She heard a thump next door, signaling the return of Colin, and turned to her maid. “You may go see about your supper, if you wish. I’ll not need you for an hour.”
When Meg had left, Claire turned to the door that separated her room from Colin’s. She stood there a moment, listening. There was another bump. She tested the knob. It was unlocked, and she pushed it open.
And there stood Colin. He had removed his jacket finally, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing his forearms. Her gaze dropped immediately to the exposed parts. His arms were thicker than her own and covered with a soft layer of golden hair that gleamed in delightful contrast to his browned skin. A line of muscle led from his elbow to wrist. It was truly the most mesmerizing thing her eyes had ever beheld, even more so than the line of his throat. And the line of his throat was very distracting.
He raised his brows and spread his arms wide, as though to say, “Well?”
“Do not call yourself a bastard,” she told him.
“But I am a bastard.” He cocked his head, studying her. “Does that bother you, Lady Claire? Has your purity been sullied by my presence in your carriage? Will you have to scrub the squabs clean of my filth?”
She gasped. “What a horrid thing to say!” Who was this man who said such ugly words to her? This was not her Colin. This man was a stranger.
He did not seem to hear her, or perhaps he did not care. He stepped toward her. She stepped back.
“Or perhaps,” he said, his voice hard and dangerous, “you wish you had not wasted your generosity on the mother of a bastard.”
She lifted her chin. “I most certainly do not.”
“Then you admit it was you!” He raked a hand through his hair and glared at her accusingly. “Damn it, Claire! You should have asked me first. Had you no thought for her pride?”
“Her pride?” Claire felt as though she had been tossed in a tempestuous sea. What exactly was the matter with him today? She cast about for an anchor. “I thought she would prefer the ham. You can’t eat pride.”
“She does not need your charity!” He began to pace, stalking first one way, and then reversing course.
“She does not know it is charity. I had it delivered with your name.”
He came to an abrupt halt. “Oh, thank you. Thank you, my lady, for providing for my mother what I could not.”
Her eyes narrowed. He should thank her. Somehow, she doubted his sincerity.
“Why?” she demanded. “Why should I not give her a ham, and chicken, and tea, and sugar? The money is nothing to me. I won’t feel its absence. It is my money to spend as I see fit.”
“Then buy a hat!” He faced her, hands on hips. “Stay out of things that are not your affair! My mother is my responsibility. Do not concern yourself with those tossed aside by a peer. You pity us? How laughable. It is we who should pity you. You will marry your own viscount, give him an heir, and look the other way while he sires bastard after bastard.”
Claire reeled back. Hot tears stung her eyes. But no, she would not give in. She would not cry. No, she would not.
She would rage.
She stormed forward, and now it was he who retreated. But she advanced, forcing him backward until he met the wall. She rose on her toes so she could very nearly look him straight in the eyes.
“I do not like you!” she shouted into his face. “I do not like you at all!”
“Well, I like you!” he bellowed back. “I like you very much!”
The words tumbled around her bewildered brain, but before she could understand their meaning, he seized her by the shoulders.
And then he kissed her.
Chapter Twenty-One
Oh, hell.
Kissing Lady Claire was a terrible mistake. Colin knew he should stop.
Immediately.
On the other hand, what was the point of stopping, now that he had begun? What was done was done. Even if he instantly removed his lips from hers, the kiss would still have happened. If he was going to hang—metaphorically, he dearly hoped—he might as well enjoy the noose.
God, but her lips were soft.
And stiff.
Perhaps she was not enjoying this as much as he was. He had been rather rough about it. Yet, her hands were fisted in his shirt, and it seemed to him that she was drawing him closer, not pushing him away. Still, he ought to give her a chance to refuse.
He flexed his fingers, relaxing his grip on her shoulders, and softened his mouth. Then he waited. For a moment she remained rigid, and then her lips parted slightly on a small sigh.
He took that as encouragement.
He slid his hands from her shoulders, stroking down her arms in a gentle sweep before wrapping them around her waist. He changed the angle of his head so their lips melded together. She did not move.
She was warm and—he was fairly certain—willing, but she was clearly inexperienced. Was this her first kiss?
He could teach her. She was a smart girl, but ladies were notoriously reticent about such things. It might take several kisses before she truly got the hang of it.
How delightful that would be.
Slowly he raised his head, pulling back to look into her upturned face. Her eyes were still closed, the dark lashes fanned against her freckled cheek. “Claire,” he whispered. “Have you ever been kissed?”
Her eyelids fluttered open. “Yes.”
“Once?”
“Three times.”
Interesting. He lowered his head to nuzzle at her ear. “Did you like it?” he asked, just before catching her earlobe with his teeth.
“It was not terrible,” she said, her voice thick, and he grinned against her neck.
He was not the first, or even the second. He was the fourth, and that was much better. No doubt, the first three had been useless fops who delivered chaste, closed-mouth kisses with all the finesse of a toad. When that brilliant brain of hers tallied up a lifetime of kisses, she would slide right past the first three with nary a pause because they were merely not terrible. John, Tom, Harry, or whoever the hell they were, he didn’t care. And then Colin, and here the rhythm would falter, and not just because he knew what to do with his tongue, but because she liked him best of all.
The list would continue, someday, with another name after his, but he wasn’t going to dwell on that. He would only think of right now, and right now she liked him best. Or she had, until five minutes ago when he had made an ass of himself.
He cupped her chin, tilting her face to look at him. He held her gaze, searching it, because this kiss would be different. The first kiss had caught them both by surprise, but this kiss would be done with intention.
“How much time do we have before Meg realizes you are not in your room?” he asked.
“Something less than an hour,” she replied.
An hour? That was…too long, actually. But he was not a boy, he was a man, and he would keep control.
“Then I am going to kiss you for something less than an hour. Yes?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said.
He started slow, with light, teasing touches designed to tempt rather than demand. He kissed one corner of her mouth, then the next. He rubbed against her plump bottom lip and then the upper lip, thinner but delectably drawn with the deep arches of a cupid’s bow. She opened for him then, her lips parting on an eager indrawn breath. He fell inside her.
Time slowed—or did it quicken? He felt the stirrings of want, gentle at first, and then inexorably commanding more, more, more. Really, he ought to stop this.
Still he kissed her.
And now the rhythm changed as she caught the spirit of the dance. Now she was kissing him, she was inside him, and that changed everything. Oh, this was madness, but it was a marvelous madness, a fine frenzy that swept away all thought of everything but her—her scent, her taste, her feel. She was touching him, pressing her body to his while her hands explored his shoulders. The moments stretched into minutes, the minutes into—something less th
an an hour, he hoped. Really, it was enough now, or rather, it would never be enough, and he ought to stop this.
Still she kissed him.
Her arms twined round his neck, she leaned deeper into him, and he lifted her.
More, more, more.
The knock on the door was hard and heavy.
They pulled apart, staring at each other.
“Mr. Smith,” Meg said from the other side of the door, “Lady Claire is not in your room, I am sure, because she is a proper lady and would not do such a thing as be alone with a man in his bedroom.”
Claire’s eyes widened to the size of tea saucers. He would have laughed had his head not filled with images of Chatwell demanding his hanging forthwith.
“But if my lady is in your room,” Meg continued, “then she is on the opposite side of the room as you when I open this door.”
Good God. Good God.
With Lady Claire still clinging to his neck, he lifted her and moved swiftly across the room, where he set her on her feet. Then he all but ran to the door and wrenched it open.
“Of course Lady Claire is here, as she wanted to retrieve her bags.” His voice sounded somewhat rougher than usual, but he hoped the maid wouldn’t notice.
“Hmph.”
They all looked to the bags…which were several feet away from where he had placed Claire. She closed her eyes, and her chest rose and fell on a long breath. Likely she was ruing the day she had kissed such a stupid man. It was not Colin’s finest moment, he could admit. It didn’t help matters that her cheeks were a rosy shade of pink and her lips somewhat swollen.
Meg pursed her lips. “Bring my lady’s bags into her room, if you please, Mr. Smith.”
He did not question the reprieve. “Of course.”
He grabbed the bags and moved hastily through the adjoining doorway. He set them down next to the washstand. As he turned away, he caught his reflection in the looking glass and winced.
Hell.
Lady Claire merely looked kissed.
Colin looked wrecked.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Claire took her bath, aware of the sounds of splashing water in the next room that suggested Colin was doing the same thing. If a strong gust of wind somehow blew the door open, she would see him, all of him, naked and glistening with water. A pleasurable ache twisted in her belly, making her feel restless and itchy. She scrubbed harder with the soap.
“You are so pink, my lady.” Meg frowned at her. “I hope you are not feeling feverish.”
“I am quite well. It has been an odd day, that is all.”
Very odd. She could still feel Colin’s kiss on her lips and even now could not refrain from touching them. Meg narrowed her eyes suspiciously, and Claire promptly dropped her hand to her side.
She dried and dressed for dinner. Her maid braided her still-damp hair in a coronet.
“Shall I ask Mr. Smith to join you?” Meg asked. “You should not eat alone.”
“If you please, Meg.”
She waited, her stomach tumbling over itself, while Meg rapped on the door. Then Colin appeared, freshly shaved. He nodded in response to the maid’s question, then turned to Claire with a very serious expression and offered his arm. She took it hesitantly.
For the first time in her life, she was at a loss for words. What was she to say to the man who had just kissed her senseless? The kiss had been wonderful, but the words he had said were not wonderful. They were horrid. She did not understand how he could kiss her like that after saying such ugly things to her.
They had just reached the stairs when she remembered the other words he had spoken.
“You like me,” she said suddenly.
He stopped and turned to her. “Yes.”
She couldn’t help the foolish grin that spilled across her face. But then it slid away. How could he like her if he truly believed the words he had thrown at her like weapons? “Mr. Smith, you owe me an apology.”
He sighed. “Yes, all right. I am sorry for my behavior, my lady. I ought not to have kissed you. I assure you it won’t happen again.”
He was sorry for the kiss? The magical, world-shattering kiss?
Her eyes narrowed. “I do not like your apology. Do better.”
“That’s the best I can do.” He threw her a defiant look. “Would you prefer this? I’m not sorry I kissed you. I liked kissing you. And fair warning, my lady, I’ll do it again if you let me. Why should I apologize? Your virginity is intact, you aren’t ruined, and you weren’t unwilling. This wasn’t even your first kiss, as you told me yourself.”
I’ll do it again if you let me.
Tingles spread through her limbs at an alarming pace, as though a flock of starlings had suddenly taken flight and were swooping and whirling. Would he try to make good on his threat right now? She would let him.
No, no. She must not allow herself to be distracted.
“I did not mean you should apologize for the kiss. The kiss was wonderful. But for what you said before.”
“Oh, that.” He looked away. Rather like a sulky child.
She touched his chin, gently turning his face toward hers. “Yes, that. Why were you so cruel?”
“Because I’m an ass,” he muttered.
“You’re not,” she said staunchly. And then she bit her lip, because that wasn’t strictly true. “All right, you were a bit of an ass,” she conceded. “A lot, really.”
“My pride was wounded, and I lashed out. I hate seeing how my mother must share her home. I hate that her eyesight is fading from sewing in dim light. I would buy her a home of her own if I could. I had thought to purchase some tea for her when we return, but that is nothing compared to your gifts.”
Claire frowned. “Even if she knew the food was from me, and you could only afford tea, she would not think any less of you.”
“No, she would not think less of me, but I think less of myself. I thought perhaps you did, as well, and that was unbearable.”
“I do not care about money,” she protested.
His lips twisted in a rueful grimace. “Yes, so you keep saying. But I care very much. Of course you don’t care about money. You have more than you could ever spend in your lifetime, unless you take up cards.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said with a sniff. “I never lose at cards.”
He gave her a wan look. “No, I don’t suppose you do. Pity you’re not a man. We could make quite a fortune at the tables.”
“Could we?” Her imagination caught on the notion. “No one would have to know I was a lady. You could lend me some clothes. I’ve never been to a gaming hell. How exciting that would be!” She clapped her hands gleefully.
“No.” He grasped them, putting a stop to her enthusiasm. “You will do no such thing. Especially not dressed in breeches.” His scandalized gaze dipped down her body and back again. He made an odd noise in his throat. “Promise me, Claire.”
Hearing her Christian name on his lips again sent more tingles from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. “All right,” she said softly.
It was just as well, she supposed. Gambling wouldn’t be as lucrative as finding the Cleopatra Emerald, anyway. It would raise his wealth, but not his standing in society. Not to mention he would gain enemies, for no one liked to lose money.
Still, it would have been such fun. And it would have been something new.
“Claire.” He was still holding her hands, his thumbs stroking across her gloved knuckles. “I am sorry for what I said. Do you forgive me?”
She nodded. Of course she forgave him. But even if he hadn’t said those horrible things, wouldn’t he still have felt them? He had been so angry. And for what? Because she had money, and he did not. Perhaps, once they found Scipio’s treasure and the Cleopatra Emerald, he would not be so unhappy with her.
“Would you like me better if I had less money?” she asked wistfully.
“Would you like me better if I weren’t a bastard?” he countered.
She looked at him. He was wearing the same jacket he had worn at Adelaide’s party, when she had fallen in love with him based on nothing but his smile and his story. She had thought him perfect, then.
But of course he wasn’t perfect. He didn’t have money, and his parentage meant he would never be truly accepted in her world. He was prideful and often grouchy and was rather childish when his feelings were hurt, quite frankly. He was the proverbial lion with a thorn in its paw, roaring at anyone who dared try to help.
No, he was not as perfect as she first thought, but he was infinitely dearer.
And for the second time, she fell head over ears in love with Colin Smith.
“No,” she said. “You are quite wonderful just as you are.”
Surprise and yearning flashed across his face, and then was gone. He raised her hands to his mouth and kissed them. “Shall we go down to dinner, then?”
“We shall.”
She took his offered arm, and they continued down the stairs.
It wasn’t until they sat down to eat that she realized something.
She had answered Colin’s last question, but he had not answered hers.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Deb and Riya arrived just in time to save Colin from an intimate supper with Lady Claire. Thank God. He needed a moment to get his bearings. She had completely knocked him off kilter, and now he was stumbling about like live lumber on his first sea crossing.
“You will join us, won’t you?” Lady Claire asked as the footman saw to their bags.
“I’m famished,” Riya admitted. “But I would like to see my room first, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course. Shall I accompany you?”
“If you please.”
Colin watched this exchange with growing alarm. When had Riya and Lady Claire become such good friends? And now they were linking arms, matching each other step for step, looking for all the world as if they had known each other always. Their voices faded to a low murmur. Lady Claire gave a soft giggle, increasing his agitation tenfold.
Hell and blast, were they talking about him? Of course they were. What else did ladies have to discuss but the men in their lives?
Wicked With the Scoundrel Page 9
