by Renée Dahlia
‘Don’t leave. Please.’ Josephine blinked and a fat tear rolled down her cheek.
‘Fine. But only because friends forgive each other, and I trust that you will use this conversation to learn to do better.’ Claire sat down again.
‘Please accept my sincere apologies. I don’t want to fight with you.’ The sincerity on Josephine’s face, along with the quiet way she rested her other hand on her stomach, made Claire’s breath hitch.
‘Accepted.’ Claire pulled a deep breath in through her nostrils, and said the only outrageous thing she could. ‘Besides, if you think he looks like he kisses well, your imagination is nothing like reality.’
Josephine paused, an uncertainty in her eyes. After a moment, she laughed. ‘That’s the Claire I love.’
***
Ravi strode along the garden path. The dusky light of a summer evening painted the trees in a golden hue that made the house and farm look like an oil painting. A scene to inspire Stubbs with young horses in a field, and rich warm light bathing the green hedges. The discussion with Lord St. George had revealed many details about horse racing, and the intricacies of gambling, but none of them had shed any light on Mr Carlingford’s arrest. Officer Wedsley had added a few details from his side. It would all come down to who had access to that distinctive notepaper. They had peered at that piece of paper, but nothing new sprang out. Hopefully, the bookie, Sutton, would remember crucial details, or have someone who might know. The whole saga seemed without end, and his goal of his own practice felt suddenly far away. He paced quickly, long strides covering the ground, and gravel crunching under his boots. A heavy floral scent from the garden, roses and sweet peas, made the warm air heady and smothering. If he couldn’t pull this off, he’d have to work for another practice and save. Or ask his brother for the funds—could he face him without a wife to fulfil his wishes, especially when the only wife he wanted was Claire. She had clearly stated she didn’t want marriage. He wasn’t the sort of man who would just trample over her choice for his own gain—no matter how tempting it was to capture her. But just as one captures a butterfly, it removes the core reason for why the butterfly is beautiful. Freedom. He couldn’t do that to Claire, he couldn’t take away her agency over her life. It would be no marriage. Because if he did, he wouldn’t end up with Claire, his bold, brave Claire. He’d only have a shadow of her. He bunched his fists at his side, frustration filling his veins with power. The path twisted ahead of him, around the edge of the house, and he strode onwards.
Oomph! Ravi smashed into another person, and fell backwards, landing on the ground in a pile of limbs.
‘Watch where you are going!’ The other man scrambled to his feet. A sharp pain crunched on Ravi’s hand. He looked. Blood trickled out of his hand. His glasses lay crushed. Pieces of glass embedded in his skin. Time slowed down, and gradually, the pain seeped in. The gardener’s heavily booted foot had landed on Ravi’s hand, crushing his glasses into the back of it. Boots crunched on the gravel. The gardener walked past Ravi without another glance, leaving Ravi to gather himself. He stood, cradling his injured hand. The metal frame of his ruined glasses lay among the grass with shards of sunlight glinting. He looked around, grabbed a stake from the rose garden, and marked the area of broken glass with it. That damned gardener would have to clean up his own mess. He pulled his handkerchief from his jacket pocket, and gingerly held it under his hand, dabbing away the dribbles of blood. He didn’t want to pull out any of the glass until Claire had looked at it. She’d performed such magic with Mrs Jackson that he would never trust another doctor near him again. He walked quickly to the house, let himself in the side door he’d exited earlier, and pulled the bell-pull of the day lounge next to the bedroom he had been given by the butler. A footman answered a few minutes later and he related his problem.
‘No problem, the Lady of the house is a doctor,’ said the footman.
‘And so is her friend.’
‘I will fetch them both. Please take a seat.’ The footman left, but Ravi found that he couldn’t sit. The same frustrated energy that had hummed in his veins before he accidentally smashed into the gardener still swirled inside him. He paced back and forth, cursing how much he anticipated Claire’s touch. The door flew open with such force that it bounced against the wall.
‘You didn’t have to injure yourself just so I would touch you.’ Claire’s voice mirrored his thoughts.
‘I assure you, it wasn’t intentional.’
‘Sit down, then you can outline your intentions.’ She placed her hand on his back and pushed, guiding him forcibly towards a chair. A bright spot of heat burned where she touched him. But most astonishing of all, the pain in his hand retreated as his prior frustration switched into desire. Apparently, he did hurt himself just so she would touch him. He clenched his teeth at the ridiculousness of it.
‘Now, sit. Show me your hand,’ said Claire. Her voice had a rational impersonal quality that added to the crazy mix of desire and pain. As she crouched beside the chair and started to investigate his injury, the indignity of it added to the swirl of emotion rushing in his ears.
‘Will I live?’ he said.
‘This isn’t a joke, Ravi. If we clean this properly and avoid infection, then you will probably live. If it gets infected, however, the odds aren’t so good.’ She stood up as he held his breath. His gaze followed her, and for the first time, he noticed a footman and maid in the room holding towels, a bucket and a small pile of linen. He eased out the taut breath and tried to force his limbs to relax.
‘Place the bucket here, and you can all leave. I would rather work in absolute quiet.’ The staff did as bid, leaving just the two of them with his injured hand between them. ‘Hold your hand over the bucket to keep any mess as contained as possible.’ He closed his eyes as she started to clean his hand. Darkness increased his other senses, and now he could feel her deft touches as she fixed him. The coppery tang of blood, an occasional swish of water, the cool, wet napkin on his sticky skin, and then …
‘Damn.’ A sharp pain sliced through his hand. His eyes flicked open to see Claire carefully removing shards of glass from his hand. Blood flowed freely from the wounds, and still she focused on her work. The quiet throb of desire mingled with his admiration for her ability. He understood in this moment, as little cuts of pain twinged in his hand, why the suffragette movement mattered. How many amazing brains, like Claire’s, had been wasted during history? There had been so much technological advancement in the last fifty years. Imagine what doubling the world’s brain power could achieve?
‘All done now. I’ll just do a final clean, then bandage it, and you’ll be free once again,’ said Claire.
‘Free?’ He didn’t want freedom anymore, he wanted Claire to possess him. He would gladly sacrifice his own freedom for hers, but that thought led to marriage. He growled, knowing it was a crapshoot to convince her. He closed his eyes, and breathed in a long, slow breath, as he tried to inhale the hint of violets that she wore.
‘Oh, I’m sorry. Did that hurt?’
‘No.’ Only his thoughts hurt, the pain in his hand nothing compared to the prospect that her reasons for saying no seemed insurmountable, quashing the concept of having her in his life before it had even started. After far too many tugs of pain, he felt his hand being wrapped in a bandage and he opened his eyes to watch her handiwork.
‘You will be fine now. I’ll see you at dinner.’ She stood to leave, and he sprang to his feet.
‘Stop. Don’t run away. You are always running from me,’ he said.
‘I can’t give you what you want.’ She spun on her heels to face him, and the fabric of her dress swirled between them.
‘Yes, you can. Stop being scared.’ He reached out to hug her, wanting to wrap her close, but she tensed in his arms. He purposefully loosened his hold, forcing himself to relax until his hands rested lightly on her shoulders. She pushed his hands away, a jolt of pain that didn’t only stem from his wound, and he let his hands drop
to his sides.
‘You don’t get to tell me what I want.’
‘Correct. And I wouldn’t dare. I can only tell you that I want you.’
‘Why?’
‘Claire, you delight me. You have such natural energy, and I’m fascinated by your mouth.’
‘Then you’d better kiss me again.’ She’d hardly finished her sentence before he took her advice. Still cautious, he pressed his lips to hers. For someone so bold, Claire tasted fresh and sweet. Her lips softened under his and he nibbled at the corner of her mouth. She grabbed his wrists and lifted them back to rest on her shoulders. He slid his uninjured hand up her neck, fingers spreading into her silky hair. Her tongue flicked out and ran along his bottom lip, tempting him, so he deepened the kiss. His heart pounded in his chest. This was home. Claire and her perfect, beguiling mouth.
‘Ravi,’ she breathed. He plunged his tongue inside, exploring her mouth, cradling her head. She responded in the most Claire way possible. Her hands grabbed him on the backside, pulled his hips towards her. His body pressed against hers in the best possible way, her form imprinted against him, and his erection hard and strong between them. There could be no misunderstanding his desire for her. She sighed into his mouth and her body relaxed against him. Her eyes fluttered, so he pulled the kiss back a little. She arched her back, and his whole body smiled as her tongue demanded more of him. Kiss me more, deeper, faster, I want everything, her kiss said to him. He battled with her, willing to be possessed by her. He shifted, kissing along her jawline until he reached her ear. He scraped his teeth on her earlobe and she moaned.
‘I want more,’ he said. His heart threatened to gallop out of his chest in anticipation of her answer.
‘Yes. Show me everything.’ Her hands shifted, sliding under his jacket. Little tugs against the fabric of his shirt as she fumbled with his clothes, and then, heat skimmed up his back as her fingers spread on the small of his back. Skin against skin.
‘Claire.’ He breathed out her name against her neck, amazed that he could get harder than before. Her hands spread over his back. He wanted to know how she felt, how the contrast would feel with his skin on her palms and his crisp shirt hanging over the backs of her hands.
‘Kiss me again,’ she said. Yes. He claimed her mouth, and yet it was her claiming him. Every other woman before was swept away in the heat of this moment. There was only Claire. All he needed. He rested his injured hand on the back of her neck, and with his good hand, he started to explore. Down the curve of her back, up her sides. She moaned deep into his mouth as his hand brushed the side of her breast. He eased back, only enough to give his hand space to explore further. His blood coursed in his veins. Her dress was buttoned up to her throat, a barrier to her skin, so he traced the edges of the seams, across her nipples drawing another moan from her throat. It vibrated against his mouth, connecting them closer together.
‘You have too many clothes on,’ he whispered against her cheek.
‘I know. But I need them. Otherwise …’ She drew her hands out from under his shirt and ran them up his arms.
‘I understand. I wish I didn’t, but I understand.’
‘You tempt me, Ravi. More than I wish to be tempted.’ She shook her head wryly and grinned. ‘The worst part is that I know I can trust you, and that’s the most tempting thing of all.’
His hips shifted involuntarily pressing his erection harder against her. Her words pushed his control to its limit.
‘I want to pick you up. I’d carry you to that day bed over there,’ he said. His eyelids were heavy and his breath shallow as he articulated his desire.
‘And then what?’
‘You’d expect me to unbutton your gown, to kiss your throat, to explore down to your breasts, to hold the soft weight of them. But you wouldn’t be satisfied with the expected, so instead, I would take off your boots. I’d rub your feet—’
‘Oh God.’ She melted against him. ‘That makes my feet tingle.’
‘I’d massage your ankles, slowly working up your legs. I’d kiss behind your knees.’ Her mouth parted, those soft lips open.
‘And then?’
‘Is the skin on your thighs as soft as the skin behind your ear?’ He brushed his thumb there and she purred. ‘Are you wet now, between your legs in that secret place?’
‘Yes. Oh. Ravi.’ Holy hell. This was the hottest sex he hadn’t had. They stood in full contact with too many clothes between them, without skin against skin, and yet the way she responded to his words was bound to have him spill in his clothes any moment. She looked at him with such awe, and anticipation for him, that he had to continue. Had to push the edges of his control. For her. He kissed her earlobe, drank in the shiver that skittered across her skin.
‘I’d kiss you there. In your secret place. Until your pleasure broke all over me,’ he whispered in her ear, his tongue caressing her skin. Her head dropped back, her hands clutched at his clothes, and she moaned his name as an orgasm overtook her. In this moment, he knew that this was just the start of it, if he actually touched her, her intensity would be stronger. Her body shuddered against his, trembled in the aftermath. She sagged against him, the perfect weight in his arms. He carried her to the day bed.
‘Don’t go.’ Her throaty voice called to him. He didn’t want to leave, what person in their right mind would leave now?
‘I have to, otherwise I’ll do all those things I said.’ He forced his arms to let her go, pressed one final kiss to her forehead, and walked reluctantly away. Away to a quiet room where he could take himself in his good hand and relieve his need.
Chapter 20
Claire knew, in that moment when the footman told her Ravi was injured, that she was going to take Josephine’s advice. Her heart had stopped and her mind raced with worry. Even when she’d seen him, and knew it was only a minor injury, she’d struggled to stop her fingers shaking as she’d treated him. And she’d been rewarded. Oh, she’d never imagined kisses could be like that. No wonder women risked their lives. That connection with Ravi was worth it, and his words. Gosh. She’d experienced a similar thrill when she explored herself alone at night, however, this connection with him. Phew. And all without his touch, only his kisses and his words. If he did touch her, she’d probably incinerate. She knew that she wanted him, all of him, now. The risks were worth it. She could take a chance on them. Fear of death in childbirth was no reason to stop living. Being at Josephine’s house, seeing her life with all the love and trust helped Claire understand what she’d been holding herself back from. Josephine’s fears were real, but Claire knew that she had to make a decision about her future. She could let fear and worry consume her, let it prevent her from choosing Ravi. Or she could embrace the possibility of life with him, fulfilled by a partnership of strength between them. All her other risks were solved through trust, and Ravi had proven himself worthy of her trust and her love.
She fanned her cheeks as she climbed the few steps up to her father’s front door, glad that she’d travelled back to London on the early train with just her footman beside her. Higgins opened the door, and waved her inside her family home. She walked in, knowing the truth of her heart. She needed Ravi in her life, and she could brave the risks that came with her decision. Claire pushed open the drawing room door. The curtains were pulled shut, and the dusky light in the room made her squint. A man sat at the desk in the corner, his blond hair created a bright spot in the dim light.
‘Wil?’ she said. The man stood up and she gasped, staggering backwards for a step or two. ‘Mr Thackery! What are you doing here?’ Her heart raced. How had she possibly mistaken the awful Mr Thackery for her brother?
‘How are you, fine Claire? Are you ready to face the inevitable yet?’ He walked, predator like, towards her with his lips pulled into a thin line.
‘Excuse me?’ Her back hit the wall as she kept shifting away from him.
‘I had the banns read last week. We shall be married soon.’
‘No. I refuse
.’
‘You can’t. It’s all been organised.’
‘By whom? You can’t do this without my consent.’
‘Mother signed the papers.’ Thackery’s face stretched into a smug smile.
‘That’s ridiculous. What relevance does your mother have to this?’ Her eyes darted around the room, but Mr Thackery loomed closer. He reached up and placed his hands on the wall either side of her shoulders, trapping her.
‘Oh, this is going to be fun,’ he said, tauntingly.
She contemplated sliding down the wall and wriggling out, but dismissed the idea knowing that her dress would entangle her legs. She looked everywhere but at him. ‘You don’t know, do you?’
‘Know what?’ she asked.
‘Mother—Mrs Carlingford—isn’t your mother. She’s mine.’ He leered at her with his upper lip curled up.
‘What? No. That’s absurd.’ She crossed her arms, hiding her breasts from him, as she tried to shrink herself smaller.
‘I can’t believe you never knew. Why do you think I look like Wil, and you look nothing like us?’ He laughed. She gasped at the truth. They did look alike. She’d asked herself that very question only a moment ago.
‘But, but. How?’
‘It’s not up to me to tell you. You have to marry me first.’
‘Isn’t that incest?’ Horror made her whole body cold, frozen.
‘We aren’t related—except by marriage, your father to my mother—there is no parental relation between us that would prevent this,’ he said. He shifted closer, so close that the back of her hands brushed his jacket. Bile rose in her throat, and she thought she might vomit on him. She couldn’t move, as panic took hold of her body and seized her into place. His breath, hot and with a stench of stale lunch, blew on her face. ‘Never panic in an emergency.’ The words of her professor raced through her head, and she lifted her chin to glare at him. She dropped one shoulder, shifted one hand quickly, and pinched him hard under the arm.