hungry and their embraces grasping. She thought he might lay her down right there on the table. She hoped he would. Instead he released her, then grasped her hand and sped her out of the chamber, pulling her along while he strode up the stairs.
He swung her into her bedchamber and sat her down on the bed. He discarded his coats, then knelt in front of her. While he embraced and kissed her, his fingers found her dress fastenings. Then he sat back on his heels. Eyes hot and face stern, he caressed up her legs beneath her dress. Long, firm strokes made her skin tingle with warmth. He pushed up her skirt.
“Remove your dress while I kiss you.” He bent to do just that on her inner knee.
She watched while she hitched her skirt up over her hips, then pulled the dress over her head. Her chemise remained bunched on her thighs. His kisses moved in that direction. Their effect stunned her. So did their path.
He had described this in the park—spoken of kissing her naked thighs again and again, until he finally enjoyed the most private kisses imaginable. Now, as sensual tightness spread through her loins and she pulsed mere inches from his head, she understood as she had not then.
“Are you going to—Are you—” Her breath kept catching with each kiss, and she could not get the words out.
He grasped her hips and moved her closer to the bed’s edge. “Yes.” He pushed her thighs farther apart. “Lie back.”
She sank back on the bed. Kisses, hot and devastating, moved yet higher on her thighs. He touched her, and the pleasure made her delirious. Then she felt the most intimate kisses imaginable, and she went mad until her consciousness crashed around her in an explosion of pleasure.
When sanity beckoned again he stood beside the bed, holding her legs while he thrust inside her. She looked down her body, then in his eyes. She watched the fury rise in him, then own him, and finally bring him to the only ecstasy people ever knew.
* * *
Adam stroked his fingertips up and down Clara’s back. Naked now, she lay beside him on her stomach, hugging a pillow that supported her head. Her eyes were closed but she did not sleep. His wandering fingertips kept making her smile.
She reached over and placed her hand on his chest, as if she sought reassurance he was there.
“You are beautiful, Clara. Your creamy skin is like silk and velvet. Your hair in this dim light is dark satin, except for a few light flecks where the light finds some of the red strands.”
“Do not stop. My pride is devouring your flattery. Normally when I hear comments about my appearance, someone is pointing out the flaws.”
“Impossible. There are no flaws.”
“What a charming liar you are. I have been told often that my mouth is too large. Surely you noticed.”
“I think your mouth is perfect, and erotic.”
She opened her eyes. “Erotic?” She puzzled over that. “Thank you for at least not hating it. One perfect from you weighs more than a hundred criticisms from others. Still, I think we can agree that the sister offered to you was the more beautiful.”
He gathered her up and laid her on top of him, so her breasts and face pressed his chest, not only her hand. She felt good and right in his arms like this, all feminine softness and warmth. Her breath tickled his chest and slowly revived other sensations.
“I do not agree. Even from a distance I thought you the greater prize. As soon as we met I knew it for certain. You are nothing short of magnificent, darling.”
She raised her head and looked down at him. A thick tress, freed from its pins, hung down her face on one side. “Do you really think so?”
“I am not one for false flattery.” Yes, magnificent. He should tell her more. He should find words to explain how rare she was in the way she opened her whole being during passion. In how she made choices on her own terms. She was not immune to the opinions of the world, of course. The elaborate subterfuge to get her here proved that. But in the end, she was here, without guilt or worry, enchanting him with her body and mind.
“You appeared like a visitor yourself when we toured the house,” she said.
“I have not been here in years. Since I came back, I have visited the main estate at Drewsbarrow, but not here.”
“Yet it is so close to London.”
“I was busy with other estate matters. Then I was busy chasing you.”
“We never visited the garden. It is unusual in its plan. I will venture out in the morning, before we leave for the race.”
“Wait for me, or else stay in the garden proper. I don’t want you getting lost.”
She laughed. “I do not think that will happen.”
“We will go together.” He pressed a kiss to her crown. “Do you remember what to do tomorrow?”
“If I should forget, Althea will remember. She is being very protective. Very motherly.”
“You must find that annoying.”
“Her care for me is disarming. All of her concern comes from a good place. It is not the same as scolds and lectures from family members who are really thinking about themselves.”
“If her care is all for you, she probably does not approve of me. Of this.”
“She has not said so. Also unlike my family, she does not treat me like an idiot. She assumes that I have already thought of any cautions or warning she could voice.”
He knew what those would be. She did not have to itemize the questions that must wander into her mind sometimes. Maybe they did so often. Like right now.
There was no good way to talk about that. Certainly not now and not here. She had to wonder sometimes if she had misjudged his reasons for pursuing her, however.
“Do you not find it at all odd that we are here like this? Everything in our lives would say this was impossible.” She spoke in a tone of curious wonder, as if she had heard his thoughts. It impressed him that she broached this subject. She was braver than he was, it seemed.
“Desire makes its own arguments, I suppose.”
“Is that what this is? You could leave once that was satisfied. Yet you did not. Unless you wanted to but felt some obligation to stay here with me. Or perhaps you tolerate this other intimacy while you wait for desire again.”
Nothing in her voice indicated she sought a particular answer. She merely voiced things she wondered about. Or at least some of the things.
“I felt no obligation. I will admit that I intend to have you again, but being with you is not something I only tolerate until then, Clara.”
“Perhaps more than desire binds us, then. Perhaps friendship does too.”
It was not the word he would use. If she chose that one, he would not object.
She raised her head again, then glanced down her side. Naughty sparks entered her eyes. “I have not moved, but methinks you just did.”
“I have not moved at all.”
“Grew, then.”
He pretended deep contemplation. “Ah. Yes, I do believe you are correct about that.” His cock swelled more and pressed against her stomach.
“I believe desire has raised its head again.” She sat up, giggling at her own ribald double entendre. She rested her bottom on his thighs and watched the continuing transformation with fascination. “It is a wonder you did not kill me the first time.” She gently poked at him. He swelled more.
She came up and kissed him, deeply, almost savagely. He set her back to where she sat again and took her hand. He closed it around the base of his cock.
“Just like with the cue,” she said happily. “Should I handle the other end more gently?”
He told her what to do.
* * *
Clara thought she would never know such pleasure. Even the revelations earlier in the night did not compare. It went on and on, tantalizing her to a release that remained just out of reach.
She hovered over him on hands and knees. His mouth tortured her breasts while the tip of his cock prodded the end of her passage. The satisfaction of absorbing him remained just out of reach, becoming a merciless tease.
Finally she could not stand it. She gave up the one pleasure for the other. She angled back and took him into herself. Nothing had ever felt so good.
Relief did not last long. She moved her hips so she felt him better. She rose, then pressed down to create more sensations.
“Yes. Like that,” he said. “To the end, if you want.”
It surprised her that he accepted such passivity. She moved this way and that, exploring the sensations, finding the press of his fullness that made her gasp. She made sure she gasped again and again, taking pleasure greedily, fiercely, until she grew desperate. He helped then, grasping her hips and rocking up into her. She cried out with joy at every bruising thrust they shared, until that incredible ecstasy brought its profound relief.