She spread for him without him even needing to ask. Her folds were already wet, already dripping with desire. For him. He stroked, circled her entrance with his fingertips, sought and found the sensitive button just peeping out from beneath its protective hood. James took her clit between his finger and thumb as he had her nipples and rolled it gently.
Clarissa let out a gasp, thrust her hips up. She was panting now, her eyes closed, her mouth slack. Her desire grew, arousal swirled then peaked.
Her climax came swiftly. She stiffened, then shuddered, her hands in fists at her sides. James wasted no time. Before even the first tremors of orgasm faded, he buried his face between her legs and thrust his tongue into her slick channel.
She went wild. He had to fling both arms across her lower abdomen to keep her still enough for him to tongue-fuck her into her second release. This time it was gentler, easier, more leisurely, a slower burn rising to a plateau of soft moans as she trembled under his ministrations. Only when her body stilled again did he shove off his own linen undershorts to release his stiff cock.
He fisted it, gave a couple of quick strokes, then positioned himself, the crown of his erection at her waiting entrance.
“Have you done this before?” An indelicate question, he knew, but in the circumstances it seemed necessary.
“Of course not. Get on with it, you oaf.”
He grinned. His sweet Cassie was back. James rocked his hips forward, slid his cock inside her until he met with the defensive barrier. He gave her a wry smile, eased back a fraction, then drove his length fully inside.
Cassie screeched and punched his arm. “Bloody hell, do you have to be so rough?”
He held still, his weight on his hands and his knees while he waited for her to stretch, to accept him. “Sorry,” he conceded. “But you seemed impatient. I didn’t want to keep you waiting.”
“Is it always like this?” she groaned
“Like what?” He ventured to withdraw, just halfway, then slowly drove his cock deep again.
“Like…oh!” Clarissa’s crumpled features smoothed. She opened her eyes to regard him in surprise. “Oh, that was rather nice. Could you do it again, please?”
“Of course.” James obliged.
Clarissa reached for his shoulders, then wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him down closer to her. She lifted first her left leg, then her right, and locked her ankles behind him. Her channel convulsed, ripples of pure, sensual delight coursing the length of his dick.
Jesus, this won’t take long!
James fought back the rising tide of his own arousal, kept his movements slow, even, angled to reach that elusive spot just within…
He knew he had it when she rotated her hips and squeezed her hot pussy around his cock. She clung to him, panting, urging him to go faster, harder, deeper.
He was quickly losing his struggle for control but managed to slide his hand between their heaving bodies to find her swollen clit again. He rubbed, hard, and she flew for a third time.
His own control shattered when her cunt contracted to grip him, a solid fist of erotic passion wrapped around him like a vice. His balls tightened. His cock lurched. Semen shot along his shaft to fill her as he thrust hard then stopped, rock-hard and utterly motionless, to let the pleasure take him.
Chapter 9
“I’m sorry…”
“Don’t! Don’t you dare apologise and say you wish it had never happened.” Clarissa sat up, glaring at James again and then at the smear of blood on the white fabric of her blouse which she had been lying on. There was more on her inner thigh. She grabbed the blouse since it was probably ruined anyway and wiped herself clean.
If he so much as started to suggest it had all been a mistake she might still stove in his thick skull with a can of beans.
“I wasn’t about to apologise. I merely meant that I should have taken more care over you. Your first time and all that.” His gaze fell on the bloodstained blouse. “There are two perfectly decent beds upstairs, and I should have contrived to get you into one of them, at least.” He lay on his side, propped up on one elbow. He remained naked and unashamed, his cock softening but still magnificent.
Clarissa had had little opportunity to study his naked anatomy before, but she did so now. She decided she rather liked his cock and wondered if he would object strongly were she to reach out and run her finger over the smooth head.
“You look nice… without your clothes.” Was that an appropriate thing to say? Still, it was out now, and she had always prized honesty.
He grinned. “You, too, sweetheart. In fact, I think we should spend much more time naked. After we are married, of course.”
“Married? I never agreed—”
“Surely we’ve gone beyond that now. You have no option but to make an honest man of me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. This is the twentieth century, not the middle ages. We can do…this…and not be married.”
“We can, yes. But I don’t want to. I told you I want to marry you, and that hasn’t changed.”
“We can’t. I can’t.”
He frowned. His easy grin evaporated. “Why? Are you still angry because I thwarted your plans and brought you here?”
Clarissa shook her head. “I am angry. I still think you had no right. But I could get over that.”
“So, what then? Is it to do with the women’s movement? I’ve said all along that I won’t stand in your way, apart from if you look like getting yourself hurt or killed. And whether you marry me or not, that won’t alter.”
How to explain? How to make him understand that all she ever needed from him was the truth?
“You said I should make an honest man of you, but that isn’t possible, is it?”
His expression was serious now. He sat up and reached for her. “What are you talking about, Cassie? Has something happened?”
She backed away and reached for his discarded shirt since her own blouse was beyond use. “Yes. Yes, something happened. The Titanic sank.”
“The Titanic?” He shook his head, seemingly perplexed. “What the hell does that have to do with us?”
“The Titanic sank and took Miss Hastings with it. Your fiancée.”
“My…what?”
“Your fiancée. She was on her way to meet you in New York, but she died. If she hadn’t, you would be married to her by now.”
“No, she wasn’t. I don’t know why Amelia was going to America, but it had nothing to do with me. I wasn’t even in New York. And we would most certainly not have been married.”
“Amelia? Was that her name?”
“Yes. Amelia Hastings.”
“So, you don’t deny it? That you and she were engaged?”
“Of course I deny it. I just said so.”
“Liar! You see, you can never be an honest man, even now, even after…after…”
He rolled over and grabbed his trousers, shoved his feet into them, and pulled them up. Halfway decent, he got to his feet and stalked toward the fire to prod the embers back into life. “Why would you think any of this? Where are you getting this nonsense from?”
“I saw the proof. In The Times. Your favourite newspaper. I read the announcement.”
“Oh, that. I see.” He set the poker down and turned to face her, still on his haunches. “But surely… Cassie, if it bothered you so much, why not say something earlier? I would have explained.”
“Explained? What is there to explain?” Now it was her turn to get dressed. She tugged the shirt on and fastened the buttons. “It all seems clear enough to me. And I’ve hardly had time to say something earlier. I only discovered your little secret myself a few days ago. Victorine showed me the announcement in the paper.”
“Ah, so that’s why she came to your room that morning. I had wondered what she was up to.”
“How did you know? Trudy?”
He nodded.
“I asked her not to tell anyone.”
“You put her in an awkward posi
tion. She didn’t hear what had been said but could tell that you were upset by whatever Victorine had told you. She was worried.”
“Even so, I shall—”
“Let the girl be. She’s a good servant, and she cares for you. Now, tell me about this newspaper announcement you read. Did you happen to notice the date on it?”
“Well, no. It was a cutting, that was all. There was no date.”
“The announcement was published in nineteen-oh-five, a few weeks after my father died and I inherited my title.”
Clarissa gaped at him, astonished. Had she heard him correctly? “Nineteen-oh-five? But that’s seven years ago.”
“Yes. Exactly. All of this is ancient history. Amelia’s parents were good friends of my father and mother. They used to visit Smallwood often, you might recall. Amelia would come with them.”
“I remember. She was very pretty.”
He shrugged. “Yes, maybe. I saw less of her than you did, I expect. Remember, I was away most of the time, with my regiment.”
“But you did become engaged. That cutting—”
“It was my parents’ wish, and my father did talk to me about the prospect of a match between Amelia and me, but nothing was ever decided. I was nowhere near ready to marry, and despite their frequent visits, the truth was, I barely knew Amelia. Certainly, I didn’t love her and I didn’t see her as a prospective bride. Looking back, I know I should have been clearer, turned the idea down flat, but I didn’t. I hoped Amelia would meet someone else or get bored of waiting for me. Her parents and mine continued to harbour the fond notion of a marriage between Amelia and I, and the Hastings somehow got it into their heads that as soon as I inherited my title and returned to Smallwood permanently to manage my estate, the wedding would take place.”
“But what happened?”
“My father died unexpectedly, as you know, in nineteen-oh-five. You were just fifteen then, still a child in many ways. My mother’s health was failing, she wanted grandchildren, and I think that, coupled with grief over my father’s sudden passing, was what made her go along with the Hastings’ suggestion that the betrothal be announced. In fairness, I do believe that they acted in good faith. They truly expected me to marry their daughter; it had been talked about for years. So, a few days after my father’s death, they put that announcement in The Times and started to plan a wedding.”
Clarissa frowned, thinking back to those events. It had been confusing, the household in an uproar, everyone stunned, grieving. She had remained in her room much of the time, not sure what else to do. Everyone had been busy, preoccupied. Clarissa had known very little of what was going on, just that the kindly old viscount she called uncle was gone and she was genuinely saddened. She missed him, and she missed James, too.
“You were away, I do remember that. You weren’t at your father’s funeral because you were serving somewhere abroad.”
“I was in Canada. I returned as soon as I could, but yes, not in time for the funeral.”
“So, how did you know about the notice in The Times?”
“I have Roger Roundhill to thank for that. He was quite sure I had no plans to marry so he wired me the details and asked for instructions. He was able to convince the Hastings of their error and persuaded them to issue a retraction and an apology. Even so, there were mutterings in some circles about breach of promise, but never anything substantial. I have never seen Amelia since.”
“So, it was all in their imagination?”
“You could say that. They let their enthusiasm for the idea run away with them. They remained friends with my mother, and by mutual and unspoken agreement, I contrived to avoid them whenever they called. But when my mother passed away a few months after my father, that was the end of their visits.” He sighed and met Clarissa’s gaze. “I was sorry to learn of Amelia’s death. She was a nice person, I have no doubt of it, and still young, just twenty-seven, I understand. I wrote to her parents sending my condolences.”
“But I don’t understand why Victorine would have kept the newspaper cutting for all this time.”
“Me neither, though I imagine she would have been as horrified at the prospect of me marrying Amelia Hastings as she will be about you. It would not surprise me if she also has the retraction and apology safely stored somewhere, too, but chose not to share those with you. As we have already established, she likes to think of herself as mistress of Smallwood and won’t take kindly to any viscountess usurping her position.”
“She was always a spiteful witch. I should have known…”
“I have long since given up taking any notice of her and I suggest you do the same.”
“I have, years ago, but—”
“But she caught you in a weak moment and dripped her poison when she saw her chance. It is done. Over. So, now we have that misunderstanding out of the way, is your faith in my integrity restored?
“Not entirely. There is still the matter of abduction. A serious offence.”
“I was desperate. And you wouldn’t speak to me, so I couldn’t try to reason with you. It seemed the best way to stop you disappearing and possibly getting yourself thrown back in jail. Or worse.”
“You can’t just…just…”
“I did, though. I was short of time, and it was the best plan I could come up with. I’m sorry it came to that, but I’d do the same again if I had to, to keep you safe.”
“But, don’t you see, it has to be my choice, not yours. And I feel as though I’m taking the coward’s way out by staying at Smallwood, letting down women like Mary-Belle who made much greater sacrifices. I have to be ready to do the same.”
“Who says you do?”
“Me. I say I do.”
“And I say you don’t, but you won’t listen to me. So, who? Who do you need to hear this from? Mrs Pankhurst? Mary-Belle herself?”
“Mrs Pankhurst would agree with me.”
James gave a snort. “I doubt it. I don’t know the woman personally, but she strikes me as eminently practical. A live reporter, writing for the most influential publications in the land, is far more use to her than a dead heroine. But we could always ask her, if you still feel the need to. It’s a pity we can’t ask Mary-Belle, because I’m certain she would say the same.
“She did.” Clarissa’s voice dropped to a whisper.
“What?” James lifted one eyebrow. “When did she say that?”
“When I visited her, the day after she was released. I talked to her, and to Lucy, about you, and the newspapers, my writing, everything. They both said I should carry on. And they both liked the sound of you, too. Lucy said I should take your arm off at the elbow for your offer of marriage.”
“What a sensible woman. Might you listen to her, do you think?”
Clarissa shrugged. “I might. But you still abducted me. You’re an arrogant oaf, too fond of having your own way.”
“Guilty. But I love you, so that should excuse my worst excesses. Now will you marry me? If not for yourself, then to please Lucy?”
Clarissa shrugged. He might not be a liar, but he was definitely overconfident and far too sure of himself, and rather too bossy for her liking. These were not good traits in a husband.
Or were they?
She knew she had her faults, too. She could be headstrong and given to impetuosity. A strong man might be just what she needed. Coupled with which, she had no interest whatsoever in a man who was weak or indecisive. She would walk all over such an individual, and they would both be miserable. James might be difficult on occasion, but he did make her happy, most of the time, when he wasn’t being an overbearing lout.
And he had just shown that he could make her very happy indeed in the bedroom. And out of it. If he could give her such pleasure on a kitchen floor, how much more might he achieve given the comfort of a feather mattress? Generosity was to be welcomed in a husband, and in a lover even more so.
She turned to regard him under her lashes. “You told me you had been waiting for me. Waiting until
I grew up. Was that true?”
“Need you ask?”
She shook her head. “No. I believe you. It has been a long wait.”
“True. But I consider you worth my patience. I always did.”
“And I waited for you. For…this.” She gestured to the tangle of discarded clothing.
“I would not have blamed you if you hadn’t, but I am pleased you did.”
“It was all very…quick. I had always imagined lovemaking to be a more leisurely undertaking.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Were you in some way disappointed, Cassie?”
“I would not say that exactly. But I am still curious. I suspect there is much I have still to learn about all of this. Did I hear you mention that there are two beds upstairs?”
“At least two. And plenty of fresh linen. Am I to understand you intend to take advantage of me, Miss Bellamy?”
“This does not mean I agree to marry you. I am…thinking about it.”
“And you might be able to think more clearly in bed?”
“Exactly,” she agreed. “I am glad we seem to be in accord over this at least.”
He held out his hand to her.
Clarissa took it and stood. “Lead the way.”
“They seem like nice people.” Clarissa clung to James’ elbow with one hand and waded through the knee-deep snow. In her other hand she clutched the string bag containing a dozen eggs, a couple of freshly baked loaves, and a wedge of cheese.
“The Bainbridges? Yes. They’ve farmed these acres for generations, I gather. The lodge has some land, and they graze their stock on it in exchange for supplies when I’m here. The arrangement works well enough.” James carried the rest of the provisions they had obtained, three pints of fresh milk, butter, bacon, and more cheese. Clarissa imagined it would be enough to keep them well fed for at least three or four days, by which time the snow might have started to thaw.
There again, it might not. She found herself hoping for another blizzard, though perhaps not before Christmas.
“Will we go over there for Christmas lunch?” she asked. “It was very kind of Mrs Bainbridge to invite us.”
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