That hadn’t occurred to her. And she did that. In the meantime, he started rubbing her nipples with his hands, making her feel quite . . . heated, and before she’d even realized it, she was sliding down upon him. To her shock, though his cock felt intrusive inside her, there was no pain. No pain at all. Just some tightness.
Her gaze flew to him. “It . . . it doesn’t hurt!”
“Good.” He didn’t say, “I told you so,” or, “Ta-da!” or anything. Indeed, he looked as if he were having difficulty just breathing. His eyes were closed, his jaw taut enough to cut glass. “God help me, minx. You feel incredible.”
The rough timbre of his voice sent a feminine thrill through her that made her relax and slide down a bit more. “Do I?”
“Like silk. Hot, enveloping silk.” He gave an undulating move that sent him farther up inside her, then gritted his teeth. “Sorry. I wasn’t supposed to do that, I know. It’s just . . . you feel so damned wonderful.”
“So do you. I think.” Thank God Yvette had been right. How much it hurt definitely depended on the man’s approach.
“You think?” he echoed, a thread of amusement in his voice.
She wriggled on him, and the groan that came from deep in his throat made her feel more alive, more of a woman than she’d allowed herself to feel for years. “I’ll have to experiment some more to be sure.” She settled herself on him, trying to find a more comfortable position.
“Stop that.” His eyes flew open. “God, please stop.”
She blinked at him. “That’s what I usually say. But you can’t possibly want me to stop this.”
“Not ‘this.’ That. Moving around. It’s just enough motion to . . . make me insane.”
“Is it?” She wiggled some more. “How about that?”
“Don’t torture me, my sweet. I can’t bear it.”
“I’m not trying to torture you. I just really don’t know what to do.”
“Right. Of course.” He was breathing hard, his eyes heavy-lidded. “Try . . . moving up and down.”
Up and down? Remembering how the Vile Seducer had driven into her, she realized that this would be that in reverse, with her controlling the motion. How intriguing.
“Please,” he rasped. “Before I go out of my mind.”
“All right,” she said, and came up, then slid down.
His fingers dropped to grip her hips. “Yes, sweetheart, yes. Again.”
“For a man at my mercy, you are very demanding,” she said with a sniff, but did what he asked.
This time, he gave a low moan of pure pleasure. It was quite rewarding. And the up-and-down motion felt good to her, too. Rather enjoyable. So she did it again. And again.
It got easier each time. And when he began to finger her down where they were joined, she felt that quick leap of sensation she’d felt when he’d had his mouth on her in the carriage. “Oh, Edwin . . . oh my . . .”
He kissed her then, deeply, fiercely. He’d begun thrusting up inside her, too, but she rather liked that. It gave her an idea of the proper rhythm. And when he bumped her a certain way . . . it was glorious. Absolutely glorious.
Heavens. This wasn’t what she’d expected at all. No pain . . . no fear. Just Edwin beneath her, undulating into her, making her want to devour him, to engulf him, to show him she truly was his bride. His woman. His wife.
“You’re mine . . . now . . . Edwin Barlow,” she said as she clutched at his shoulders, riding him faster, harder. “My husband. For always.”
“My wife,” he choked out, his face alight. “Forever.”
It had the sound of a vow. And now that rushing feeling was building down low in her belly, and her fingernails dug into his shoulders and she felt as if she were hurtling across the grounds on horseback, neck-or-nothing . . . heading for the biggest jump of them all. The one that would take her into the heavens . . . glittering there . . . just beyond her reach . . .
“Yes . . . more . . .” she cried as their motions reached a fever pitch. “Yes, my darling, yes!”
He drove up and spilled himself inside her. “Clarissa . . . My Clarissa!”
Mine.
With that exultant thought, she shot over the moon and into the stars.
It took some time for Edwin to come to his senses, especially with his lovely wife draped luxuriously over him.
That was amazing. She was amazing. And he couldn’t believe he’d finally made her his. Thank God it hadn’t taken a year; he never would have lasted that long. He’d have had to go live with monks for a while.
He nuzzled her hair, which had tumbled down rather spectacularly in the midst of their frenzy. It smelled of lilacs and lavender. So very sweet.
“It’s getting dark outside,” Clarissa murmured.
She was in a position to see out the window behind him. Fortunately, none of the servants went into the garden at this time of the day. They were too busy preparing for dinner.
Still . . . “It won’t be long before we can be seen easily from the garden. Unless one of us gets up to blow out the candle.”
She drew back to flash him a sultry smile. “Is that a hint that I should move? Am I too heavy for you?”
“Hardly.” He lifted her off of him. “Though you’re heavier than I would have expected for such a small woman.” When she laughed, he realized that he probably shouldn’t have been quite that honest. “I mean . . .”
“Don’t mince words with me,” she said as he rose. “You’re probably the only man I know who would have been as understanding of my . . . difficulties as you were. Besides, I’ll take your bluntness any day over a lot of insincere compliments.”
“Glad to hear it. Because clearly I am very bad at them.”
She chuckled. Curling up into a ball on the window seat, she watched as he went over to the desk fully naked. “You’re a very handsome man, Lord Blakeborough. And I am being utterly sincere.”
He snuffed the candle. “Keep saying things like that, Lady Blakeborough, and I’ll be wanting to ravish you again.”
She fell quiet. As he realized what he’d said, he shot her a concerned glance, but she wore a dreamy look. “It’s a pity it wasn’t you seducing me in that orangery years ago.”
It certainly was. How different their lives would have been. But . . . “It would never have been me.” He tugged on his drawers. “Gentlemen do not seduce young ladies. They court them, they secure their affections, and then they propose.”
A sudden gleam in her eye was all the warning he got before she rose to amble toward him with a most seductive walk. “So you don’t think I could have tempted you to seduce me?”
His throat went dry at the sight of her so rumpled and lovely. “Tempted? Yes.” He pulled her into his arms for a thorough kiss, then drew back to stare into her face. “But I would never have acted upon it.”
Her smile faltered. “Are you quite sure it doesn’t bother you that I . . . am not . . .”
“It doesn’t.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “I’m very happy with my choice of wife.”
She eyed him askance. “Even though I’m reckless and impudent and always getting into trouble?”
“I’ll take you any way I can get you, minx—reckless, impudent, and all.” Even skittish and wary. As long as he could kiss the fear from her from time to time.
A sudden knock at the door made them both jump.
“Milord, milady? Dinner is served.”
“Thank you, John!” he called out. “We’ll be there presently.”
“We can’t go to dinner yet,” she hissed. “I’m naked!”
“And you do look very fetching that way, too.”
With a roll of her eyes, she hurried to don her shirt. Or rather, his old shirt.
He followed her. “We have a choice, minx. We can go to dinner late, with you dressed in breeches and me thinking
the entire time how I want to get you out of them. Or we can ask for a tray upstairs and head up to my bedchamber or yours. Either way, we scandalize the servants, so—”
“We might as well go upstairs,” she said in a throaty voice as she approached to place her hand on his bare chest. “I’d rather enjoy seeing how the woman-on-the-top thing works in a bed.”
When she ran her finger down his chest and strolled away, he got dressed so fast, it was a miracle he didn’t injure something. At last, they were having their wedding night. And he didn’t intend to miss one minute.
Twenty-Two
A week later, Clarissa headed to London in the carriage with her husband and wondered where the time had gone. Days of easy camaraderie had bled into nights of passion. No nightmares. No fear. No horrible reminders of the past.
Well, she still couldn’t lie beneath him without panicking, but he didn’t seem to mind that she was always on top. At least she hoped he didn’t mind. She had certainly come to enjoy their way of swiving. She liked arousing him. Making him lose control. Watching him fall apart beneath her. It was wonderful. They were together in every respect, and she’d never dreamed that could happen.
And if sometimes she wished she could try making love the other way, she shoved that from her mind. Because better that they do it the way they did, than not do it at all. It certainly did keep him in a far pleasanter mood than he’d been in during the first week of their marriage.
But not today. Staring over at him now, she could see how withdrawn he was from her, how pensive and subdued. Fortunately, she’d begun to understand that it was his way of dealing with things that worried him. He had to pull into himself to mull things over from every angle.
Still, they were going to their wedding celebration at Vauxhall, and she wasn’t about to spend it with him looking dour and gloomy.
“I cannot wait for the party. It sounds like great fun, don’t you think?”
“Indeed,” he said, staring out the window.
She eyed him askance. He hadn’t been so sanguine about Mama’s plans when she’d come out to Hertfordshire three days ago for final approval. Annoyed that she couldn’t find a balloonist, Mama had hired a female tightrope walker and an acrobat who did tricks with a hoop. After Clarissa had grown tired of fruitlessly trying to rein her mother in, she’d amused herself by cataloguing Edwin’s many attempts to restrain his horror every time Mama mentioned some new excess.
So either he’d had a change of heart since then, or he wasn’t paying attention to what she was saying now. She decided to test her theory. “Mama wrote me yesterday to say that she’d enlisted a snake charmer for the party, too.”
“That’s nice.”
She stifled a laugh. “I told her that a lone snake charmer wouldn’t be enough—we needed at least sixteen to do it properly. Preferably with enormous turbans in puce velvet.”
“Uh-huh. Puce velvet. Right.”
“I told her I was sure you would approve the three thousand pounds it will cost.”
“Yes, that sounds—” His gaze shot to her. “What costs three thousand pounds?”
Of course he’d registered the part about the money. “Mama’s sixteen snake charmers,” she managed to say with a straight face. “For the wedding celebration.”
“What? When did I agree to snake charmers, and why the devil would it cost three thousand—”
She began laughing, and as he realized she’d been bamming him, he threw himself back in his seat with a snort. “Very amusing,” he drawled.
“You should have . . . seen your face . . .” she gasped between giggles, “when it d-dawned on . . . you that . . . Oh, my word!”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you quite finished mocking me?”
With considerable effort, she made a stern face. “Yes, my lord. Of course, my lord. The situation is much too serious for humor, my lord.”
“Now you’re mocking me for complaining about your mocking me,” he grumbled. “Though you must admit that your mother is turning our wedding celebration into a circus performance.”
“I know,” she said soothingly. “And I know you hate it, as do I. But let this be a lesson to you. Never let guilt persuade you to give my mother free rein in anything.”
“I’ll definitely heed that advice in the future.” He stared out the window. “But that’s not what has me concerned. Aren’t you the least bit worried about Durand?”
“I always find it easier to brazen out the things that frighten me than to cower in a corner. It doesn’t always work, but I have to try. He isn’t invited to our grand dinner, and even if he shows up somehow, I can always trust you to protect me.”
His frown softened. “Yes. You can.”
Except that it was Edwin’s family secrets that needed protecting. She wished he’d say what they were, but she could hardly fault him for wanting to keep them close. He saw it as looking after his sister. One day, he’d trust his wife enough to tell her, and when he did, she would try to be as understanding as he’d been about her darkest secret.
“What good would it do Count Durand to cozy up to me now, anyway? I’m married.” She smiled softly at him. “Happily, it seems.”
That finally lightened his mood. “It does seem that way, doesn’t it?”
“You see? I never thought that could happen, and now it has. So I have complete confidence that your bluff was successful and Count Durand has been routed at last.”
He smiled. “You, sweetheart, are the eternal optimist. Even after all your troubles, you try to put a good face on things. It’s one of many things I like about you.”
Her good mood evaporated. Like. Not love.
She shouldn’t care that he’d never professed to love her, since she’d never professed to love him. But she did care. Which she didn’t want to examine too closely. “I like that my eternal optimism doesn’t drive you mad,” she said lightly.
“It does, but it’s a pleasant sort of madness.” He glanced out the window. “We’re nearly to Vauxhall, and I haven’t yet given you your present.”
“You got me another present?”
“Something very mundane.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a necklace with a silver leaf pendant with what looked like two jeweled raindrops on it. “For my whimsical wife.”
“That isn’t mundane at all. It’s quite beautiful.” Though she was rather surprised it wasn’t another automaton.
When she reached for it, he stopped her. “It has a secret.” He pressed one of the “raindrops” and the leaf pendant fell from the chain into his hands. He pressed the other and a wicked-looking blade shot out of the leaf sheath. “It’s to keep you safe if I’m not around.”
“Oh my.” She took it from him and examined it. “Show me how it works again?”
It took only a few moments of demonstration for her to master opening it and also restoring it to the sheath and the chain.
Once she had it back in its original form, he closed her fingers around it. “Wear it or put it wherever you won’t lose it. And I’ll be much less worried about you.”
A lump caught in her throat. “Thank you, I shall wear it.” Staring into his eyes, she hung it about her neck. “Close to my heart.”
He gazed into her face with such intensity that it started her pulse thundering. Then the carriage drew to a halt and the door swung open.
“It’s about time you got here!” cried her mother, leaning heavily on her cane. “Everyone is waiting for you.”
They stepped out to loud applause. Clarissa scanned the crowd, but saw no signs of Durand, thank God.
It was a good thing, because she needed all her strength for enduring the results of Mama’s extravagance. The fete began with a rousing orchestral piece and got more dramatic from there—with acrobats, dancing, massive bowls of negus, and enormous platters of suckling pig and roast g
ame cock.
It went on for hours, ending with a pyrotechnical display that nearly rivaled those done for the king’s birthday.
Mama would either become a laughingstock in society because of it, or everyone would dismiss her eccentricities as they always did because she had such an amiable nature.
Through it all, Edwin miraculously maintained his composure. Clarissa wasn’t sure if that was to please her, or because he spent the entire affair watching the crowd for Count Durand. So she was rather relieved when one of his club members engaged him in a discussion of how the pyrotechnics had been done, and she didn’t have to worry about him so much.
Mama, however, was another matter. Leaning on a servant’s arm, she came up to where Clarissa was standing. “There you are. We have a problem.”
Those words had already been spoken half a dozen times this evening, and it always fell to Clarissa to solve those problems because Mama had such difficulty getting around.
“What is it this time?” She was tired and ready to leave.
“Those foreign pyrotechnical fellows are complaining about something in Italian. I think it has to do with what I paid them, but I’m not sure.”
Mama gestured toward where the men were packing up their equipment behind the rows of boxes. Clarissa could just see them through the passage between the two closest sets of boxes overlooking the orchestra stage.
“My Italian isn’t nearly as good as yours, so could you take care of it?” Mama laid the back of her hand dramatically on her forehead. “I swear, if I have to deal with one more matter or walk one more step, I shall collapse right here.”
Clarissa stifled her irritation. “I’ll handle it, Mama.” Given how bad her mother’s Italian really was, the men could be saying something as inconsequential as “We need a glass of water.”
She strode off toward the Italians, but as she passed between the two sets of boxes, a man stepped into her path. “I need to talk to you.”
Her heart sank. Count Durand! When she glanced over at the workmen, only to find that they’d melted into the night, she realized the count had planned this. He’d watched her deal with things for Mama all evening, and had been biding his time until he could create a reason for her to go off alone.
The Study of Seduction Page 25