by Erica Taylor
“You want something,” he whispered in her ear and Clara nodded, whimpering into his chest. “Tell me what you want.”
“I cannot explain,” she answered into his shirt, fighting to find the words.
“Try,” he coaxed.
“I want . . . you,” she whispered. She did not understand it, but she wanted to satisfy the fire stirring within her. “Here.” She tugged on his hand, moving him down across her stomach, down between her legs. “I need you to touch me here, where it hurts and aches to be touched. I don’t even know what I mean by that, or if it is something that is done, but—”
“Oh, it is definitely something that is done,” Andrew growled in a harsh whisper, leaning down to capture her lips, cupping the soft mound between her legs and stroking one finger along her wet slit.
It was as though Clara was so close to something unbelievably magical, but with each teasing stroke, she was not quite there. Each pass Andrew made, his finger slick with her moisture, each time he thumbed across the little nub at the apex, she felt a tightening sensation, something deep inside her longed to be stroked.
“Please.” The word was enough, and he slipped his fingers into her most private folds, and she gasped at the sensation. Clara arched her back and bucked her hips into his hand in a most wanton fashion, but she did not care. She could not care anymore. She just wanted him and all he had to offer.
She moaned into his mouth as his fingers worked miracles deep inside her. His lips moved down her neck, to her breast, and all she could do was feel and enjoy and take pleasure in what he was giving her. Something was building, something she never felt before, but she felt it coming on like a beam of sunshine on a cloudy day. Suddenly, she was drowning in light as each ray burned through her, wiping away the chill in her bones, and all that was left was warmth.
“Oh God,” Clara gasped, panting, racing to catch her breath. She looked up into Andrew’s handsome face, smiling rakishly down at her, and she could not help but smile. In that one moment, she no longer felt embarrassed or out of place. She felt brazen and bold, and she felt perfect. He leaned down and planted a soft kiss on her lips before lifting himself off of her, moving to sit on the edge of the sofa.
“Where . . .” she began, but stopped, trying to find the words in her pudding of a brain. “Where are you going?”
Andrew closed his eyes, an almost pained expression moving across his face.
“Why did you stop?” she asked, her brow pulling together. “I mean, there is more? Surely that cannot be all men and women do together?”
Andrew shook his head, his eyes still closed, as if the sight of her might change his mind. “Not tonight, I’m afraid.”
Tears pricked her eyes as she swallowed his words of rejection. Swallowing the hurt that was bursting to the surface, Clara tugged her nightgown up over her shoulders and stumbled to her feet.
Clara looked to Andrew, hoping to see something of the man she had just shared an incredible experience, but his features were dark and unreadable. Did he regret this? Had she pushed too far, asked too much? Oh, what had she done?
Clara stood straighter, her anger mixed with despair as she found the strength to leave the room, determined not to cry here in front of him. She had done nothing wrong. She’d wanted something, and she’d taken it. Men did it all the time.
Chapter Fourteen
A week later, Clara awoke to a warm and sunny morning; the wet and gloom and humidity that had hung over London for the past week seemed to have burned away, leaving a brilliant blue sky and sunshine. A rare occurrence, but something to be cherished.
“His grace mentioned we all need to be gone from the house today,” Clara said absently, sipping on her morning tea, trying not to overthink or over-worry about all the things that needed to be dealt with in her life. Her growing attachment to Andrew; her unease about her brother’s unknown whereabouts; the knot in her stomach every time she considered leaving Andrew as her sister had. “The primrose day dress for today, please, Molly. And the straw bonnet, I think, the one with the yellow ribbon. That one should hide this ugly scar.”
Clara leaned forward towards the mirror, Molly pausing her brush strokes as Clara examined the crusted over wound from her head injury weeks ago. The pain and tenderness had subsided, as long as she did not push directly onto the wound, but the cut had hardened into a dark red scab. Once it healed completely it would be nearly undetectable in her hairline.
Molly finished twisting Clara’s golden hair into an intricately woven knot at the base of her head, and Clara dressed in the lovely yellow dress, wondering what she was to do with herself all day long. She found Sarah sitting with an exasperated Norah in the front sitting room. Picking up an errant embroidery wheel, Clara glanced up at Susanna as she came bustling into the room, her gloves tucked inside the bonnet she held in her hands.
“This is completely ridiculous,” Norah said, tossing aside her book in exasperation. “It is insulting for Mara to ask us all to be gone from the house. I cannot believe Andrew is going along with this.”
“Can you not?” Susanna asked her sister doubtfully. “Andrew does whatever Mara demands.”
He does whatever any of you demand, Clara mused.
“What have you planned?” Clara asked out loud, hoping she was included in someone’s plans. Penniless and alone on the streets of London for the day did not sound appealing, though desperate for someone to allow her to tag long seemed almost worse. Maybe she would call upon her aunt and uncle, or even Great-Aunt Bridgette.
“I was thinking we could shop for a few hours before stopping for some luncheon,” Susanna replied. Shopping. Clara was not surprised. “There are calls to make after one o’clock, then of course the promenade through the park.”
“I am attending a reading with Lady Laura and her mother,” Norah said. “If they arrive before Mara, I am leaving without welcoming her.”
“That is very rude of you,” Sarah chided. “Politeness is next to goodness.”
Clara did not think the quote was accurate but did not correct the marchioness.
“It is her own fault for being late,” Norah said with a shrug.
Sure enough, ten minutes later, Lady Laura and her mother, the Countess of Swanley, arrived to collect Norah.
Clara stood politely with the Macalister sisters as the countess and her daughter were announced to the sitting room. Norah beamed brightly at her friend before conducting introductions around the room, not looking Clara in the eyes as she said her name.
“Pleasure, my lady,” Clara said, dipping into a curtsy.
“You are engaged to his grace and have already taken up residence?” the countess asked, her nose turned up. Her daughter, Lady Laura, sneered at Clara.
“Yes, my lady,” Clara replied. “My brother was called out of town unexpectedly.”
“It is so difficult to plan a London wedding when not in town,” Susanna added, smiling sweetly at the countess. “We simply insisted she be our guest until she is to be our sister.”
“How wonderful for you to have an extended visit and acquaint yourself with polite society,” the countess said. “If I understand correctly, you’ve been out of the country for the past couple years?”
“Not so far as out of England, my lady,” Clara replied. “Simply Cumberland. Though sometimes that seems like an entirely different country.” Clara smiled sweetly at her.
Lady Swanley smiled pleasantly, though a malicious glint flickered in her eyes. She looked to her daughter and Lady Norah and announced, “Let us be off, girls. I would like to avoid the summer heat, and it is getting warmer out there as we dawdle in here.” She spun around without looking again at Clara and practically ran into Andrew as he came around the corner.
Clara hadn’t seen Andrew in a week. Despite what Sarah had intended, he had not appeared to escort them each night, and Luke had been retained
for the position. Andrew’s absence hadn’t gone unnoticed by the ton, much to the delight of the gossipmongers. His distance was only fodder for their theories of Andrew’s lack of commitment to Clara.
Over the past week Clara had tried to harden her heart and prepare herself for the worst. Either he rejected her, or she did it to him; it was bound to happen. But seeing him here, dressed for the day, handsome as ever in a dark grey coat and black breeches, Clara’s breath nearly caught in her throat.
“Oh, your grace, I do beg your pardon!” Lady Swanley apologized in a breathless voice. Lady Swanley dipped into a deep curtsy, Lady Laura following suit.
“Of course,” Andrew replied, glancing about the room. His gaze latched onto Clara’s, and he held it for a long beat. Clara nearly forgot to breathe.
“We were just enjoying a quick visit with your sisters and, erm, fiancée,” Lady Swanley explained, smiling graciously at the duke. “Duke, you remember my daughter, Lady Laura?”
Andrew tore his gaze from Clara’s and nodded to the young lady but did not add further conversation. Lady Laura opened her mouth to say something, but barely a squeak came out before clamping it shut.
“Lady Norah wished to accompany us as we went for a reading at Hammer and Sons Book Sellers,” the countess explained.
Andrew looked at Norah and nodded. “Very good.” He looked past Norah, his eyes landing on Clara again for a brief moment before moving to Sarah. “Mara has not arrived?”
Sarah shook her head. “Not yet.”
“We are most eager to attend the musicale tomorrow evening,” Lady Swanley interjected quickly, trying to keep his attention. “My dear Laura is quite accomplished on the pianoforte you know, though I am certain no one can compare to the beauty Lady Mara creates. We are looking forward to hearing her play.”
With a curt nod, he said, “Enjoy your outing, madam,” before turning to quit the room.
No one moved for a long moment, Susanna shaking in barely suppressed laughter. A heartbeat later Howards arrived at the sitting room door.
“Might I show you to the door, madam?” the butler asked.
The countess nodded curtly, hurrying after the butler, calling for Laura—and by extension, Norah—to follow. Norah exchanged a look with Susanna before hurrying after her friend.
Clara, Sarah, and Susanna remained standing for a few seconds longer until they heard the front door close. Susanna slumped down into the chair in a very unladylike fashion, doubling over in a fit of giggles.
“Well,” Sarah said, reclaiming her seat as well, “that was interesting.”
The clop clop clop of horses’ hooves on the stone walk outside alerted them to the arrival of another carriage. Clara stepped over to the window and saw the Bradstone crest emblazed on the carriage door, a small feminine form moving up the front steps. A few seconds later the front door was opened and a sweet, girlish voice echoed in from the front hall, a child-like ring to it, and Clara remembered Lady Mara was only thirteen.
Lady Mara was before them within moments, beaming at her sisters. Lady Mara was very beautiful, dressed in a traveling dress of satin pink. She had glistening dark brown curls that bounced as she moved her head. She looked rather like a porcelain doll all done up, a child playing in her mother’s gowns. Her face was round and exuberant as she took in each of their faces.
“Mara-Bug,” Andrew said affectionately from behind her, and she turned to run into his arms. Clara could see the admiration in Mara’s eyes as she hugged him, her arms wrapping around his neck as he bent to lift her into his arms, lifting her off the ground, his arms tight around her slim form.
“Oh, I truly missed you all,” she said, beaming, and he set her back on the ground. She went to Sarah’s arms next, hugging her just as tightly as she had Andrew. Susanna stood and hugged her youngest sister as well before Luke bowled into the room and scooped her into his arms and spun her around.
“Where is Norah?” Mara asked looking around.
Sarah and Susana exchanged a glance. “She sends her apologies for not being here when you arrived,” Sarah answered.
“She claimed you were late,” Susanna added. “And that she could not be expected to wait around all day for you to arrive like you were the queen.”
Mara shrugged. “Just wait until I am a queen, and then she will pay for this transgression.”
Clara wondered if she were serious.
“Really, Mara,” Andrew chided affectionately, glancing at Clara. “This is Lady Clara Masson,” Andrew said gesturing to Clara. “She is to be my wife.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Clara,” Mara said, dipping into a curtsy, and Clara did the same.
“And you, Lady Mara,” Clara replied.
“Please, just call me Mara,” the young lady said. “It seems you are on familiar terms with the rest of my family, so I insist we be friendly as well.”
“Then I am simply Clara, if you please,” Clara said. This little creature was a mystery, Clara thought, watching as she chatted with her siblings. She was every inch a Macalister. She had Norah’s luster to her dark hair, Susanna’s sweet round face, Andrew’s proud demeanor and Luke’s humor and lavender eyes. Clara was not quite sure what to make of Lady Mara Macalister. She had been expecting her to be giddier, more child-like, and less . . . mature. The creature before her was serene and serious, though she had a bright smile upon her face that reached all the way to her eyes. But despite the maturity of her clothing and demeanor, she was, undoubtedly, a young girl on the brink of womanhood.
“I am so pleased to be home, even if for a short stay,” Mara said, her expression not changing as she revealed her demands. Her tone, while full of youthful sweetness, was firm and commanding. “But I must insist you all leave the house. I am in dire need of practicing if I am not to make a spectacle of myself tomorrow evening, and if any of you are here I will be distracted and tempted to talk to you. Especially you, Clara, as I know nothing about you.”
“Of course,” Clara agreed, though to what, she was not sure. Mara was a disciplinarian and the most elegant of society hostesses rolled into one, yet she was a child.
Clara chuckled to herself as they left the music room, Mara gracefully and gently ordering the remainder of her siblings about.
“May I inquire what has amused you?” Andrew asked, glancing towards her.
Clara shook her head. “I am afraid for you.”
“How so?” he asked.
“When Lady Mara makes her grand entrance into society, you had best be prepared to fend off the hordes of gentlemen who will descend upon your house, seeking her favor,” Clara explained, glancing back at his youngest sister.
Andrew frowned in displeasure. “I try not to think of it.”
Clara laughed at his sullen expression, and he looked down at her, his face softening a little. “You really are a grump, your grace.”
Susanna came into the front foyer, handing her bonnet and gloves to her maid for assistance. Clara let go of Andrew’s arm to do the same, Molly expertly tying the ribbons under her chin.
“What have you planned for the day?” Andrew asked Susanna.
“Shopping on Pall Mall,” Susanna replied. “I am in need of ivory lace gloves.”
“Have an enjoyable time in session this afternoon,” Clara said, taking her gloves from her maid.
“Actually, I am not going to the afternoon session of Parliament,” Andrew said, his gaze on Clara as Molly did up the buttons of her gloves. “I am afraid you will miss lace glove shopping today. I am taking you hostage.”
Clara’s brow rose, almost afraid to be excited about spending the day with Andrew. They had not spent any real time alone together during the day since she had outridden him in Hyde Park.
Offering Clara his arm, Andrew said, “I felt the day warranted a little luxury and a little rebellion.” There was a glint
to Andrew’s eyes she could not quite place, almost mischievous, which was strange as Andrew was never mischievous, but Clara could not shake the feeling that he was up to something. She nodded to Molly who quickly followed them out the door.
Susanna glanced with curiosity, and Clara answered with a shrug, neither having an explanation for Andrew’s mood nor really wanting to give one.
“Will we be safe?” Clara asked Andrew cautiously as he handed her into the waiting carriage.
“Quite safe,” he replied, following her in and settling on the opposite seat. “However, we still do not know where your brother is. Morton is proving cleverer than I would like to give him credit for. It seems the shooter has no information regarding Morton or who hired him. It seems it was all done through multiple people in gaming hells.”
“That is unfortunate,” Clara said as they rolled away from the front of Bradstone House. She glanced out the window at the massive structure that had come to feel like home. She wondered how long it would stay that way.
He looked glumly out the window, and Clara fought the urge to box his ears. The man was aggravating with his changing moods. One minute he was all smiles and charm and the next he was brooding. The inconsistency in his moods was difficult to keep up with.
Frustrated, she asked, “Are you going to be like this our entire outing?”
“Like what?” he asked, not looking at her.
“Brooding and disagreeable and unpleasant. Because if you are I’d much rather spend the rest of the day shopping with Susanna and Sarah.”
With a sigh, he turned back at her. “I do not mean to be disagreeable, Clara.”
“Yes, but you are.”
“I will try my best to better my mood for you,” he replied dully and looked out the window again.
“See, there you go again, brooding and unpleasant,” Clara sighed. “This outing was your idea; you could at least try to enjoy it.”
He did not look at her again, and she resolved herself to leaning back in the comfortable, well-sprung carriage and waiting until this madness was over. She just had to wait out his mood and hope he snapped out of it before their outing was concluded.