The Proper Wife

by Julia Justiss

  He groaned into her mouth, his tongue now seeking to master hers, advancing and retreating in cadence to mimic the motion he would teach her body. She wrapped one leg around him, pulling his torso closer, until the hardness of his erection throbbed against her thigh.

  She moved her hand down to touch him, and his muscles clenched as he fought to retain control.

  She broke the kiss and looked at him, her damp dishevelled hair a flaming cloud across the pillows. “I want all of you. Now. Please.”

  He moved her hand to his trouser buttons, helped her to one by one free the straining cloth. He savored for a moment the erotic feel of her fingers on his bare flesh, but she was right. This partial, hidden groping wasn’t enough.

  He rolled away from her to the side of the bed, shucked off his boots and stripped down his breeches. She moved to sit behind him, one hand caressing his chest as he struggled with the buttons of his shirt and waistcoat, the other continuing to explore the long, hard length of him from shaft to smooth, pulsing tip.

  He flung the garments aside and pushed her back against the pillows. “Now you,” he growled.

  Her kiss-reddened mouth faintly smiling, she watched as, beginning with her toes, he ran the slightly calloused smoothness of his fingers over her skin. When he reached her knees, parting them with methodical hands, her lips parted too, her eyes gone glassy and her breath coming in shortened gasps.

  “Better,” he murmured, and bent his head to apply his lips and tongue to the smooth skin of her inner thighs.

  Her hands, damp now, clutched at his shoulders while he used one hand of his own to cup and caress her breasts. Nipping, sucking, laving, he slowly advanced up her thighs, toward the heat and scent of her that cried out her readiness.

  With an inarticulate sob she protested his hand abandoning her breast, but she was a virgin, and he must prepare her. When he moved his fingers into her warm, damp passage she cried out and arched into him.

  “Better, better still, sweetheart,” he encouraged. Easing into her tightness, he accustomed her to the feel and touch of possession. Then, still working his fingers in ancient rhythm, he moved his lips to possess the tight bud hidden above.

  She convulsed then, every muscle going rigid as she sobbed out his name, her cries resonating deep into his soul.

  His beautiful, passionate vixen. He’d give her a lifetime of such moments.

  When she lay limp, he moved back beside her, rolling her slack figure into his arms. While her breathing steadied and slowed he kissed her neck, her shoulders, murmuring inarticulate love words.

  At last her brilliant eyes opened and looked at him, slightly dazed, astonished. Strong emotion he dare not put a name to swam in her eyes. “Ah, Colonel.”

  He kissed her. “A moment ago you called me Sinjin.”

  “I didn’t know…I never suspected.” She sighed rapturously. “No wonder a maiden is always surrounded by chaperones. If she were ever to learn…that…existed, the world would contain naught but wantons.”

  He chuckled. “Perhaps it’s not like this for every woman.”

  “No? Ah, what a tragedy!” She shifted, leaned up on one elbow. “Speaking of which, though I have no actual knowledge of the subject, shouldn’t there have been more—for you?”

  Her fingers trailed down his thigh to find his still-pulsing hardness, and he gasped. “More…for both of us.”

  “Show me.” She pulled his head back to hers, reached out her tongue to trace his lips as her fingers slowly stroked his length. “Show me now.”

  He hastened to oblige.

  Much later, dawn sun crept over the pillow, its rose glow turning Clarissa’s tangled hair to flame. So like the eternal flame that now consumed his heart.

  There’d been little sleep, but he’d never felt so refreshed and revitalized. His vixen had begged for repeated lessons, and he’d not been about to deny her.

  And as for the other lady who had held his heart so long—this must indeed be what she’d hoped for. “How can my happiness ever be complete until you too are happy?” she’d told him.

  Be happy now, sweet Sarah.

  He still felt a bittersweet ache to think of her, that inextinguishable human longing for things lost that could never be. A part of his youth, his past, and his first love, she would always be dear to him. Just as, he suspected, he was dear to her.

  He touched a finger to the soft cheek of the woman who would be his bride, and lost himself in imagining a lifetime of nights like the one they’d just spent, a lifetime of days in which to work and plan and argue and love together. And children—saucy red-haired daughters, strong, green-eyed sons—

  His thoughts halted, caught up in contemplating the deceptively mild appearance of Clarissa sleeping. Given the tempestuous nature of the woman he loved, perhaps he’d best hope only for daughters.

  She began to stir, and he grinned in anticipation. There’d be a battle here this morning, but he’d arrayed his forces in so impregnable a position, he had no doubt of the outcome.

  Those entrancing green eyes opened, at first befuddled in sleep, then snapping wide as she realized who stared down at her—and where she was. She sat up so quickly, he caught a glimpse of her magnificent breasts before she belatedly snatched the sheet up to cover herself.

  To his utter delight, a deep blush rose from her neck to her cheekbones, which deepened when she glanced over and realized he sat clothed only in the full magnificence in which God had created him. She jerked her gaze away.

  Ah, yes, he grinned, a shameless wanton, his Clare.

  He could have spoken, eased the awkwardness of this moment for her—a gently-bred, unmarried maiden awakening in full daylight after a night of passion to find herself naked in the bed of her lover. To his shame, he remained silent, consumed with curiosity about how she’d react next.

  She moistened her lips nervously, which nearly broke his resolve, and then cleared her throat. “It’s…it’s nearly daylight.”

  “I believe dawn is usually considered such, yes.”

  That brought a flash of indignation to her eyes, and she straightened, sheet well in hand this time, unfortunately.

  “If you would be so good as to hand me my clothing, I should return home now. As soon as possible, before too many people are stirring on the streets.”

  He couldn’t help it then—he grinned. “The items are rather widely scattered, but I shall do my best.” Taking pity at last on her flaming face, he pulled on a robe and went to the sitting room to retrieve her gown.

  Wrapping the sheet under her arm, Clarissa put a hand to her scorching cheeks.

  When first the colonel had brought her to his rooms, she’d been too shaken and demoralized to realize that a merciful God had given her one last opportunity to taste passion with the man she loved. Last, for certainly after this episode, so much more tawdry than the first, he would avoid her tainted presence.

  Not until he’d charitably offered her a bath, and she thought of the possibilities, had the notion swept through her mind like a whirlwind. Even then, badly as she wanted to feel his touch in every possible way, she’d almost lost her nerve. What if he simply threw her the towel and walked away, disgust and condemnation in his eyes?

  But after the first touch, her worry dissolved. They might be unsuited in every other way, but in passion they were perfect partners. His lips took hers as if by right, his body fit with hers as if completing the missing half of a single whole. She’d had a night of love fiery enough to warm all the lonely tomorrows of her life, unforgettable enough to leave her the strength to do what she now must.

  Which was to leave quickly and before going, to withstand the renewed offer of marriage on which the good, dutiful soldier would now feel honor-bound to insist.

  A tear trickled out and she slapped it away. No weakness now. The colonel was going to marshal every argument he could summon to try to persuade her, and she needed all her wits to resist. She could not endure having the price of her passion be his e
ntrapment in marriage to a woman he did not want, nor the torture of living each day with a man she adored who desired but could not love her.

  Sinjin—ah, Sinjin, she whispered the name one more time. She wanted all of him, body, soul, heart, mind. All or nothing.

  So it must be nothing. If she left immediately, before fashionable London was stirring, no one but the good friends who had come to her rescue need ever learn of her visit. The colonel himself was too much a gentleman to ever boast of compromising her. All she need do was remain strong and say “no.”

  She wrapped her arms about herself, basking in the bittersweet memory of the touch, taste, feel of him. Despite the years empty of husband or lover stretching before her, the possibility that rumors might emerge to blacken her reputation, never would she regret last night, when in his arms she fully experienced the intensity of love that through the centuries men and women had fought for, died for, and celebrated.

  Sinjin entered, a small bundle of clothing in his arms. “I think I’ve located your slippers and undergarments. The gown itself is torn and soiled. Why don’t you wear one of my robes, and send to Sarah’s for other clothes to be brought?”

  He wore his dressing gown casually wrapped, revealing a large vee of tanned, muscular chest. She shouldn’t stare at him like a starving vagrant at a banquet, but she couldn’t seem to help it.

  “I’ll make do with that. The sooner I depart, the better my chances of salvaging some shred of reputation.”

  He tossed the bundle on a side chair and came to sit beside her on the bed. Immediately heat flared in that hidden place he’d explored so well throughout the night.

  He picked up one bandaged hand and kissed it, rattling her so much she almost forgot to clutch the sheet. “You know it’s too late for that,” he said quietly. “Clare, you will have to marry me.”

  She edged away. “We’ve played this scene before. Since my nerves are too shattered to argue, let me say ‘no’ again and leave it at that. Now, my gown, if you please.”

  He hopped up, gathered her dress, and threw it in the fireplace. “I don’t please.”

  “Sinjin, be reasonable. You know you do not want to marry me. I’m…I’m headstrong, reckless, used to doing exactly as I please.”

  “You do need a keeper.”

  “I cannot abide restraint!”

  “You will when I impose it.”

  Choosing not to argue that point, she continued, “I buy what I like, never thinking of cost.”

  “I’ll teach you economy.”

  “I have a wretched temper.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  “Men call me wanton.”

  He grinned. “I especially noticed that.”

  She sucked in a breath and resisted, just barely, the urge to punch him in the jaw. Why was he making this difficult when she was trying so very hard to do the right thing? “So you agree it’s impossible. You need a calm, frugal, proper wife to help you rebuild your estate, not someone embroiled in scandal. Despite what happened last night, I intend to continue rescuing girls like Maddie.”

  “It’s a good cause. If the ton disapproves, to hell with ’em.”

  Hands shaking, she summoned her last, best argument, determined to voice the words despite the pain. Even so, her voice wobbled. “You shouldn’t have to forfeit the rest of your life to preserve your honor. You deserve a wife of your own choosing. You deserve someone like S-Sarah.”

  All the teasing light left his eyes. “Clare, I admit when first I returned there was a…shadow haunting my dreams. I was angry with the world, feeling it had stripped me of everything I care about save duty. But over the weeks I’ve known you, frustration and outrage and fury and joy have burned all that away. What’s left is a bright flame that draws me, scorches me and lights my life with a brilliance I cannot imagine living without. You, Clare. You brought me back enjoyment and excitement.” His serious tone lightened and he waggled his eyebrows at her. “You make me want to get up in the morning.”

  Oh, that. “Passion’s not enough—”

  “Hear me out,” he commanded, stilling her lips with his finger, “and believe what I say. No, you’re not the proper, obedient, thrifty wife I thought I wanted. But I’ve come to realize you are exactly everything I need.”

  He took her nerveless hand and looked into her eyes, pinning her motionless. “I love you, Clare, only you. Marry me. Please.”

  Sincerity vibrated in the timbre of his words, in the stark unsmiling gaze. He really wanted her—not his middle-class virgin, not a lady like Sarah.

  Shock and euphoria beating dizzy wings at her chest, she stared dumbstruck at the man for whose happiness she’d gladly lay down her life, her fortune, and very soul. Who by some miracle of bad judgment had just admitted to loving her, unsuitable as she was.

  An upsurge of emotion made her giddy, as if she’d been suddenly carried aloft by angels.

  The old Clarissa would have drawn out her answer, teased and tormented her suitor to ever more extravagant vows. The new Clare had no intention of risking that.

  Still, she thought, her needy soul feasting on the devotion shining in Sinjin’s eyes, a little reassurance wouldn’t come amiss. And what better way to solidify a bond meant to last for all time than by returning where they had truly became one flesh?

  “If I promise to say ‘yes’ later, will you continue trying to convince me?” She drew her finger down his neck to part the cloth of his robe, then traced down the matted hair of his bare chest to the smoothness of his abdomen and lower still, until with a groan he stiffened.

  A thrill spiraled through her at the sound. “Wanton that I am,” she murmured, “I find passion so very persuasive.” She touched her tongue to the pulse at the base of his throat.

  He shuddered, then pulled her roughly back into his arms. “Let it never be said that I failed to persuade.”

  Epilogue

  Several weeks later Clarissa sat at her dressing table while Sarah finished pinning a wreath of coral roses in her hair. “There, you’re perfection. Sinjin will be so dazzled by his bride he’ll scarce be able to speak.”

  “Leave him enough breath to say his vows,” Clarissa grumbled. “I’ve waited long enough.”

  Sarah laughed. In fact, the betrothed couple’s first argument had been over Clarissa’s desire to seek a special license and marry immediately, while Sinjin urged a calling of the banns and the staging of at least a small wedding to gratify the lifelong dreams of Lady Beaumont.

  “At least he hasn’t changed his mind,” Clarissa said as she rose to give her friend a hug.

  “As if he would! One needs only to look at his face to know he’s totally besotted with you.”

  Clarissa turned anxious eyes to her friend. “You…you’re not upset, are you?”

  Sarah shook her head. “You widgeon, have I not said from the beginning my fondest desire was for him to find another lady to love? And I couldn’t be more delighted that he eventually had the good sense to choose my dearest friend.”

  Clarissa studied Sarah’s face. “You’re sure?” Knowing Sarah had once held unchallenged sway over Sinjin’s heart, she could not imagine anyone relinquishing that cherished position without some pangs of regret.

  Sarah smiled. “Clare, could you envision having in your heart, your bed, your life, any other man but Sinjin?”

  “Absolutely not!”

  “Then you know how I feel about Nicholas. But we’d best be going. After all,” she winked, “the sooner the wedding ends, the sooner the honeymoon begins.”

  Clarissa grinned and took Sarah’s arm. “Amen to that.”

  Waiting in the Beaumont parlor with Nicholas, Hal, and Sarah’s brother Colton, Sinjin paused in his pacing to greet Sarah’s arriving sisters. The chattering twins, Cecily and Emma, both about to make their debuts, were followed by older sister Meredyth, who ushered them to their seats while their youngest sister, Faith, bounded over to hug first him, then Hal.

  “Mr. Waterman’
s going to marry me when I grow up,” she announced, beaming up at her towering escort. “He promised I could keep frogs in my room, ride whenever I wished, and never embroider again.”

  Hal gently detached the girl and grinned. “Might as well wait. Like frogs and horses.”

  As Faith skipped off, her sister Elizabeth, the acknowledged beauty of the family, approached on the arm of her elderly husband. The look in Hal’s eyes as they rested on Mrs. Lowery made Sinjin wonder with a touch of sadness if his massive friend would ever marry.

  But then the vicar arrived, wiping every other thought from his head.

  Clare in her peach gown eclipsed even Elizabeth, and except for Aubrey taking a fancy to the Sandiford bridal ring and needing persuasion to relinquish it, the ceremony went well. Much as he enjoyed the company of his family and friends, having—over the strenuous objections of his bride—insisted on chastity for the month preceding their wedding, he was more than anxious for the reception to end so he might bear his wife away.

  He had to chuckle. Announcing she’d be too…preoccupied by his company to much notice her surroundings, with a sparkle in her eye that promised infinite delights, Clare had insisted they skip an elaborate wedding trip and proceed straight to Sandiford Court.

  Trust his Clare to be impatient with fripperies and anxious to throw herself immediately into the tasks of their life together.

  Finally, after toasts and well wishes and a teary farewell from Lady Beaumont, they stood beside the coach that would carry them to Sandiford. Leading her son Aubrey, Sarah walked over.

  Sinjin held her at arm’s length, the touch bittersweet. “How does it feel to be proved right—again?” he asked gruffly.