“Are you all right?” Paul asked, still laughing.
“Shipshape and Bristol fashion,” he called back. “Why do you ask?”
He stood up before Paul or anyone else could question that lie. Giving his shoulder an experimental shrug, he was glad to find he’d suffered no serious injury, and he glanced around for his racquet. It had landed nearly on the chalk line, a fact that forced him even closer to where Clara stood at the side of the court with Hetty.
“Rough game?” his cousin asked as he bent to pick up his racquet.
“Apparently so, Hetty. Miss Deverill,” he greeted with a bow, but he didn’t look at her, and before she could reply, he turned away, returning to center court. He wiped the sweat off his brow with his wrist, and readied himself for Paul’s next serve, but suddenly the idea of playing any more tennis, knowing Clara was here, that she’d be watching, was just too much to bear, and he waved Paul to stop before the other man could serve.
“What’s wrong?”
He shrugged his shoulder again, and gave an exaggerated grimace of pain. “Let’s stop,” he said. “I’m done in. I concede,” he added before Paul could reply. “I’m going to bathe and change for dinner.”
“Concede?” his cousin echoed as he walked off the court. “But you never concede.”
“I just did,” he called back, fearing it wasn’t just the tennis match he’d given up on.
He didn’t see her again until dinner. Fortunately, he was not seated anywhere near her at table, but that wasn’t as much of a blessing as it might have been, for he could still see her plainly from where he sat. Paul, seated beside her, must have been in quite a mind to be witty and charming company, because every time Rex took a glance her way, she seemed to be laughing at something his cousin had said. Lisle had no gas jets in the dining room, and the candlelight gave her pale skin a luminous glow. Her hair was done up in that pretty chignon he’d complimented that night in her office, which only led him to remembering what had happened there, and he was heartily glad when dinner was over and the ladies and gone through to the drawing room.
After the port, when he and the other gentlemen joined the ladies, Rex kept his conversation with her to the politest possible minimum, but there were times when he couldn’t resist edging close enough to hear her voice. It was an exercise in self-torture, and one that soon paid him out in spades, when he heard her describing the beauty of her yellow bedroom to her sister-in-law, Lady Angela. There was one, and only one, bedroom at Lisle done up in yellow.
The moment he discovered the location of her room, he tried to put the knowledge out of his mind, but he feared it was rather like putting Pandora’s gifts back in the box, because lying in bed five hours later, the location of her room seemed to be the only thing he could think about.
Images of her there danced tantalizingly across his mind, of her hair tumbled down around her, of small, round breasts, pale, luminous skin, and long, slim legs.
He breathed deep, imagining the scent of orange blossoms and past the roar in his ears, he remembered her soft cries of climax as his own lust rolled in him like thunder, rising, thickening, until it was pain.
He slid his hand along his hip, thinking to relieve the agony with simple expediency, something he’d been doing quite often during the past two months, but then he sighed and let his hand fall to his side. What good would it do? Any relief would be temporary, for just one sight of her smile and he’d be reduced to this state again.
Shoving back the sheets, he got out of bed. Time for another midnight swim, he decided. After sliding on black trousers and his heavy indigo satin smoking jacket, he left his room. Barefoot, he went downstairs and slipped out into the moonlit summer night.
He walked across the cool turf, circling the house toward the north side, making for the millpond, though he feared that was nowhere near far enough to get clear of her now. Maybe he could go rent a cottage in Ireland, he thought in desperation, or go to his father’s hunting lodge in Scotland, but neither of those seemed far enough away. Hell, with how he felt right now, even Shanghai might not be far enough to keep her safe from him.
After stripping naked, he dove into the pond, and he counted thirty full laps before the ache in his loins eased, the driving need for her slid back into mere discomfort, and he began to think Shanghai might not be necessary. But on his way back, he saw a light in one of the windows, the only light still lit on this side of the house. He counted the windows twice just to be sure, but even as he did so, he knew quite well it wasn’t necessary.
This was fate. One of those things a man just couldn’t fight. His attempt to do so had been a worthy, perhaps even noble battle, but now he knew it had also been a pointless one because when he saw the light in the Yellow Room, he knew he’d just lost the war.
He began walking toward the house, his steps quickening as he crossed the grass, slowing to a soft and quiet tread once he reentered the house. He went up the south staircase because it didn’t creak, traversed a maze of corridors, tiptoed past the quietly snoring hall boy, and turned toward the suites of guest quarters. He paused at the start of that corridor, noting the light that shone from beneath the door of the Yellow Room, and he didn’t know whether to be glad or not.
He counted doors as he walked toward her room, verifying his earlier calculations. Outside her door, he paused. Taking a deep breath, he considered with great care what he was about to do, what it would mean, and the inevitable consequences it would bring. Then he put his hand on the doorknob. Turning it, he opened the door, stepped inside, and crossed the Rubicon.
Chapter 17
The click of the latch caused Clara to look up from her book, and as the door swung open, she gave a startled gasp and bolted out of bed, only to freeze, riveted, at the sight of Rex coming into her room.
Her bedroom.
He put a finger to his lips and stepped further into her room, closing the door behind him. When he faced her again, she realized his hair was damp and he was only partially dressed, as if he’d just come from his bath, and she stared in shock at the vee of his bare chest, visible between the edges of his smoking jacket. She’d never seen a man’s bare chest before.
Heat unfurled in her belly.
He started toward her, and she took an involuntary step back, her legs hitting the bed behind her.
He stopped.
“Rex?” she whispered. “What are you doing here?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he looked down, and as his gaze slid over her body, Clara’s question was answered.
The heat inside her deepened and spread.
His roaming gaze stopped at her feet, and she curled her toes, tucking them under the hem of her nightgown. “Rex, you shouldn’t be here.”
“I know.”
At that soft admission, the heat inside her flared into a sudden, violent surge of anger. She strode across the room toward him. “You were barely civil to me when I arrived,” she reminded in a fierce whisper as she stopped in front of him.
He stirred. “It caught me off guard, seeing you here. I didn’t expect it. No one told me you were coming.”
“So, shock was the reason you looked at me as if you wanted me banished to perdition? And why you’ve been avoiding me ever since I arrived, and why you’ve treated me as if I have plague?”
“I’ve been trying to keep you safe.”
“Safe from what?”
He looked up, his eyes like blue flame. “From me.”
She sucked in her breath, that simple answer and the desire in his eyes robbing her of anger, leaving only heat.
“If you want me to go,” he said, his voice a low, harsh rasp, “say so.”
She should. Of course she should.
She opened her mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. Of all the times for her tongue to fail her, this shouldn’t be one of them, but after what had happened between them that extraordinary night in her office, after his scorching kisses and caresses, notions of propriety seemed absurd. W
orse, far worse, she didn’t want him to go. She wanted all those scorching kisses again. She didn’t speak.
Slowly, he moved, easing closer, and with every fraction of an inch he bent his head, her heartbeat quickened. By the time his lips brushed hers, her heart was racing.
“You know what it means, Clara, if I stay?”
She knew. He would lie with her. It was risk. It could be ruin. And yet, with the light brush of his lips, she ceased to care. She nodded. “Yes.”
With a suddenness that took her breath away, his arms were around her and his mouth was taking hers in a lush, openmouthed kiss.
And she relished it—relished all the scorching intimacy of it, tasting him as deeply as he tasted her. His arms around her, so strong. His body, so much larger than hers and so, so different. His mouth and his taste, familiar to her now. She melded against him, and moved to wrap her arms around his neck, but to her astonishment, he stopped her, his hands encircled her wrists.
She made a sound of protest against his mouth, but he ignored it, pulling her wrists down as he broke the kiss. “I’ve got to slow things down,” he told her, but even as he spoke, he was reaching for the ties of her robe. “I don’t want to ruin it for you by going too fast.”
“Whatever you do will be wonderful.”
He gave a laugh low in his throat. “I wish I shared your confidence,” he muttered. “Just remember, we’ll have to be very quiet. The rooms on both sides of you are occupied.”
He pulled at the edges of her robe and slid the garment from her shoulders. Then, to her astonishment, he took up the end of her braid, and with a tug, he untied the ribbon and began unraveling the plait.
“There now,” he murmured after a moment, spreading the long curly locks of her hair around her shoulders. “I’ve been wanting to do that almost from the moment we met.”
“What?” Clara blinked, staring up at him. “On the dance floor, you were thinking of unbraiding my hair?”
“I was. I wanted to take it down, see it fall, run my fingers through it.”
“Goodness.” It was a faint sound to her ears, barely audible.
His palm glided along her cheek, and then, he raked his hand through her hair, and with a fistful of it in his grasp, he tilted her head back and kissed her again, a long, lush kiss, more tender this time, but still hot enough to burn her everywhere. “And that,” he said, pulling back a little. “I was thinking about doing that, too.”
“I knew about that part,” she gasped, trying to catch her breath. “You told me as much.”
He chuckled, disentangling his fingers from her hair. “So I did. I’m such a scapegrace.”
He lifted his hands to her collar, and Clara felt a thrill of anticipation and a throb of fear as he unfastened the top button of her nightgown. He worked his way down, and the tension within her grew with each one that came undone. By the time he reached her navel, she was shaking inside, and when he pulled the garment off her shoulders, down her arms, and over her hips, then shoved it down to her ankles, she gasped at the sensation of cool air on her skin, for her body ached and burned with heat.
Abruptly, he stopped. He leaned back, his lashes lowered as he slanted a glance down over her, and she appreciated, too late, that she was completely naked. All the thrills died at once, and she wanted desperately to hide.
He wouldn’t let her. “No, no,” he murmured, catching her hands before she could think to cover herself. “I’ve been imagining this for a long time, Clara,” he whispered, spreading her arms wide even as she resisted. “Don’t deny me this.”
“I can’t,” she whispered, arms outstretched, his hands clasping hers, her body fully exposed. “Since you’ve already done it.”
He chuckled. Then his laughter faded away, and she knew he was looking at her body. Even with a corset, she didn’t have much in the way of curves, and without one, she knew her shape was more reminiscent of a stick than an hourglass. She endured his gaze, but she couldn’t look at him. Instead, she stared into his chin as he looked his fill, her tension growing. He was silent so long she could only fear the worst.
“You’re lovely,” he said, and then, to her utter amazement, he sank down to his knees in front of her. “Even more lovely than I’d imagined.” He laughed softly, his hand gliding up her hip and over her ribs. “Given how vivid my imaginings of you have been, that’s saying a lot.”
She did look at him then. She couldn’t resist, and when she saw his face, saw the hunger in his expression as he stared at her naked body, her relief was so profound, she almost sank to her knees, too.
He lifted his hand and cupped her breast in his palm, and her relief dissolved into a jolt of pleasure so strong, she gasped. The feel of his palm against the bare skin of her breast was exquisite, and when he took her nipple between his thumb and forefinger to gently toy with it, she couldn’t help a soft moan.
“Ssh,” he admonished, then he kissed her there, a sensation so sharp, so exquisite that she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. And when his mouth opened over her nipple, her knees gave way beneath her. He caught her before she fell, his arm wrapping tight around her hips, as his mouth suckled her breast.
She stirred against him, for what he was doing made her want desperately to move, but he wouldn’t let her. His arm tightened around her hips, pinning her to his body, a queer sort of bondage that only seemed to enhance the pleasure he was evoking with his mouth.
As last, she could take no more. “Rex,” she gasped, raking her hand through his hair, pulling his head back.
He relented, easing away, reaching for her hands, pulling her down to join him, and as she sank to her knees in front of him, he shrugged out of his smoking jacket.
He moved to kiss her, but Clara stopped him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his breathing uneven.
“Nothing. I just—” She stopped, her gaze lowering to his chest. “I think it’s my turn to look.”
He laughed low in his throat. “Fair enough. Look your fill.”
She did, her gaze roaming over his wide chest and powerful arms, and as he watched her, he realized that looking at him pleased and aroused her, and for the first time in his life, Rex was grateful for the good looks he’d inherited from his mother.
When she lifted her hands to his chest and touched him, he bore the sweet agony of it. But when her gaze slid to his trousers and her hands followed, he shook his head and pushed her hands gently away. “A man can only take so much torture,” he told her. “If you start undressing me, I’ll go to bits and our evening will be over far too soon.”
“But you got to undress me,” she protested.
“That’s different.” He kissed her to stifle any further discussion on the subject, then he eased her down onto the carpet.
That didn’t seem to please her, for at once, she wriggled, making a face. “It’s itchy. Can’t we lay on the bed?” she whispered.
He shook his head. “Iron beds make too much noise.”
“Oh.” She blushed as she realized why, and it made him laugh. Never in his life would he have thought sweetness like hers would be addicting, but he craved it now, as if it were a drug.
“Really, Rex, I don’t understand the things you think are funny.”
“I know.” He kissed her. “I know.”
Straightening, he reached for his smoking jacket. “Here,” he said, spreading it out. “Lay on this.”
She complied, and the sight of her stretched out naked on top of his jacket was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen. He ran his gaze over her sweet, round breasts, her slim waist and hips and her long, long legs, coming at last to the soft brown curls at the apex of her thighs. He wanted her so badly, it was making him dizzy, but he had to bank his own need just a little bit longer, for her first time was going to be the most beautiful, romantic experience he could make it.
Not that he quite knew what he was doing there, he realized, a thought that almost made him laugh. All the women he’d had, and
yet, that sort of experience did him no good with Clara. He’d never made love to a virgin before, and he hadn’t been this intimidated by the act of love since he was an adolescent.
He took a profound, shaky breath, then eased down beside her. His weight on his forearm, he spread his hand over her stomach.
She responded to his touch at once, a low moan in her throat as her hips arched. He smiled at that. She was so delicate, and yet, the passion inside her was titanic. Nonetheless, when he eased closer and his erection pressed against her thigh, she shied away a little, opening her eyes.
“Rex?”
“It’s all right,” he promised. “Trust me.”
He kissed her, slow, deep kisses, as her body slowly relaxed. Still kissing her, he slid his hand to her breast, shaping it, toying with her for a bit, then he bent to take her nipple into his mouth. She moaned again, and earned herself another admonition to be quiet, and when she lifted her arm, pressing her wrist over her mouth, he smiled.
Still suckling her, he slid his palm down her ribs, across her stomach, and between her thighs to touch the soft triangle of her curls. She gasped, her legs squeezed convulsively around his hand, her hips working as he caressed her.
She was wet, ready, and yet he waited, stroked her much as he had that night on her desk, gliding his finger back and forth along the crease of her sex, watching her face as her eyes closed. Her arm fell to her side, her breathing quick, her hips working against his hand.
“Remember this?” he whispered. “Remember the last time I did this?”
“That’s not—” She paused, panting, hips working. “That’s not something a girl’s likely to forget.”
He laughed, a chortle that he quickly snuffed. She said the most unexpected things.
Clara heard his laugh, but as usual, she didn’t understand it, and right now, she was too overwhelmed to care about figuring it out. Each stroke of his finger was sending a throb of pleasure through her body, until she couldn’t bear it, and shattered apart, just like before, a sob of ecstasy tearing from her.
The Trouble with True Love (Dear Lady Truelove #2) Page 26