by Tanya Wilde
On her mattress was a dead, headless pheasant, lying in a pool of blood.
Claire screamed.
Chapter 16
It had taken Claire all of three seconds to succumb to the uncontrollable urge to laugh once she entered her suite at the Royal London Hotel. What had started out as a snicker soon turned into a giggle, until a loud guffaw had erupted from her chest and her body convulsed in a moment of total helplessness. What had followed then could be best described as hysterical shrieks of laughter, which she desperately wished to gain control over, but the harder she tried to rein it in, the more the laughter spilled out. At present, she was hunkered over the bed, clutching her belly and gasping for breath, still overcome with hilarity.
The truth, however, was more vivid than ever.
She could no longer deny the possibility.
Claire was being tormented.
Of course, she had been deuced lucky that Ashford and Mr. Hunt had been there. Her scream had barely torn from her lips when they had burst into her bedchamber. Still, she felt violated and nauseous. She did not feel safe in her own home.
How could anyone do this to her?
But more importantly, why?
It made no sense.
“Claire.”
Ashford stood in the threshold of the suite, lines of concern deepening his face. Her heart filled with warmth. She had no strength to correct him, even though she desperately needed the distance, the detachment.
Walk away.
That had been the only real condition she’d given herself upon entering the agreement with Madam Dexter. It was why she had approached the madam and not carelessly chosen a gentleman herself. So that she could walk away. Keep her independence. Retain her detachment.
It appeared, however, that the moment she had resigned herself to end all acquaintance with Ashford, fate deemed it impossible.
A happy rake, impossible to shake.
She drank in the sight of him. He looked troubled, angry even, and outrageously handsome. She wanted to go to him, wrap her arms around him and kiss him. Ashford made her feel wanted with every look he sent her way. His stance and reaction to the night’s events had made her feel as though he would fight any battle for her. Protect her. Never leave her side.
Were these the musings of a rational brain?
Claire thought not.
If she possessed any sense at all, she would send him away. Perhaps even court the affection of Mr. Hunt, who seemed better suited for her. But while Mr. Hunt was handsome in his own right, he did not set her heart aflutter. Claire found she preferred the heated stares of this one particular man.
“Roland,” she murmured. And along with the utterance of his Christian name, something shifted, changed irreversibly.
He seemed to feel it too, for he approached her, slowly, as though he feared she might bolt—which was not outside the realm of possibilities. He halted only when mere inches separated them. They stared at each other for a long, drawn-out moment.
Claire could feel the heat emanating from his person.
Those dark forest green eyes bore into hers. “When you say my name, it feels as if you are the only person in the world who knows me.”
If she were less than the woman she was, she’d have melted. “When you say things like that, you appear to be much more than a wolf in sheepskin,” she teased.
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “If I am more than a wolf you are the only one who has ever remarked upon it.”
“Perhaps everyone is too afraid you will snarl at them.”
“Everyone except you,” he murmured, trailing her lower lip with his thumb. “Are you all right?”
Claire glanced away. “You mean aside from my fit of hysterics? And the fact that I’m not safe in my own home?”
“You had a shock, Claire. It’s understandable that you might feel overwhelmed.”
“I feel foolish for not treating the matter with more consequence.”
“Come home with me. I can better protect you there.”
He was too close, causing her senses to dance with awareness and his words deeply tempting her. He peered at her intently, his hot gaze traveling over her, leaving Claire grasping for her wits. God help her, but it took all of her strength to say, “I can’t.”
“Of course you can,” he countered. “You can do whatever you like.”
Oh, how easy that sounded!
She gathered a deep, fortifying breath. “I may not have much in the way of wealth or rank, but I still have my pride.”
He inclined his head, reaching up to give a sharp tug at his cravat. “Why didn’t you tell me you were being harassed? That it started the day I sought you out?”
So he had been talking to Mr. Hunt. Claire sighed. Of course, he would pry into her affairs. Roland was not the sort of man to rest until all the information was presented to him.
“I did not wish to concern you with my troubles.”
Because let’s not forget, you are a duke and I a mere shop owner.
“When I saw Hunt, I thought…” he continued, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. “Hell, I imagined…”
That she and Mr. Hunt had formed an attachment, Claire finished the thought in her mind.
Clueless beast.
“I do not make it a habit of inviting men into my bed,” she said, offering him a stern look. “I also don’t know you all that well, certainly not enough to share my problems with you. Besides, I have one of the best Bow Street Runners on the case of my headless pheasant.”
“That’s not funny, Claire.” He glowered down at her.
Heat pooled in her at his proximity. It would be so easy to lift on her toes and feather her lips across his in a soft kiss, to soothe away the anger in his eyes.
“You should go,” she murmured. There. Her attempt to send him away. Claire did not have the strength or the desire to fight him, the statement would have to be enough.
“I can’t.” He looked aggrieved by the fact.
This was a problem. If neither refused to send the other away, what did that mean for them?
They stared at each other, their eyes imploring one another. Inside, Claire’s heart was beating in her ears. “You can’t or you refuse to?”
“Both.”
Why was she so ridiculously thrilled by his answer? “I am perfectly safe. Mr. Hunt is keeping watch outside my room.”
His jaw clenched.
“Are you jealous of Mr. Hunt?” she asked, astonished.
“Damn that word,” he muttered, his eyes flashing with sudden amusement.
Claire’s lips twitched.
It was easy to forget all the reasons they’d never be together. He would never marry her, and she would never become his mistress. Claire understood then that it was only a matter of time before she walked away. But it was also the moment she realized that, other than her leap toward independence and her birthday gift, she had never taken any chances in life. Her heart had never been broken before. And when she walked away from Roland, it would be. Perhaps, though, she could risk one more night before she bid him her final goodbye.
A tingling heat moved through her veins as she stared up into his smoldering eyes. “Will you kiss me, Roland?”
He blinked down at her.
“Only if you want to,” she added hastily.
“Oh, Claire, you have no idea,” he muttered, his lips lowering to hers.
Chapter 17
Will you kiss me, Roland?
If there were ever five words to unravel his very existence, it was those. He felt near mad with desire, and if Roland did not kiss Claire, he would surely die. Her lips were soft beneath his, her body inviting. He had wanted to do this ever since he’d left her that first morning. And now that she was once more in his arms, Roland would rather die than let her go.
For every minute that passed without him claiming her again, a little part of his soul perished, he was sure of it. This sudden madness that had overtaken him was no
longer a concern. It just was.
With a groan, he slipped one hand into her dark silky hair and the other around her waist, gathering her against him while his tongue explored the sweetness of her mouth. He felt an answering tremor ripple through her body as she melted against him. This need, this burning hunger for her, consumed every part of him. It was torture, making his skin so tight from want he thought he might burst.
She suddenly pushed at him, her eyes lifting to search his. “What about Mr. Hunt?”
“What about him?” Roland bit out.
“He’s just outside the chamber,” she whispered, her eyes darting to the door.
Roland’s shoulders relaxed. “I sent him home,” he murmured, trailing kisses once again over her mouth.
“Do you think that is wise?”
“Hell yes,” he growled, capturing her lips once more.
The idea of her and Hunt. Bloody hell. He disliked it more than he cared to admit. He had never wanted to thrash a man more than the moment he saw Hunt waiting for Claire outside her shop. He had never felt such jealousy before. It was not an emotion that settled well with him. In fact, it had taken all of his strength to battle back the overpowering urge to snatch her and dash off. Thank God he had possessed the good sense not to react to the emotions that had invaded him then.
She moaned and shifted against him, the urgency that gripped him multiplying when her tongue met his with a fervor that almost knocked him off his feet. He gave her everything: his lust, his confusion, his jealousy. He said everything in that kiss he could never give words to. He had no words, no experience for what she made him feel. It scared the devil out of him, but still he moved his lips against hers. He said that in the kiss, too, because Roland knew he would never utter those words out loud either.
Her hands found their way to his breeches, her fingers sliding over his erection. He hissed as if he’d been burned.
Bloody hell!
His need was beyond lust, beyond mere attraction. It bordered on obsession. Catching her wrists in his hands, he pulled them away, afraid he might lose control right then and there.
Her lips pouted beneath his.
“Patience, love. I have little self-control as it stands,” he murmured, his head lowering to the soft curve of her breast.
“You are kissing my wits away.”
“Good. Perhaps it’s time to rid you of this dreadfully drab garment,” he said, kissing her again, sweet and ferocious at the same time, a wicked combination of coaxing and demanding all the while tugging at her dress.
She laughed and swatted his hands away, skirting from him only to stop two feet away, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. Roland watched as her hands reached to slide the gown from her skin, her eyes fixed on him. Her boldness excited him, called to him. He sucked in a sharp breath as the dress dropped into a heap and she stepped over the material, her naked body on display. Never had a woman held so much appeal for him. Even with the distance separating them, he could still taste her in his mouth and feel her imprinted on his body.
A wave of tenderness flooded him.
“Do you want me, Roland?”
Christ, yes.
A playful smile curved her lips. “Because I want you.”
Not as much as he wanted her.
“Angel, what are you doing to me?”
“Seducing you into my bed.”
He flashed her a wicked grin. “Are you going to toss me out again?”
“That depends . . .” she murmured, tracing the outline of her breast.
Roland had to clear his throat to find his voice. “On what?”
Her soft laughter taunted him.
“How well you behave inside of it.”
Hell’s Bells.
Without further ado, he disregarded his shirt and took an infinite amount of pleasure in seeing her eyes widen. This was a waltz, and he’d been dancing it much longer than her.
Her eyes followed the movements of his fingers and then the material as it dropped to the floor, bouncing back to where his hands loosened his breeches. A small sound escaped her throat when he stood naked before her. Her cheeks were bright with desire; her face bathed in candlelight.
She was so bloody beautiful.
“Touch me,” he growled.
She stepped forward, her fingers trailing the skin of his chest. Urgency pumped through him, exploded when her hand lowered and curled around his erection. He swore. The words fell on her lips as his mouth crashed onto hers.
An insatiable appetite gripped him. The feel of her warm skin against him, her tongue dancing with his, it all reaffirmed the fact that this was right.
She was the one.
He didn’t understand it, was rather terrified of it, but couldn’t deny it. Not anymore.
He scooped her up into his arms and carried her to the bed, laying her down on the soft mattress with a slight bounce. He felt weak and brutal at the same time. Nothing mattered but getting inside her.
He settled between her thighs, his erection probing at her entrance. Her body was ready for him. Lord have mercy. Because he was ready, so bloody ready, that it was impossible to think, only feel. Grabbing hold of her hips, his tongue swept into her mouth as he thrust into her with one smooth stroke, her cries of pleasure melded with his own. He withdrew from her, then sank back into her warmth, continuing the slow, deep strokes until she writhed beneath him, urging him to go faster.
“Roland,” she whispered. There was a catch in her voice, a tremor. “More.”
A low, strangled moan emerged from his throat, and he surged into her deep and hard. He had no more control left. Her body squeezed tightly around him, her hips matching his rhythm. Beads of sweat formed on his brow. Roland didn’t ever want to stop. He pulled her closer, burying himself inside her with long strokes, faster and faster. He wanted to remain in the paradise of her arms forever.
With each thrust, the idea grew stronger in him. It buried itself quite firmly in his mind, driving him further over the edge. His movements became even more frenzied, the walls of her channel tightening until both of them exploded in unbounded pleasure.
“Marry me.” The words burst through the silence, shocking them both.
Her eyes leapt to his, her breathing still labored, though her body had gone completely motionless. He was still inside her, felt her breasts heave against his chest, her fingers digging into his skin.
Roland’s heart beat wildly in his chest, nearly painful in its race. He hadn’t planned on asking. At least, not then. He hadn’t gotten so far as to consider how he wanted her to remain in his life even, only that she must. But he found he did not regret his blurted words, did not want to take them back. He wanted Claire. He wanted her forever.
So he waited, staring down into her soft, blue eyes, for the one little word that would determine everything.
Chapter 18
The man shadowed her every move. It was enough to drive a saint to drink. For every customer that Roland scared off with his dark scowls, Claire lost a tether on her temper. Her eyes darted to him, taking in his fierce scowl and thin pressed lips.
He had asked her to marry him.
And if she were honest with herself, it had been one of the best moments in her life.
Also, one of the worst.
Up until that moment, she’d thought marriage had not even been a possibility. She had planned on walking away in the morning, one memory richer. They were of separate worlds. She had told him that.
And still, he had proposed.
Marry me.
The words had sent her mind spinning. She’d teetered there on a moment of indecision when another fear reared its head. Even if their station wasn’t a matter of consequence, which of course it was, Roland was still a rake. He was with her now, but tomorrow he may be with someone else. It was his nature. And Claire dared not risk her heart on a rogue, though she had a suspicion she may already have. It was easier, though, to believe she still had a chance to walk away from him.
He hadn’t.
She had awoken to an empty bed which served to reaffirm the fact that he had asked her in the spur of the moment and thought better of it since then. It was the most logical conclusion for his absence. He’d escaped an answer altogether.
So, she would continue to believe that, after the runners apprehended her harasser, he’d surely walk away, no longer duty-bound to protect her.
“Claire.”
Her eyes lifted to meet Roland’s dark, brooding gaze. He was in a mood today, and she could not help wonder whether it was because she had refused to answer his unexpected proposal—even if he’d since seen the wisdom in retracting it.
“You are frightening my customers away,” she scolded.
His jaw set. “You should not be working. It’s too dangerous.”
“If you haven’t noticed, Roland, this is my livelihood. I cannot just avoid my life because some scoundrel is pestering me.”
He ran a hand through his hair, giving her an exasperated look. “I don’t like it.”
“And I don’t like you browbeating my customers. Perhaps you should leave, Roland. Mr. Piers and Mr. Hunt are here. There’s no need for you to be, as well.”
“You want me to go?” He looked astonished at being dismissed.
Claire straightened her shoulders. “Yes.”
His eyes bored into hers, his lips thinning as he scrutinized her. “Very well.”
Too late she glimpsed the intent in those glittering eyes, just before he captured her lips with his own in a ruthless kiss. It was a bold declaration, broadcasting to all present that she was his. Or perhaps, some small part of her wondered, he was showing her that he meant his proposal.
In either case, he gave her no time to protest, moving his lips expertly over hers before he tore them away, leaving her head reeling.
His smoldering eyes flashed with anger as he stared down at her. “We will talk about this later,” he snapped before he turned and left her shop.
Claire watched dazed as he made his leave, his back stiff.
