A Place to Belong (West Meets East Book 2)

by Merry Farmer

  “I’ll stop,” he whispered against her mouth, pulling his hand back down toward her knee.

  “No, no don’t,” she sighed, reaching for the hem of his shirt to pull it out of his trousers. “I want you to touch me. I want you to touch me everywhere.”

  “We shouldn’t,” he panted. But his words were hollow. With a powerful twist, he lay her on her back across the sofa, settling himself between her legs.

  “We definitely should,” she argued, using his momentum to pull his shirt all the way out of his trousers and up over his head. With that gone, she wrapped her arms around him, sliding one of her hands below his waist against his skin to feel the tight muscles of his backside.

  He countered that by hiking her skirt up above her hips as much as he could with their bodies pressed together and tugging the string of her drawers loose. “This is madness, you know,” he whispered between short, passionate kisses.

  “Love is always madness,” she told him, pressing her fingertips into his back and buttocks.

  Arthur groaned, and drew a long, searing kiss from her lips. His hands began to search desperately for the fastenings of her apron and dress. He managed to tug her apron ties free, but got lost in the rest of the hooks and buttons and ties. As soon as she realized his problem, Clara giggled.

  “Here, let me help.” She sat up to reach for the buttons at her back. Arthur inched down the sofa to untie her shoes and toss them and her stockings aside.

  By the time Clara finished with her buttons and wriggled out of her dress, Arthur had unfastened his trousers. He stopped inches away from pushing them down over his hips. “We should probably go upstairs to my bedroom,” he said, a wild sort of fire in his eyes.

  Clara paused halfway through unhooking her corset. “Is James asleep up there?”

  “He is.”

  “Then we should probably stay down here, in case we make noise.”

  A whole new level of passion lit Arthur’s face, causing him to look like some sort of hungry demigod. “The idea of making noise only makes me want to make more noise.”

  Clara finished with her corset and removed it and her chemise, exposing her breasts. “I know a few ways I can help with that.”

  Arthur drew in a tight breath, the need to be one with her radiating from him. He pushed down his trousers. A shudder of excitement rippled through Clara as his thick, stiff member sprang up in freedom. She’d seen undressed men in a state of arousal more times than she could count, but the sight of Arthur’s full, naked body in all its primal glory, his well-formed muscles, flat stomach, and eager erection, had her aching to be filled by him as quickly as possible. She shucked her drawers, then reached for him.

  He surged against her at once, meeting her body with enough force to lay her flat underneath him. She cried out with the heady joy of it all. Her body was as long as his, but with contrasting proportions that fit together so well it left her breathless. She opened her hips to him, which left her long legs sprawled in awkward, surprisingly erotic positions, draped over the back of the sofa on one side and falling off entirely on the other, her foot touching the floor. She braced one arm around the arm of the sofa behind her as his kisses left her in no doubt of how deeply he wanted her.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he said as he kissed his way down her neck, across her shoulder, and lower. She’d heard the words a hundred times before, but coming from Arthur, they were so much more than a cliché. “I want all of you.”

  She sighed in response, her blood pounding through every part of her as he kissed each of her breasts, then suckled one while kneading the other. He knew exactly what to do to drive her to the heights of arousal, teasing her nipples with his teeth and fingers. And just when she thought she would explode from the pleasure of that teasing alone, he continued his journey across her overheated body, kissing and licking the tingling skin of her stomach until he reached the juncture of her thighs.

  She was already on fire, spread in a wildly erotic pose, wet and throbbing with need, and when he closed his mouth over her, tasting and delving and flicking his tongue across her clitoris, she let out a cry of pleasure that she was sure would wake not only James, but the neighbors too. It was so unlike her to burst with those sorts of sounds, but everything he was doing to her went so far beyond any dull pleasure that she’d felt before that it was like a revelation. She was thrumming and buzzing and racing toward the edge of orgasm in no time, and when it crashed on her in throbbing waves, faster than she’d ever experienced, she felt as though she might burn from the inside out.

  Whether in response to her climax or simply because he couldn’t wait another moment, Arthur slid his body across hers, pressing inside of her with such unapologetic boldness that Clara cried out anew. He fit so well inside of her, thrust with such abandon that the fire in her continued to burn, even after the initial wave of orgasm calmed. It felt too good to have his hips drumming against hers, she could do nothing but circle her arms around him, dig her fingertips into the tense muscle of his backside as he thrust, and urge him on.

  At last, he tensed and cried out before his thrusts slowed and lost their intensity. A moment later, he collapsed, spent, still inside her. They lay together, panting heavily, wrapped in each other. Clara was happier than she’d ever been in her life. The weight of him above her and the overwhelming heat of their passion-slick bodies was bliss, as far as she was concerned.

  “I told you,” he panted at last, moving just enough to lift his head and meet her eyes. “I told you I was a terrible vicar.”

  Clara couldn’t help but laugh and hold him more tenderly with her arms and her legs. “Maybe,” she said. “But you’ll make the very best of husbands.”

  CHAPTER 10

  I f he had been inclined to question the ways of the world, Arthur would have been baffled about how he could awake the next morning surrounded by pure happiness when he and Clara had done something that was, arguably, immoral. And while one of his friends was in the midst of such deep suffering. But he was happy. Happier than he ever imagined he could be.

  That joy only increased when he rolled onto his back in bed and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes to find Clara sitting at the foot of the bed, feeding James a bottle. They’d tip-toed up to his bedroom in a haze of exhaustion and elation late the night before, fed and resettled James when he woke briefly, then climbed into bed to sin a little more. Although how something so perfect and so pure could be a sin was beyond his tiny understanding.

  “Good morning,” he said, propping the pillows behind his head so he could lay back and watch Clara and James in all their beauty.

  “You’re awake.” Clara shifted slightly to smile at him. She wore his dressing gown, and if he wasn’t mistaken, nothing else. One of her long legs was folded on the bed as she sat. He couldn’t help but remember how divine those legs felt circled around him. “You were sleeping like a rock when I woke up earlier.”

  “Was I?” he asked with a contented grin.

  She answered his grin with a saucy smile. “You slept through James fussing as he woke up. I hope you don’t mind that I fixed his breakfast and everything.”

  “Mind? Darling, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  She was perfect, sitting there on the end of his bed, cradling James as he devoured his bottle. Arthur wasn’t saintly enough not to imagine what she would look like with their own child suckling at her breast. He’d done his fair share of admiring those breasts last night and intended to do much more in the future. The good people of his flock didn’t need to know how much fire Clara inspired in him. He was certain that they would accept her as the companion of his heart and his helpmeet in all things in no time.

  His mind and body were busy reacting to his morning musings as Clara’s peaceful expression slowly dropped into a worried frown.

  “What is it?” Arthur asked. He pushed aside his blanket and walked around the edge of the bed to sit by her side.

  Clara’s expression blinked out of worry a
nd into pink-cheeked desire at the sight of his naked and half aroused body, but whatever was gnawing at her was stronger than a burst of desire. “I need to get back up to Winterberry Park,” she sighed. “And once I’m up there, I’m not sure when I’ll be able to come back.”

  “You’ll come back immediately,” Arthur said with absolute certainty. “I want to marry you, Clara. I want this to be your home.”

  She drew in a breath, and her worry shifted to bright joy. “Oh, Arthur.” James was finished with his breakfast, so she got up to set his bottle aside, tucked him into the basket Arthur was still using as a cradle, then turned back to step into his arms as he stood. “I want nothing more in the world than to be your wife.” All at once, her worry returned. “But in the cold light of day, I keep thinking, will Mr. Croydon allow it? And what will he do when he finds out that I disobeyed his order by coming to be with you last night?”

  “Alex is my friend,” Arthur replied, holding her tight. “But that doesn’t mean he has a say in how I live my life or who I marry.”

  “But his family owns this parish,” Clara went on. “I don’t know much about the way things work in England, but I’ve learned enough to know that if they don’t want you here anymore, they can expel you, right?”

  Arthur shrugged. “Possibly. But if they do, so be it. I could live the life of a highwayman and still be happy, as long as I was with you.”

  She relaxed in his arms, leaning forward to kiss him. If it weren’t for the fact that James was still awake and cooing in his basket, Arthur would have taken Clara back to bed right then and there to show her just how deeply he meant everything he said. But before he could finish that thought, Clara had gone tense again.

  “I do need to get back to the Park,” she whispered as she broke their kiss. “There’s bound to be some kind of hell to pay, even if Mr. Croydon does let us marry.”

  “No one is going to let us marry,” Arthur corrected her. “They are welcome to rejoice for us, but no one save you and I have a say in it.”

  This time, his words didn’t reassure her. “I still depend on Mr. Croydon’s good graces. I can’t move in here with you before we’re married. What would your congregation say to that? I need somewhere to live until we can make things official. And what would happen if Mr. Croydon decided to tell everyone who I was?”

  “What would happen is that Alex would find himself with a black eye and a broken nose,” Arthur insisted. “I’d have half a mind to challenge him to a duel too.”

  “Don’t to that,” Clara said, her eyes wide. “That would cause an even bigger scandal. I’ve had enough scandal and upset and darkness to last several lifetimes.”

  She was right. Furthermore, the depth of emotion in her eyes and the need to be at peace that he’d seen in her since they first met ignited something within him. He wasn’t going to let this whole sorry affair drag out any longer than it had to. He wanted Clara in his arms, in his life permanently, as soon as possible. The only thing that could stand in the way of that was Alex and his runaway grief, so that was what he needed to tackle first.

  He stepped back from Clara, moving to the washbasin in the corner. “Wash up and get dressed,” he said, pouring water from the pitcher into the bowl. “And get James dressed and looking his best too.”

  Clara launched immediately into action, but she still asked, “Why?”

  Arthur sent her a determined, mischievous grin. “We’re going to go beard the lion in his den.”

  Clara’s eyes filled with excitement as she scooped James out of his basket and set to work cleaning him up, changing his nappy, and dressing him. It warmed Arthur’s heart to see her take care of the baby first and then herself. No matter what her past had been, no matter how ungainly and awkward she considered herself, he knew Clara would make the ideal wife and spiritual mother to the people in town.

  Their preparations were quick and filled with excitement. By the time they left the house—carrying James, since they decided pushing the pram would slow them down—the morning sun was just beginning to peek over the tops of the ivy-covered houses and thatched roofs of the houses marking their way along the road to Winterberry Park. Arthur practically buzzed with the feeling that his life was about to take a major leap forward. Maybe that leap would take him to a happier, more settled place in his current position, or maybe it would thrust him out into the world. Whatever happened, he knew that Clara would be with him.

  When they reached Winterberry Park, he went straight to the front door instead of the servant’s entrance.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Clara whispered as he knocked on the front door.

  “I’m positive,” Arthur replied.

  He knocked again, and a few moments later, Mr. Noakes opened the door. The man’s face was pale and drawn, as if he’d had a sleepless night, but his brow flew up in shock all the same.

  “We’re here to see Alex,” Arthur said before Mr. Noakes could gather himself enough to greet them.

  Mr. Noakes stepped aside enough to show them in, but took them no further than the foyer. “Mr. Croydon is still in bed and not seeing visitors.”

  “I don’t care,” Arthur said. “We’ll see him anyhow.”

  Mr. Noakes’s surprise flattened to disapproval. “Mr. Croydon is indisposed. You’ll have to come back later. As for you—” He turned to Clara. “I’m certain Mrs. Musgrave has more than a few things to say about your overnight absence. I should be very surprised if you weren’t turned out on the streets by luncheon.”

  “And I would be very surprised if you suddenly got the notion into your head that you could speak for me.” They all turned to see Mrs. Musgrave marching toward them from the far end of the vast front hallway.

  “Mrs. Musgrave.” Clara stepped forward, James asleep against her shoulder. “I can explain.”

  Arthur followed her into the hall, a baffled Mr. Noakes bringing up the rear. “Any scolding you have for Clara should be directed at me, Mrs. Musgrave. It was I who insisted Clara stay at the vicarage last night.” They didn’t need to know the details of what had transpired during the night.

  “I’ll thank you not to speak for me either, Rev. Fallon,” Mrs. Musgrave said as she came to a stop in front of him and Clara. She gave each of them a once-over, then faced Clara. “How is the baby this morning?”

  “As well as could be expected,” Clara answered slowly, looking as though she hadn’t worked out whether she was in trouble or having a polite conversation.

  “Good.” Mrs. Musgrave nodded. She turned to Arthur. “You’re here to see Mr. Croydon?”

  “Yes.” Arthur nodded.

  “Mr. Noakes, see to it that Mr. Croydon is out of bed and in a half-decent state.”

  “But the hour,” Mr. Noakes stammered. “And Mr. Croydon is most certainly not fit for company.” He leaned closer to Mrs. Musgrave and whispered, “I should be very surprised if he is not entirely indisposed this morning.”

  “The matter before us goes far past caring whether Mr. Croydon is indisposed or not,” Mrs. Musgrave snapped. “Get that drunken fool out of bed and half-presentable at once. It’s time he faced what’s been coming for him like a man.”

  She nodded to Mr. Noakes, then Arthur and Clara, then turned and marched off again. As she reached the corner that would take her down a servant’s hallway, Arthur caught a glimpse of one of the maids and a footman spying on them. Stunned though he was by Mrs. Musgrave’s speech, his mouth twitched into a triumphant grin.

  “You heard her,” he said to Mr. Noakes. “Lead the way and we’ll follow.”

  Mr. Noakes stammered and gaped, but in the end he led Arthur and Clara through the hall and up the stairs to the corridor where Alex’s bedchamber stood. “Wait here,” Mr. Noakes croaked before knocking on the door and stepping inside.

  Arthur raised his eyebrows at Clara, as surprised by the turn of events as he was energized by them. Clara stared back at him with wide eyes that were as filled with disbelief as they were with
humor. He reached over to squeeze her hand, and she squeezed it back. Neither said a word until Mr. Noakes opened the door.

  “Mr. Croydon will see you now,” he announced, looking as though he were in over his head.

  Arthur sent Clara one last look as if they were headed into battle, then marched on into Alex’s dressing room.

  Alex sat hunched over in a chair beside a small breakfast table. He held his head in his hands, pale, drawn, and unshaven. Clearly, the man had a throbbing headache, and probably all the other effects of drinking too much the night before. The curtains were still drawn, casting the room in darkness.

  “What do you want?” Alex drawled as Arthur approached him.

  Whether because of their years of friendship and the fact that Arthur was tired of seeing Alex in pain, or whether it was the frustration of the way his old friend was hurting so many others in his grief and guilt, Arthur didn’t answer him directly. Instead, he marched over to the window and threw open the curtains. Alex groaned and covered his eyes.

  “Good morning, Alex,” Arthur announced in a loud voice. “I’ve brought your son to visit you.”

  Alex seemed to momentarily forget the after-effects of his overindulgence. He snapped straight in his chair, blinking first at Arthur, and then at Clara. Or more specifically, the baby in her arms. His bloodshot eyes filled with fear.

  “Would you like to hold him?” Clara asked, taking a daring step forward.

  Alex’s expression pinched to an entirely different kind of guilt. “I said things to you last night.”

  “Yes, you did.” Arthur moved to stand directly in front of Alex, but didn’t lower his voice. The overwhelming love he felt for Clara transformed itself into a burning need to defend her with everything he had. “Horrible things, if what I’ve been told is right. Things you should be ashamed of.”

  Alex said nothing. He buried his face in his hands once more, elbows resting on the table.

  “No man, no matter how far in his cups, no matter how wracked with grief, has a right to insult a woman the way you insulted Clara. Particularly when she has been giving so much of herself these last many days to make sure that your son is looked after. And yes, Alex, James is your son, no matter what difficult emotions that raises in you. But while you’ve been wallowing in self-pity, Clara has risked everything to give an innocent child the love that he deserves.”