She had the handle in her hand when he reached her. Grasping her by the shoulders, Kit turned her round to face him and, ruthlessly pushing her bonnet back, kissed her. A hard, long, vengeful kiss, his lips devouring hers, his tongue seeking entry to her mouth, determined not to be gainsaid.
‘No, Clarrie, don’t go. Not yet. I’ve missed you.’
The words were growled low, drawn unwillingly from him, but they were enough. Clarrie melted into his arms, throwing her own around him, clutching desperately at him to pull herself into his hard, achingly familiar body, feeling as if she was coming home. ‘Kit.’ She opened her mouth, her soft lips giving against his hard demands, the fire of passion igniting instantly as the tip of his tongue touched hers, the heat starting low down in her belly and rising quickly to engulf her as Kit’s kisses became passionate, hungry, commanding.
His hands roamed restlessly over her body, frustrated by the thick wool of her clothing. Her cloak was cast off, her bonnet hung down her back by its ribbons, but it wasn’t enough. Kit licked the corners of her mouth, then traced a pattern of kisses down her neck, pulling at the fichu of her gown to reveal the white mounds of her breasts underneath. He kissed the valley between them, and circled her nipples with his thumbs through her clothing, the cotton of her chemise causing a delicious friction that added to the sensation of pleasure.
Casting off her gloves, Clarrie pulled him closer in, pulling his lips to hers once more, meeting his demands with her own, threatening to overpower his control with her passion. It was this, Kit thought hazily, this matching of needs and wants, that was at the root of his obsession. A woman who was his equal in desires, who challenged and commanded and was unafraid of expressing her own needs—this is what made Clarrie so very necessary to him.
Necessary? The word startled Kit back to reality. Forcing himself to let her go, slowly unfastening his lips from hers, he shook his head in disbelief. So near she had been to leaving. So quickly had passion overtaken them. Looking at her, flushed and dishevelled, her green eyes dark with desire, he knew that what she was feeling, for now at least, was no pretence. She wanted him every bit as much as he wanted her.
He could not let her go. The stark truth stared Kit in the face. He could not let her go. Not until he was over her. Not until he could face a future without her. No matter what kind of scheming trollop she was, she needed to be his until he had cured himself of this strange addiction. He could not contemplate any alternative.
Taken up with the attempt to put her clothing into some sort of order and to control her breathing, Clarissa noticed none of the thoughts flitting over Kit’s face. I’ve missed you. That was all it had taken from him to destroy her resolution, to turn her into this strange, wild, Clarrie she didn’t recognise. A Clarrie with no control over her passions. A Clarrie with no thought other than the fulfilment of those passions. A Clarrie so far from the upright, staid, practical Clarissa that she seemed like quite another person.
I’ve missed you. Did she imagine it? Did it matter, when ultimately it would make no difference between them? He wanted her body, that was all. He would take her and use her and dispose of her, and she would be left with an empty shell. Nothing had changed. Dejectedly, she retied her bonnet, thrusting the curls that had escaped their pins under the brim any old how, afraid to see the evidence of their passion should she look in the mirror. She had to get out of here before she made an even bigger fool of herself.
A vice-like grip on her arm made any move impossible, however. ‘You’re not going anywhere until we’ve talked.’
‘We have nothing more to say to each other. I must go; Mama does not know where I am.’
‘I suspect your mama knows exactly where you are right now, my dear, and moreover heartily approves.’
‘You have her wrong, Kit. She is merely a foolish woman in desperate need of funds. She did not really intend to bribe you, nor to sell me.’
‘No? I’m afraid it is you who are mistaken. But I’m already bored with discussing your sainted mama. I am much more interested in what happens next between us.’
‘Nothing. Nothing more can happen, Kit, you know that as well as I.’
‘Don’t insult me. We have unfinished business between us. As well it were settled now while we are alone.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Come, Clarissa, don’t pretend. We are extremely compatible. You must admit that, for you are obviously experienced. I have not met such a passion in a woman before. Together, we are well matched.’
The burning flush that covered her face was a mixture of anger and disappointment. To discuss what they had shared seemed so wrong. To denigrate what for Clarrie had been love-making, into something that was mere bodily pleasure, made her furious. And for him to deny, despite the evidence, that he had been her first, her only lover, was the final straw. ‘You do me a grievous disservice, my lord. If your intention is to hurt me, then let me assure you that you have been more than successful. I have not your lordship’s experience in such matters, despite what you think of me. And I find it distasteful to discuss our love-making—’ she could not bring herself to give it another name ‘—in such cold terms. I was an innocent until two nights ago, you know it yourself, though you choose to deny it. I gave you my body in payment, as I promised—I am no longer in debt to you, nor you to me. I am pleased that our union was not distasteful to you, but it is over. Now let me go.’
Completely taken aback at her anger, Kit’s grip on her arm did not relax. The tiny voice deep inside him that had been on Clarissa’s side from the start, supporting her claims, telling him to trust her, gained volume. One truth he would allow her. He knew she had been innocent, had been mad or desperate to think otherwise. But still, he could not reconcile this fact with his experience. She might have been unpractised, but she had definitely been tutored. Innocence was not, after all, the same as virtue.
It did not matter. None of it mattered. Allowing himself to accept that he had been the first, the only lover she had ever had, gave Kit a glow of satisfaction, making him realise how necessary it was that he continued to be so. She was, must be, exclusively his. ‘Clarrie, we can deal better than this. I’m sorry for disbelieving you, I’m not thinking straight. I beg your pardon. Please, let us sit down and talk properly.’
‘There’s nothing to talk about, Kit. Please let me go.’ But she allowed herself to be led over to a sofa, and sat down nevertheless.
Kit sat down beside her. ‘There, that’s more like it. I awoke with such a headache,’ he said apologetically, ‘I was a trifle foxed, a touch too much brandy last night, for which I must blame your mama and her letter. I confess I am not at my best, and my temper is ragged as a consequence. But I am feeling better by the minute.’
‘Really, Kit, blaming my mama for your headache is a trifle unfair.’
Clarissa looked up, the tilt of her determined little chin, the challenging lift of her brow, so exactly as he remembered that for a moment he forgot all that had gone before and laughed, his rare, genuine laugh. ‘Fair enough, I must accept some of the blame. You allow me no quarter, do you, Clarissa fair?’
‘Nor you I, my lord and in that we are certainly well matched.’
‘Clarissa, I want you to listen to me, and not to interrupt.’ Seizing her hand, Kit gazed into her eyes, urging her compliance. He would do it, he had to ask her, he didn’t care what damage it did to his ego. What use was it to have his pride intact when what he really wanted was right here in front of him? He could nurse his injured pride at length when his more pressing needs had been satisfied. ‘Please, listen. I don’t want an answer now, I want you to think carefully about it.’
‘Very well. But I think you should know that—’
‘Clarissa, be quiet.’
This time his smile lit up his eyes, making him so incredibly handsome that Clarissa gulped in an effort not to lean over and kiss him once more.
‘We started out our liaison, both of us, under false preten
ces. No matter your real motives, whether to rescue your sister or to entrap me for yourself, you lied to me from the start. And I was not so honest with you either, for I led you on, knowing full well that you were scheming, yet so bored with my life that I chose to indulge you in your pretence.’
A brief silence greeted this, as both reviewed the last few days, acknowledging the truth. Neither could claim to be blameless.
‘Yet much good has flowed from such inauspicious beginnings, Clarissa,’ Kit continued, ‘you must see that now. I have never met a woman whose courage I have so admired. You took everything I threw at you and coped without tears or tantrums. You showed such a lust for life on board the Sea Wolf, such an empathy towards Monsieur and Mademoiselle Renaud. I came to honour your judgement, to enjoy testing your intelligence. In short, despite your scheming, I enjoy your company, Clarissa, in a way I have never liked the company of any woman before.’
Her heart was beating faster with every word, for she could not quite believe what Kit was saying to her. She dared not speak, dared not hope, merely gestured for him to continue.
‘The consummation of our relationship was—well, I will not cause you to blush further. Let me just say that it was all I had hoped and beyond all my previous experience. I want more of it, I cannot think straight until I have more of it. I think we will deal well together. What do you say, Clarrie. Is it yes?’
She could not quite believe it. He had proposed. He had not mentioned love but it was there surely, clearly implied. ‘Are you sure it’s what you want, Kit?’
‘I never offer anything unless I’m completely sure.’
‘Oh Kit, yes, yes, yes.’ Clarrie threw her arms around him, almost knocking him flat back on the sofa, her body lying on top of his, pressing against him with abandon. Their kiss was slow and languorous. Tasting, renewing, hot, yet restrained. Clarrie pressed tiny kisses onto Kit’s eyes, his cheeks, his ears, kissed her way across his mouth, licking the tender skin inside his lips, and licked back again. She ran her fingers through his locks, feeling the fine silk of his hair run through them, contrasting with the crisp dark hair on his nape—the feeling awakening a vivid memory of the crisp curls on his chest.
Kit made to sit up, but she pushed him back down, arching into his arousal, rubbing herself against him, the friction of their bodies and their clothes sending shivers of raw desire through her. Cautiously, she rubbed herself against him again, cat-like, sinuously, testing his control, revelling in the feeling of power this ability to arouse him gave her. All thought of restraint left her as she heard his groan of surrender and wild Clarrie took over from staid Clarissa, heedless of their surroundings, intent only on giving pleasure and receiving it in return.
She kissed him again, a hard, passionate kiss, holding his face in her hands, refusing to let him move from underneath her. Clumsily at first, but with growing confidence, she fumbled for the fastenings of his breeches and released him from their constraints. His arousal was a hard silken length in her hand, hers to hold, to caress, to rub, to tease, and she did all of this, all the time watching Kit’s face, flushed like her own with passion, his eyes closed, his breathing heavy. She was causing this, she was doing this to him—he was hers. A thrill of possession ran through her, causing her hands to tighten, threatening to upset the delicate balance of control. Just in time, she released him, twisting away to stand upright.
Clarissa quickly disposed of her own undergarments, discarded the fichu at her neck, and untied the strings of her chemise. Kit needed no encouragement, but sat up, pulling her back down astride him, freeing her breasts with urgent hands, enveloping first one, then the other, nipple with his soft mouth, sweeping circles on each with his clever, tantalising, teasing tongue. Clarrie panted, wet with desire, and pulled her dress up around her waist. Bracing herself with her hands on the back of the sofa behind Kit’s neck, she began, slowly, delicately, to draw him inside her, slowly to engulf his hard length with her own silken heat. Kit’s hands held her waist to guide her, support her, but she needed no encouragement. She held them both still for a heart-stopping instant, her muscles clenched around him, then moved, tilted up, then slowly down, twisting herself against him to heighten her own pleasure, feeling him pulse inside her. Slowly, resolutely resisting the urge to quicken the pace, she repeated the motion, rising up and thrusting down, hearing Kit’s gasping, growled pleasure in her ear, feeling his grip on her waist tighten, feeling her own climax climbing to its peak with each downwards motion, until suddenly she was soaring, released, flying in ecstasy. As she lost herself in the feeling, Kit’s grasp became demanding, and she instinctively thrust more urgently, hard and fast, relishing the feeling of still being in control even as she floated in the afterglow of her climax, moaning as Kit’s own climax came in a final powerful thrust that pulsed through her, ripples of pleasure ebbing out from a whirlpool of passion.
They lay limp and panting, a tangle of clothing around hot, damp, satisfied bodies. Clarrie raised her head from where it rested in the nook between Kit’s neck and shoulder to look into his eyes, still dark with passion behind hooded lids. A crooked, exhausted smile met her own slightly trembling, slightly questioning look. Holding her tight against him, their bodies still joined, Kit reached up to curl a bright auburn lock around his finger. Pressing a slow, sated kiss to her mouth, he finally moved to separate them, brushing her skirts down, adjusting his breeches, holding out her undergarments to her with a rueful smile.
Retreating behind a small screen by the fire to compose herself, Clarissa felt a hot flush of embarrassment. What had come over her? She could not blame Kit this time for becoming carried away, it had been all her own doing. What if the servants had come in? She doubted she would even have noticed.
‘I think we had better confine such activity to our bedchamber when we are married, do not you, Kit?’ Clarissa emerged from the screen, tying her fichu into place, and saw the smile on his face freeze at her words.
‘Married? Whatever gave you that idea?’
‘Why, you did. You proposed to me—and I said yes.’ Her confidence faltered. Looking back on the conversation, she realised that he had not specifically mentioned marriage at all.
‘You are mistaken, Clarissa. My proposal was of a nature much more appropriate to our relationship, as I believe I indicated it would be in my letter.’
‘But I thought you had changed your mind. You said you couldn’t do without me. You said you missed me. You said you wanted me.’
‘All true—for the present, at least. But none of those words imply marriage, my dear. You don’t bring me up to scratch so easily.’
Clarissa slumped down in an armchair, her legs too weak to support her. He was right. She had been so carried away just being with him, with his avowal of need, of desire, she had not questioned the nature of the proposal. In a small voice she determined once and for all to clarify the situation. ‘You were not offering marriage?’
Kit’s raised brow and mocking smile were the only answer, but they were sufficient.
‘What, then? I don’t understand.’
‘A temporary but exclusive liaison.’
‘You mean I would be yours and only yours?’ He had that already, and for ever, if he were but interested.
‘Yes, but I would be yours too, exclusively, for the duration. I have never offered a woman that before, Clarrie, you should be honoured.’
‘Yes? Well, then, thank you, my lord, I must be honoured if you say I should be.’
She glanced up at him, hurt and confusion writ large on her face, causing that nagging voice in his head to speak in her support. His instinct to hold her close, to promise never to leave her, was quelled with extreme difficulty. Defiantly, he reminded himself that she would do anything to have her way, to trap him, even into marriage. He would not be a victim. He would take her, he had to have her, but on his own terms, and those terms alone, no matter how urgently he wished it could be otherwise.
‘Come now, Clarrie, there’
s no point in tears. We have something out of the common way together. Let us make the most of it while it lasts. For it will end, as these things always do, so it’s best to make arrangements now, to make that ending as painless as possible. Then we can enjoy to the full the precious time we have together. I am a generous protector. You will find you want for nothing, I promise. And when we part, as part we must, you will be more than adequately recompensed. I think that is a bargain neither of us can carp at.’
She continued to look up at him, the hurt reflected deep in her emerald eyes, but the tears were held defiantly in check. Reminding himself that she was an astonishingly good actress, Kit leaned over to pull her to her feet, pressing a swift, gentle kiss on her yielding lips.
‘I asked you to think carefully about my proposal, you may remember. Don’t say no, Clarrie, it would be a mistake. Go home and think about what we have. Think about the alternatives. Then give me a yes that you will honour. I’ll meet you tomorrow, when you’ve had time to reflect. But bear this in mind. Though I offer you something I have never offered before, I will not offer more, nor will I offer it twice. If you say no, it will be final, and we will see no more of each other. And much as I wish and hope that will not be so, I won’t be blackmailed, nor held to ransom. This is my final offer, Clarissa, so think carefully before you turn it down.’
Shaking her head, Clarissa could still find no words, silenced as she was by the deep hurt inside her, the determination not to show Kit how much she cared. Submissively, she stood while he re-tied her bonnet and draped her cloak around her. Wordlessly, she allowed him to kiss her cheek, permitting herself only one brief, final embrace before she left without looking back, and the door to Grosvenor Square closed firmly behind her for ever.
A small boy in dark green livery stepped aside into a doorway as Clarissa exited the house and hailed a hack. When the carriage pulled away, the boy launched himself on to the back of it, unbeknownst to either the jarvey or his passenger. As the hack pulled up to deposit Clarissa at her home, the boy leapt off and hid round the corner, taking careful note of her address. With a satisfied whistle, he waited to make sure she went through the door, before running off to inform his master of his findings.
The Wicked Lord Rasenby Page 20