“Now,” she gritted between clenched teeth.
He made a quick, ravishing foray of her mouth, and then settled in the cradle of her thighs. She pulled her legs up around his hips to accommodate his muscled girth.
“As my lady commands,” he said in a rumbling voice.
He flexed his hips, nudging the broad head of his erection into the opening of her body. Holding her head between his hands, he gazed into her eyes as he surged into her. She gasped at the scorching invasion that stretched and filled her to the limit. He stilled, and his head dropped to her shoulder, his breath a pant on her skin.
“Clarissa—” he choked out.
“No,” she breathed. “It’s all right.” She wriggled a bit, and pleasure lanced up from the place where they were joined. It was more than all right. It was wonderful.
With a satisfied hum, she arched her spine, rubbing her breasts against the hardness of his chest. He began to move in short, hard nudges. She greedily absorbed every sensation, running her hands over the broad contours of his shoulders, tracing the rippling of muscles down his back and across his lean flanks.
Her touch spurred him on. He tilted her hips, moving deep, setting off a delicious, fevered ache in her most sensitive flesh. His mouth locked on hers, his tongue hot and caressing between her lips.
Clarissa pulled her knees up, opening herself as wide as she could. She was desperate, sobbing against his mouth, yearning for completion.
Breaking the kiss, Christian lifted on his elbows. She whimpered a protest, needing all of him—on her, in her, bringing her to rapture. Murmuring comfort, he brought his hand down between their bodies, slicking two fingers through her damp folds. She dug her heels in his thighs and cried out as a shuddering release trembled through her limbs.
In response, his muscles began to spasm. He lunged into her, pressing down as he shook with his release. A deep groan broke from his throat, and he collapsed, curling around her.
As they lay there, a panting tangle of arms and legs, Clarissa slowly came back to herself. The pressure of Christian’s body lifted from her chest. She opened her eyes to look at him.
Her heart lurched. What she saw on his face wasn’t some temporary infatuation. It was love—selfless, adoring, and full of joy.
Her plan, God forgive her, had worked.
Chapter 7
Christian propped himself on his elbows, relishing the feel of Clarissa’s lush body lying beneath him. God, how he’d stormed into her, unable to hold himself back. He’d spoken the truth when he said he had no defenses against her. And it scared the hell out of him. But he could no more turn away from her now than he could cut out his own heart.
She stared up at him, looking dazed—flustered, even. Not that he could blame her. He had acted like a brute—taking her with no ceremony on an old trundle bed in the attic of his family’s house. And in broad daylight. His parents would see him hanged for a scoundrel—after making sure he married Clarissa first.
Which he had every intention of doing.
He brushed his mouth across her kiss-swollen lips and she whimpered, her small hands fisting into his shoulders as if to push him away.
“Poor sweet,” he murmured. “Am I crushing you?”
She gave a jerky nod in response.
With a deep sigh, he pulled out of her warm body and rolled onto his back, taking her with him. The damn bed was so small he almost fell out as he tried to arrange them on the mattress. That earned him a muffled giggle, one so girlish and sweet his heart turned over in his chest.
She wriggled on top of him, trying to get comfortable. His shaft twitched with renewed interest.
“Careful, love,” he groaned. “You might get more than you bargained for.”
She lifted her head from his chest and frowned. “What do you mean?”
He caressed her luscious bottom and she blushed, dropping her gaze.
“I don’t think that would be a very good idea,” she replied in a strained voice.
Christian frowned, trying to see her face, but she kept it turned away from him.
“What’s wrong, Clarissa?”
“Nothing,” she said tightly.
He knew that voice. Knew it meant she was hiding something. “Yes, there is.” He rubbed the bunched muscles between her shoulder blades. “You can tell me anything. I won’t be angry.”
She gave an unhappy sigh that stirred the hairs on his chest. “It’s just that … this will take some getting used to. I didn’t expect it to happen.”
He smiled, relief flooding through him. As long as she didn’t regret what they’d done.
“Try not to think about it right now. There will be plenty of time to mull it over later.”
She looked up, scowling. “You always say that. But sometimes things can’t wait.”
He stroked the glorious tangle of golden hair back from her face. “You know me, Ladybird. I’m a simple soldier. We don’t like to think too much.”
She made a scoffing noise and settled onto his chest. But even though she lay quietly for a few minutes, he could practically hear the cogs and wheels turning in her head. He gave her leg a gentle nudge with his foot.
“Tell me what it is,” he said.
She stirred but kept her head down. “All these years you’ve called me Ladybird, and I never once asked you why.”
An obvious feint, but he’d play along for now. “I called you that because you were always flying away home, just like in the nursery rhyme. We could be in the middle of anything—like fishing on the lake, playing cards—and you would drop everything and dash home as if the devil himself were at your heels.”
She blew out a pensive breath. “I suppose in a way he was. Father would be so angry if I was late for afternoon tea or dinner. And I was late quite a lot, because I never wanted to leave Rosedell Manor. I loved it here.”
Anger pierced his gut at the memory of Clarissa’s mistreatment. “I know he used to hit you.”
She seemed to shrink into herself. “Sometimes.”
He hugged her close, the old anger warring with an aching regret. “No one will ever hurt you again, Clarissa.”
“You can’t possibly know that,” she said in a hollow voice.
In a swift move, he rolled her underneath him. Her eyes widened in surprise as he took her face between his hands. “Yes, I can. Because you’re mine, now. I won’t let anyone hurt you, ever again,” he vowed.
Panic seemed to flare in her eyes. She struggled, trying to push him off. “Christian, let me up.”
He blinked, stunned by her reaction. “Clarissa—”
“Now!”
He rolled off her and sat on the edge of the bed. She grabbed her chemise and began wrestling it over her head. When he tried to help her, she batted his hands away.
Resisting the urge to swear, he reached for his breeches. Apparently, she was already regretting what they’d done. No doubt for myriad foolish reasons he would now have to deal with.
He stood and watched her fuss with the ties of her chemise. When she refused to meet his eyes, his heart sank. He had to throttle back his frustration. “You need to tell me what’s wrong.”
She smoothed her chemise, took a deep breath, and raised her eyes. Their usual amber sparkle had disappeared, leaving her gaze flat and bleak. Unease rifled through him.
“I need to tell you something,” she said. “You won’t like it.”
He wanted to sit next to her, to take her in his arms. But her grim expression froze him in place.
“Say it,” he replied.
“I’ve lied to you, Christian. I didn’t want to, but I did. It was necessary.”
He clamped down on his flaring emotions. “About what? This?”
She nodded, looking miserable. “Partly. I wasn’t going to tell you, but I have to now. After this …” She gestured at the bed. “I needed you to help me find out what really happened at Badajoz. To help me clear Jeremy’s name. After you refused, I decided I had to do whatever
it took to convince you to help. I thought if I could make you fall in love with me … well, then you would do what I needed you to.”
She finished in a rush. Her cheeks were stained a bright pink, and she looked both defiant and on the verge of tears.
Christian had felt such pain once in his life—when a French saber had sliced him open. But this was worse. A physical wound healed, but the wound she’d just inflicted probably never would.
Sucking in a harsh breath, he tried to stem the anger pulsing through his veins. As much as he wanted to explode at her, he couldn’t. That kind of reaction would scare her to death, and no matter how much she had earned it he wouldn’t do that to her.
After a few moments, he calmed his anger enough to speak. “What just happened between us … was it all a ruse then? Was any of it real, Clarissa?”
She rubbed the corner of one eye, looking ashamed. “Of course it was real. That’s why I couldn’t go through with my stupid plan. You mean too much to me. I couldn’t lie to you any more than I already have.”
He stared at her, too baffled and angry to respond. What the hell did she want from him?
“Christian,” she said in a pleading voice, “you probably hate me now, and I can’t blame you.”
He shook his head. “I don’t hate you—”
“You should,” she interrupted. “If I were a better person, I would leave this house and never bother you again. But I can’t. Regardless of what I’ve done, I still need your help.”
She scrambled from the bed and grasped his arm. He clenched his teeth, forcing himself not to respond. But her simple touch burned through him. She was so beautiful, half naked and flushed from lovemaking. She had ripped his heart to shreds, and yet still he wanted her. Needed her.
He didn’t hate her. He hated himself for being such a fool. “What would you have me do?”
A faint hope dawned in her eyes. “Christian, you know people, especially soldiers who were at Badajoz and who might know the truth. Could you talk to them? If you uncovered what really happened, then Lieutenant-Colonel Harcourt would have to listen to me.”
He cursed inwardly. She asked for the one thing he couldn’t deliver.
“Please,” she begged when he didn’t respond. “If you won’t do it for me, then do it for Jeremy. Do it for a fellow officer who deserves help.”
Christian pulled away from her loose grip and reached for his shirt. “I can’t disobey a direct order. Don’t ask that of me.”
She yanked the shirt from his hand and flung it across the room. “Is your blasted career all you care about? Fighting and killing? Does that mean more to you than I do?”
Tears glittered on her eyelashes, but her slight figure radiated fury. He glared back at her, stung by the accusation.
“I’m a soldier, Clarissa. It’s who I am. What else should I be? Should I sit at home, the feckless younger son waiting for the crumbs to fall from his father’s table? That’s no kind of life for a man. This is what I have chosen to do, and I do it well.”
When she shook her head, making a disparaging sound, Christian’s anger spiked. “And if you think I enjoy fighting and killing, you can go to the devil,” he flung at her. “I do what I must to protect my country and my king. I don’t like killing, but I’ll be damned if I’ll apologize to you for it.”
He stalked across the room, grabbed his shirt, and pulled it over his head. “And by the way,” he added, “your beloved husband obviously thought so, too, or he wouldn’t have gone off to Spain and left you.”
Her anguished gasp brought him up short. He briefly closed his eyes, suddenly wishing a bolt of lightning would strike him dead. “Clarissa,” he sighed.
“No, Christian. Not another word,” she choked out, yanking on her gown. “If you feel any affection for me whatsoever, you’ll pretend none of this ever happened.”
Before he could say another word, she scooped up the rest of her clothes and fled.
An imperious knock sounded on the front door of the Middleton town house, jolting Clarissa from her gloomy reverie. Whoever it was, she didn’t want to see anyone. Since she fled Rosedell Manor four days ago—right after that disastrous, earth-shattering encounter with Christian—she had imprisoned herself inside the house. And if not for Colonel Middleton’s poor health, she would have already packed up their household and decamped to the security of their Devon estate.
She dropped her needlework in her basket and went to look out the window. A highly polished town coach stood before the front stoop. One of the Montegue carriages, which meant Lillian had come to try to see her. Again.
Clarissa rubbed her temples, trying to ease the headache that had taken up permanent residence in her skull. She hated having to avoid Lillian, but she couldn’t face her right now. Not until Christian sailed away to the Peninsula and out of her life for good. Then she would talk to her friend and beg her forgiveness for using her brother in so cavalier a fashion.
Her eyes stung as she imagined life without Christian. Every day she struggled to deny the truth. And every night, alone in her bed, she was forced to admit it. She loved him. How could she not? Even as a boy he had touched her heart, with his intelligence and courage, his kindness, and his sheer joy in life. And now he was a man. Handsome and powerful, whose caresses made her body flare with a passion unlike any she had ever known.
But she had used him and asked him to betray his honor for her sake. Jeremy would have been horrified by her heartless scheme. She understood that now, after four days of thinking of little else. That realization was almost worse than anything.
At the sound of a hasty tread on the staircase, she left the window. A moment later the door to the drawing room flew open and Lillian rushed into the room, as grim as a hanging judge.
Groaning inwardly, Clarissa reached deep for a smile.
“Lillian, how nice to see you. I’m sorry I haven’t been well enough—”
“Stow it, Clarissa,” Lillian snapped. “No more hiding away. We’re going to talk right now about what happened between you and Christian. And what to do about it.”
Clarissa sank into a chair, propping her aching forehead on her palm.
“There’s nothing to do. He hates me.” She gave a bitter laugh. “Not that I blame him.”
Lillian rolled her eyes. “You can be such a goosecap. He doesn’t hate you. He’s been madly in love with you for years.”
Clarissa gaped at her friend. “You knew?”
Lillian scoffed. “Of course. So did Father and Mother.”
Clarissa groaned and dropped her head back in her hands, unable to conjure an answer to that humiliating revelation.
“Oh, for God’s sake! Look at me,” Lillian exclaimed.
Cautiously, Clarissa raised her head.
Lillian seemed torn between vexation and sympathy. “Did you really think we wouldn’t approve of a match between you and Christian? We’d be thrilled. For both of you.”
Clarissa gasped. “Are you insane? I’m five years older than he is. And he’s a soldier. I could never marry another soldier.”
“You just might get your wish,” Lillian retorted. “At this very moment, Christian is destroying his career—for your sake.”
If she hadn’t already been sitting, Clarissa would likely have fallen down. “What are you talking about?”
“Christian is going on a crusade to clear Jeremy’s name. After you bolted from Rosedell Manor, he returned to town immediately and began digging around for information.”
“He did?” She was so dumbfounded she could hardly formulate the question. “Why?”
“Because he loves you,” Lillian enunciated loudly. “While you’ve been hiding away, he’s been searching high and low for witnesses. He managed to find two crippled veterans of the siege of Badajoz, both in London. According to them, Jeremy’s conduct there was brave and exemplary. And they saw everything.”
She frowned. “But why didn’t they come forward when the rumors surfaced after the battl
e?”
“They did. They went to Major Blundell, but he ordered them to keep silent. Since he was their senior commander, they felt they had to obey. But Christian promised that he and my father would stand with them. They’ve agreed to testify to the truth. And they’re sure there are others from Jeremy’s regiment who would be willing to speak out.”
Clarissa’s head spun. Conflicting emotions—anger, joy, relief—washed through her.
“That’s … that’s wonderful,” she finally managed.
Lillian grimaced. “It is for Jeremy’s reputation. But not for Christian. He disobeyed a direct order. He’s at the Horse Guards right now, trying to convince Lieutenant-Colonel Harcourt to call Blundell to account.”
A jolt of alarm cleared Clarissa’s head. “Didn’t your father go with him?”
“He didn’t tell Father. Christian was afraid he would try to stop him from going to see Harcourt. And he swore he’d kill me if I said anything.”
Anxiety and guilt drove Clarissa from her chair. She grabbed her friend by the arm, pulling her to the door. “I never wanted him to do that. I intended to take any information he discovered to Harcourt myself. I didn’t want Christian to destroy his career!”
“There’s nothing you can do about it,” Lillian protested.
Her friend was wrong. Clarissa knew exactly what to do. The thought of it made her stomach churn, but she had no other choice.
“Yes, there is,” she said, dragging Lillian into the hallway. “I’m going straight to speak with Harcourt. I will not allow Christian to do this to himself.”
Lillian looked scandalized. “You can’t go to the Horse Guards by yourself. Think of the gossip!”
“Yes, Lillian, I can. And you’re going to drive me there. Now.”
Chapter 8
Clarissa glared at the clerk blocking the door of Lieutenant-Colonel Harcourt’s office. The self-important wretch was determined to keep her out, claiming that Harcourt was in an important meeting with another officer.
That officer was Christian, and she had to stop him before he destroyed his army career.
“Stand aside, sir,” she ordered impatiently.
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