by Clee, Adele
Her shoulders sagged. “Yes, desperate is one way of describing my predicament, and Emily is always in my thoughts. I must trust that Monsieur Dariell is a man of his word.”
“I can assure you he is.”
Silence descended once more.
Lockhart turned to face the fire. He watched the flames dance and flicker as he unbuttoned his waistcoat and tossed it to join the other garments on the chair. When he tugged his shirt out of his breeches, he heard Miss Darling’s faint gasp.
A surge of respect for the lady surfaced. “Would you prefer if I undressed elsewhere?” He did not turn around though part of him longed to see anxiety flash in her eyes. It was the only time he could be certain he was witnessing the truth.
Lockhart could almost hear the internal cogs turning as she pondered his question.
“I told you I would never betray a trust,” she said with a sudden determination. “This is a partnership for our mutual benefit. No matter how difficult it might be, I promised to act as your wife, and so that is what I will do.”
Claudia Darling was unlike any woman he had met. A steely resolve flowed through her veins. At times, she appeared shy, timid, and yet he had witnessed her wrath, tasted the raw passion buried beneath the prim exterior. If she loved a man, she would cross the ends of the earth to be at his side. She was too good for him, too kind, too loving.
Lockhart turned to face her, surprised by his urge to worship her as she deserved. “I trust that means you’re happy for me to undress here,” he said in the teasing tone he used to disguise any genuine feelings.
She forced a smile. “I can always close my eyes.”
“With your inquisitive mind, I imagine there would be lots of peeking.”
A chuckle escaped her. “You know me so well, husband.”
He laughed, despite feeling an odd sense of comfort at her use of the endearment. To distract his mind, he perched on the edge of the bed, removed his shoes and the rest of his clothes until his shirt was the only garment covering his modesty.
“You promised to tell me about India,” she said nervously. “You said you would paint a vivid picture. One I am unlikely to forget.”
He had said that, but merely to tease her about joining him in bed. No doubt she sought a distraction, a means to draw her mind away from a fear of sleeping next to a half-naked man.
“Then we will talk for an hour instead of reading.”
Lockhart moved to the washstand. He fought the urge to drag his shirt over his head and use a cold cloth to douse the flames of lust licking his skin. After drying his hands and face on a towel, he blew out the candles and moved towards the bed.
“Wait!” she said, panic rising when he grabbed the edge of the coverlet, ready to yank it back. “I am losing faith in Monsieur Dariell’s character.”
“In Dariell’s character?” He couldn’t hide his shock at her odd outburst. “Why?”
Miss Darling clutched the coverlet to her chest as if she may lose her head should she let go. “Perhaps it is because he is French.”
“You dislike the French?”
“No. Perhaps his nationality accounts for his taste in clothes.”
“Forgive me, but I’m struggling to follow your train of thought.” Nerves had affected her logic.
She dropped her gaze to her chest. “Monsieur Dariell instructed the modiste to design bedroom attire, too.”
“And?”
“My nightdress—if one can call it that—is silk.”
Lockhart pursed his lips. He didn’t know whether to chuckle, salute his friend’s foresight or grab a pillow and blanket and retreat to the dressing room.
“I could hardly tell Lissette it was unsuitable and that I’d wear the one I brought with me,” Miss Darling continued. “From the look she gave I doubt she thinks it will be on for long.”
The heat warming his chest journeyed southwards as visions of her naked form danced in his mind. “May I see the nightgown?”
“Of course not. And nightgown is a term I would use loosely.”
It was worth a try.
“Look, I shall close my eyes as I slip into bed.” Had the lady forgotten he’d delved deep into her mouth and roused a sigh of pleasure? Hell, now was not the time to think of that, either. “If you hold the coverlet tightly to your chest, there’s no reason I should see your body or the gown.”
Looking somewhat appeased, and after a moment’s contemplation, she nodded.
Slipping beneath the sheets played havoc with his body. Knowing she wore a scandalous nightgown while lying a mere foot away sent blood surging to his cock. There was only one thing for it—other than taking himself in hand, and he wasn’t about to do that in front of a lady—and so he turned on his side to face her and propped himself up on his elbow.
“You want me to tell you about India.”
Miss Darling shuffled onto her side whilst remaining huddled in her cocoon. “Oh, yes. I’ve heard tell it’s so hot you cannot sleep at night.”
Hot, but nowhere near as hot as he felt now.
“Not all year.” Lockhart smiled as she stared at him all wide-eyed and innocent. “In the summer the heat is stifling. Sweat trickles down your back. Humidity is low, making it difficult to breathe. When the Loo comes—”
“The Loo?” Miss Darling wrinkled her nose.
“It’s a strong, dusty wind that blows from the west during the summer.”
“Surely that helps to keep cool.”
The scorching wind devastated the landscape, ruined vegetation. “The gusts are so hot people call them the evil winds. Just before the onset of the monsoon season, the Kali Andhi comes—a violent, squalling dust storm that reduces visibility.”
Miss Darling’s sweet mouth dropped open.
God, how he wanted to kiss her again.
“And what’s it like during the monsoons?” She clasped her hands together in prayer and placed them between her cheek and the pillow as she edged a little closer.
There was not much to say about the torrential rain, rain that sometimes fell for days and days, but he would say anything as long as he had Miss Darling’s undivided attention.
“Storms roll in so quickly you’ve little time to prepare,” he said, relishing the look of wonder and excitement in her eyes. “The clouds are dark and heavy and filled with moisture. The rains can last for months. Droplets drench the skin in seconds.” He reached out and smoothed a strand of hair from her brow. She did not flinch or protest. “I’ve always found the rain cleansing. I’ve stood outside until my clothes are sodden and rain runs off the tip of my nose like water from a tap.”
Miss Darling chuckled.
She should laugh more often. Her eyes shone, bright and vibrant. A vitality for life radiated from every fibre of her being.
“When caught in a sudden shower I do tend to dawdle,” she said.
“Perhaps we might look for an opportunity to share the experience.” They were talking about being out in the rain and yet the intimacy of the moment roused his desire on a level deeper than he had ever known.
“Yes, we must.”
Silence slipped over them like a silk veil.
Miss Darling held his gaze, which was a feat in itself as he knew lust lingered there.
“Did you meet many English ladies whilst abroad?”
Lockhart wondered what prompted the question. “Some. The British over in India try to recreate the life they had at home. Ladies call on their friends and take tea. They gossip and complain about the weather.” He found them rather tedious.
“And the gentlemen?”
“Hunt cheetahs rather than foxes.”
“I wouldn’t want to flush a cheetah out of a hole.”
“No, Miss Darling.” Lockhart laughed. “Neither would I.”
When their amusement faded, he waited for her to ask another question. She didn’t. She glanced at the fire burning low in the grate. Despite numerous attempts to stifle a yawn, she failed miserably.
; But he did not want to go to sleep. He wanted to look at her, to hear her voice, to talk until sunrise.
“Now that we’re considered fully fledged actors,” he said, “it is time to test our skill. Let us play a game.”
“A game? What would you have us do?”
Was she eager to prolong this moment, too, or did embarrassment about sleeping next to him play a part?
“You understand that married couples who are madly in love have intimate relations on a regular basis.”
“No, but I shall take you at your word,” she said with some apprehension.
“And you understand that we must make our marriage look convincing.”
She hesitated before saying, “Yes, but I am not jumping on the bed whilst wearing this nightgown.”
“No, of course not.” That would be a step too far when in the company of a man with lascivious intentions. “But we should practise our sighs of pleasure.”
“Sighs of pleasure?” Miss Darling jerked her head back. “I couldn’t possibly do that.”
“Then you admit I am the better actor?”
Would she take the bait?
She arched a brow. “Your argument is weak, sir, as you have had to do little to embrace the role of husband.”
“Little? Madam, do you not recall one scandalous kiss on the terrace?”
As she shrugged, the coverlet slipped to reveal an inch of bare shoulder. He had seen naked women many times before but nothing as erotic as a forbidden glimpse of her milky-white skin.
Regrettably, she rectified the problem.
“I’m sure you’ve kissed many women, and so it was no great hardship. It was different for me as you’re the only man I’ve kissed.”
Lockhart gave a boyish wink. “We could practise kissing if you’d like to work on your performance.”
She snorted. “It is you who needs practice.”
“Me?” He frowned, affronted at the suggestion he lacked skill with his tongue.
“You kiss like a man consumed with lust when you’re supposed to kiss like a man in love.”
“Is there a difference?” Honestly, he did not know.
“Of course there’s a difference.”
Ah, the lady had fallen nicely into his trap. “Show me.” Before she could protest, he added, “A man needs a tutor if he hopes to learn a new skill.”
Miss Darling’s gaze dropped to his lips.
“I will need to kiss you again at some point,” he pressed. “It is up to you whether it is a kiss full of lust or one that conveys love.”
She remained silent for a time. Eventually, she said, “Very well. But you’re not to kiss me back.”
That was like asking a parched man not to drink from a stream. Still, he’d not pass up an opportunity to feel her lips on his.
Lockhart squeezed his eyes shut. “Do with me what you will. I shall not open my eyes until you’ve finished.”
“It will be short,” she said. “Lust is like a fire in constant need of poking.”
Did she know that was an accurate analogy?
“Love,” she continued, “is conveyed through a simple but tender touch.”
Disappointment flared. He was hoping for an opportunity to tempt her, to devour her mouth as he’d done before.
“Do not move.” She shuffled closer, so close her hot breath breezed across his face.
His imagination ran amok. Was she still gripping the coverlet or had she let it slip?
The waiting, the anticipation proved highly arousing.
The first touch of her fingers gliding up to cup his cheek sent a bolt of heat to his loins. He felt her breath again like a mystical breeze whispering ancient secrets. Such was the power this lady had over him. The feel of her lips pressing softly against his was almost his undoing. They were moist and slightly parted, conveyed tenderness while hinting at the possibility of so much more. Yet strangely one kiss was enough to ignite a fire within.
She broke contact, whispered, “If I loved you, I would tell you now.”
Then tell me.
A part of him ached to hear the words.
But this was a game, he reminded himself, a game of his own construction.
When she moved away, he opened his eyes to find her shrouded in the coverlet with her head on the pillow. Something lingered in the air between them—a feeling, an emotion he could not identify, more unspoken words and confounding thoughts.
“Good night, Hudson.” Her eyes fluttered closed, shutting him out.
Lockhart turned onto his back and stared at the ceiling. “Good night, Claudia,” he said, knowing sleep would elude him for hours, knowing that until he drew his last breath, he would never forget that one sweet, gentle kiss.
Chapter Ten
Light danced on Claudia’s closed eyelids, teasing her gently out of the sweet realms of sleep. Remnants of a dream flickered in her mind, of her running through the wheat fields bordering Falaura Glen, laughing as the midday sun cast a golden hue over the scene. She hiked up her skirts and glanced back over her shoulder, bursting into an excited giggle as she bolted from the gentleman chasing in hot pursuit.
Claudia couldn’t see his face clearly, but she was not afraid. She wanted him to catch her. Desperate to keep the dream alive in her conscious memory, she imagined throwing her arms wide in surrender, imagined him scooping her up and swinging her around and around until dizzy.
A pleasurable sigh left her lips.
“Is this a game of illicit moans or is it that you slept well?” The smooth, masculine voice caressed her senses. It took her a moment to realise that it was not the man in her dream who spoke but the man lying next to her in bed.
Hudson Lockhart.
Instead of her heart melting, it hammered hard in her chest. Too scared to open her eyes fully, she peered through half-closed lids. There was a body, a large male body, a bronzed naked male body a mere foot away.
Where the devil was his nightshirt?
Claudia stole a fluttered glance at his face. An arrogant grin played at the corners of his mouth as he watched her intently.
“Since you failed to reply,” he continued, moistening his lips as his dark eyes devoured her, “I assume it’s my turn.” A deep, guttural groan resonated in the back of his throat. “God damn, Claudia, you drive me wild.” He winked and said in a less amorous tone, “There, how was that?”
Embarrassment forced a rush of blood to her cheeks. Desire sent it flooding in another direction, too. Her whole body burned. But then she was huddled beneath a heap of blankets.
Except she wasn’t beneath the blankets.
Claudia wiggled her toes, the cool air proving her worst fear accurate.
Oh, Mother Mary!
She forced her eyelids apart, forced herself to look at the shirtless rogue propped up on one elbow.
“You’ve been watching me sleeping?” Claudia winced as she dared to examine her current state of dishabille. She was sprawled like a starfish, a starfish whose silk nightgown happened to be riding halfway up her thighs, clinging to her breasts and erect nipples.
If her cheeks were red before, they must be a dark shade of crimson now.
“I don’t know why you’re embarrassed,” Mr Lockhart said as his hungry gaze slid up and down the entire length of her body. “You look angelic while sleeping, though I doubt an angel would hike up her nightdress while moaning with pleasure.”
Mortification threatened to consume her.
“What happened to you wearing a shirt to bed?” she snapped, grabbing the end of the coverlet and pulling it up to her neck. “You made a promise. It was part of our bargain.”
“I promised to wear it to bed. I did not promise to keep it on all night.”
Claudia couldn’t help but take another furtive glance at Mr Lockhart’s muscular physique.
Lord have mercy!
Every fibre of her being itched to run her hands over the bulging contours, longed to twirl her fingers in the dusting of dark hair on his chest. Tha
nkfully, the bedsheets hugged his waist and hips and—
Hell’s bells!
Hudson Lockhart was naked beneath the sheets.
“Wh-what time is it?” Panic held her rigid.
“Nine.”
“Nine? But I never sleep late.”
“We were talking until the early hours.” He inhaled deeply, and his chest expanded to torment her all the more. “But you’re right. I’m to visit my parents at noon and haven’t time to lounge around.”
Without offering a word of warning, he threw back the bedsheets and jumped out of bed. Leaving her with a perfect view of his pert buttocks, he reached high, every muscle in his back rippling as he stretched his limbs.
Oh, this man was as cunning as the devil.
No doubt he was about to grab hold of his manhood and piddle into the chamber pot. He took pleasure in unsettling her composure. Naivety made her a prime candidate for teasing. He knew exactly what to do to draw attention to her lack of experience.
Well, not anymore.
Timidity had become rather tiresome.
Lord knows how long he had stared at her breasts while she relaxed in peaceful slumber. At some point in her life, she would see a man naked. It might as well be now. Having shared a bed with him, should she not be a little bolder? Besides, something had changed during the early hours when she’d listened to him speak of the Indian weather. A deeper connection had formed—an intimacy she had never known.
“Then surely I’m to come with you when you visit your parents.” Claudia slipped out of bed and padded over to the washstand. Heavens, it was cold. “We should ring for Lissette to bring fresh water and have a maid light the fire.”
Claudia did not have to look at Hudson Lockhart to know she had captured his attention. The heat from his gaze journeyed over her back, scorching her skin in its wake.
“Haven’t you forgotten something?” he said, his tone low and husky.
Claudia gathered every ounce of courage she possessed and swung around to face him. Satisfaction raced through her when she noted his initial look of surprise. But Mr Lockhart was a man comfortable in his own skin. Mr Lockhart had the confidence of Adonis.