Rushed to the Altar

by Jane Feather

  “The same, thank you. Allow me, ma’am.” Peregrine lifted the decanter. “Will you join us, Mistress Ordway?”

  “Not at present, thank you.” She sat down in an armless chair opposite the sofa and regarded them thoughtfully. “So, I am honored, sirs. Is there a special reason for this visit?”

  “Not a bit of it,” Sebastian declared. “But we saw you at the theatre last evening, and, I have to tell you, ma’am, the town is abuzz with the question of the hour: Who is the beauty on Blackwater’s arm?

  She shook her head. “You flatter me, sir.” Jasper had been right, it seemed, about her carefully orchestrated debut.

  “I can’t speak for my brother, Mistress Ordway.” Peregrine smiled at her. “But I would have chosen the same words, and without the intention of flattery. Since you have been seen in public with my brother, and we have been introduced previously, we thought we could without any breach of etiquette take the liberty of visiting you.”

  “Oh, you would put me to shame, Perry,” Sebastian declared with mock annoyance. “Believe me, Mistress Ordway, I meant every word.”

  She smiled. These two were so different from their elder brother, but they were also, apart from their identical physiques, quite different from each other.

  “You do me too much honor, sirs.” She was about to say something else when she heard more voices from downstairs. “Your brother, I believe, gentlemen.”

  The twins exchanged a glance. The door opened and Jasper came in, accompanied by two others. “Sebastian . . . Peregrine . . . what an unexpected pleasure,” he murmured. “My dear Clarissa, I trust these rattles haven’t been boring you to tears.”

  “Indeed, my lord, they haven’t been here long enough to do so,” she returned, smiling. Her smile extended to the two men with Jasper while she waited for an introduction.

  “Ma’am, allow me to present Lord Varley and Lord Delaney.” Jasper gestured to his companions, who both bowed with a murmured “Honored, ma’am.”

  Clarissa curtsied. “What may I offer you gentlemen? I understand the claret is particularly fine.”

  “Yes, it is,” Jasper said, “and far too good for those good-for-nothing brothers of mine.” He went to the sideboard and filled glasses. “Clarissa, will you take a glass of Madeira?”

  “No, thank you, sir.” She rang the bell. “I would prefer coffee.” When Sally appeared Clarissa asked for coffee, before saying casually, “I trust the boys are behaving themselves, Sally. They were rather boisterous this morning.” For some reason she felt the need to check up on her brother’s whereabouts at frequent intervals. If she’d had her way she’d have kept him beside her at all times, but it was hardly practical, and particularly now when Jasper was in the house.

  “Oh, that they were, but young Frank’s gone on an errand for Mistress Newby, so he’ll be out of the house for a bit.”

  Clarissa paled. “What . . . what kind of errand?”

  “Mistress Newby sent him after the peddler. She forgot her ribbon when he came by this morning,” Sally said cheerfully. “I’ll fetch that coffee now, ma’am.”

  Clarissa held herself very still. Francis was running around the streets. He could run into Luke on any corner. Every muscle strained to race outside, to chase after him, call him, bring him back. But she couldn’t. Not at this moment. She turned slowly back to her guests and realized Jasper was looking at her, in puzzlement certainly, but with that strange reflective gleam in his eye that made her so uneasy.

  She gave a light laugh. “Oh, the child’s always up to mischief.” She sat down, folding her hands into her lap. “Did you see the play last evening, Lord Varley?”

  Jasper said little, leaving her to entertain his brothers and his guests. It was abundantly clear to him that she was more than accustomed to this kind of intercourse. He hadn’t learned very much from Nan the previous evening, except that she had finally and very reluctantly confirmed his conviction that Mistress Ordway had not been employed in the usual fashion at 32 King Street. But Nan knew nothing concrete about her erstwhile lodger, except that although she seemed to be alone in the city, she was not without funds.

  So who was she? And what the hell was it about that boy that touched her so nearly? Her face had shown pure terror for a moment at the thought of his running loose in the streets. She’d recovered quickly enough but Jasper had seen the struggle it had cost her. Part of him wanted to shake the truth out of her, but that wouldn’t give him what he really wanted. She had to tell him the truth herself, because she wanted to, because she couldn’t bear lying to him any longer.

  He couldn’t hide from himself how badly he wanted her to reach that point. The point when her trust overcame her fear, when she would acknowledge that only open honesty would serve between them . . . that something was happening between them that could not flourish if she continued to lie to him. He had not expected to fall in love with the woman who would bring him his fortune, but he could no longer hide the truth from himself. He was rapidly losing his heart to an enigma.

  Clarissa glanced up at him and, as if aware of his reflections, gave him a tentative smile, her head slightly on one side in silent question. He shook his own head ruefully and turned to refill his guests’ glasses.

  Clarissa wondered what that head-shake had meant. It seemed like a resigned dismissal of his reflections . . . troubling reflections judging by the gravity, almost wistfulness, of his expression. She had the urge to go to him, to touch his hand, ask him what was the matter. But she couldn’t do that in this room full of visitors.

  Her head began to ache and she wished they would all take their leave. Jasper’s concerns aside, she was desperate to find out whether Francis was back yet. If he hadn’t returned, why not? She needed to impress upon him that he mustn’t go out again under any circumstances. Maybe it was a long shot that Luke would happen to be walking up Half Moon Street as his ward was running down it, but it was not an impossibility.

  At long last, her visitors rose to take their leave. She curtsied, shook hands, thanked them for coming, all the time keeping her smile in place, her voice composed. Jasper left the drawing room with them and as soon as the door was closed on them, she slipped out into the corridor. Their voices rose from the hall, Jasper’s among them. Clarissa took the back stairs to the kitchen.

  Sweet relief flooded her at the scene of quiet domesticity that greeted her. Her brother was standing on a stool earnestly peeling potatoes at the kitchen table. Mistress Newby was busy at the range, Sally was working with a pile of ironing. Young Sammy was polishing silver.

  “Eh, Mistress Ordway, is there something I can do for you?” Sally looked dismayed at Clarissa’s sudden arrival in the kitchen. “You should’ve rung for me.”

  “No, I don’t need anything, Sally. I wanted a word with Frank.”

  “Oh, I could’ve sent him up to you.” Sally exchanged the flatiron she was using for one heating on the range. “No need for you to traipse all the way down here, ma’am.”

  “It’s hardly a marathon walk.” Clarissa smiled. She beckoned to her brother, who climbed off the stool and came to her, eyes wide with curiosity. “Let’s go out here for a minute.” She led him into the back corridor that ran between the kitchen and the front hall and bent down to eye level. “Listen, darling, you mustn’t ever leave the house like that. Supposing you should run into Uncle Luke when I wasn’t there?”

  Francis’s eyes widened even more, but this time with fright. He shook his head vigorously. “I won’t . . . I won’t ever go outside again, ’Rissa, promise.”

  “See that you don’t.” She straightened slowly. “You gave me such a fright.”

  “How long’re we going to stay here?” the boy asked. “That man doesn’t like me.”

  “What man? The earl you mean? That’s nonsense, love, of course he likes you.”

  “He doesn’t like boys, Sally said so to Mistress Newby. Just a little while ago.”

  “I expect he doesn’t know much about them
,” she said crisply. “Anyway, keep out of his way and everything will be all right.”

  “But how long’re we staying here?” he repeated.

  “I don’t know yet. We have to stay here until it’s safe. A few months maybe.”

  Francis looked crestfallen. “I want to go home. I want to see Silas an’ my pony. I want to go to school in the vicarage again. I don’t like it here.” His voice rose alarmingly and Clarissa shushed him with a finger to her lips.

  “I know, love. It’s hard for you, and you’ve been so brave, but you have to trust me. We have to stay here just for a little longer.” She bent to kiss him, hugging him close to her.

  Jasper stood in the hall, just beyond the door that stood slightly ajar. He’d seen his visitors out and returned to the drawing room, to find both it and the bedchamber deserted. There was no sign of Clarissa in the dressing room, either. Reasoning that the only other place she could be was the kitchen, odd though that was, he descended to the hall again and was about to push open the baize door to the kitchen regions when he heard Clarissa’s urgent whisper. He stepped back instinctively, unwilling to eavesdrop, then, quashing scruple, he inched the door open a little further.

  Why the devil was Clarissa hugging that scrawny little boy?

  He stepped back and moved towards the staircase. Was this yet another piece of the puzzle to be fitted into the whole, or was it just a manifestation of a natural, if overdeveloped, maternal instinct? She’d rescued the child from the streets; perhaps she’d been afraid that away from the safety of the house he might run into his old master or be kidnapped by some other ruffian. Except that the boy no longer looked like a street urchin. Clean and dressed as he was in sturdy respectable garments he obviously belonged to someone, and no ruffian would risk abducting a child who belonged somewhere.

  “Jasper, I didn’t realize you were down here. I thought perhaps you might have left with your brothers and your friends.” She spoke from behind him and he turned on the stair.

  “I would not have left without telling you.” He looked at her closely. She seemed unflustered. “What were you doing in the kitchen?”

  “I wanted to make sure Frank was back.” She smiled, shrugged. “It’s probably foolish of me, but I had visions of him being snatched by that brutal chimney sweep again.”

  It was reasonable enough; he’d thought of it himself. And yet, Jasper was not wholly convinced. However, he said only, “I missed you last night.”

  “I missed you.” She came up the stairs to him. “I kept hoping that you would suddenly appear and I’d wake and find you in bed beside me.” She stood just below him on the stair, her lips curved in a seductive smile, her eyes aglow. Her tongue flicked over her lips and he put aside the conundrum. There were many pleasanter ways to occupy his time.

  He reached down to touch her face, to trace the curve of her full mouth with a fingertip. “Perhaps we should make up for lost time.”

  “In the daytime, my lord?” Her eyes widened in mock horror. “Isn’t that very decadent?”

  “Maybe, but why else would a man keep a mistress?” He slipped his hands beneath her arms and lifted her up onto the step above him. “Into bed, mistress mine. I find I have a most powerful hunger.” A hand on her rear encouraged her upwards.

  Clarissa jumped ahead. “You’ll have to catch me first.” Laughing, she ran for her bedchamber. Jasper followed her, kicking the door shut behind him. He caught her up, holding her high against him. “Caught you.”

  “So you have.” Her gaze held his. “So what now, my lord?”

  “An interesting question with a multitude of answers.” He let her slide down his body until her feet touched the floor. His eyes took on a smoky hue as his fingers moved over the laces of her gown, opening the bodice. He spread the sides wide and bent to kiss the soft, sweet-scented swell of her breasts over the neckline of her thin muslin shift. His tongue dipped into the cleft between them, and she sighed with pleasure. He pushed the shift off her shoulders, baring her to the waist, and, kneeling now, cupped her breasts in his hand, kissing her nipples, suckling them, his teeth lightly grazing the hard pink crowns.

  Clarissa ran her fingers through his hair, traced the shells of his ears with her fingertips, feeling the heat rise in her belly. Jasper pushed her gown off her hips and with rough haste did the same with her shift, so that she stood in a puddle of ruffled silk and pale muslin. He kissed her belly, tasted her navel, pressed his thumbs into the hard points of her hipbones. With a soft moan she shifted on the carpet, her thighs parting for the heated exploration of his tongue as it painted a path down her inner thighs. He held her hips, grasped her bottom, his fingers kneading the firm flesh. Her own fingers twined in his hair, and she thrust her hips forward for the caress of his tongue.

  His mouth found her core, his tongue teased the hard little nub of flesh, and he held her, his cheek pressed to her belly, his hands firm on her hips, as the storm ripped through her.

  She fell forward, her hands resting on his shoulders, her body curved in surrender, until he rose to his feet and moved her backwards until the edge of the bed caught her behind her knees and she fell onto it. He stood over her, stripping off his clothes, his hungry gaze fixed upon her body, naked except for her gartered stockings. For some reason he found the erotic allure of those white silk stockings and the black lace garters against the cream of her nakedness more powerful than anything he could imagine.

  He came down to the bed beside her, kneeling, his penis hard and demanding. Clarissa took him in her mouth. She let her tongue circle the moist tip as her hand moved up and down the shaft. His breathing quickened, his hips moved, and she reached both hands between his thighs, stroking his balls, grasping the hard muscular curve of his backside as her mouth moved along his penis, her lips pressing firmly, her teeth grazing.

  It was a shock when he spoke, his voice strangely husky. “Turn over.”

  She moved her head away from his engorged flesh, her eyes glinting with excitement, and rolled onto her belly. He slipped his hands beneath her belly and lifted her onto her knees. His hands gripped her hips and she gave a little gasp as he entered her. She had a moment to think that the feeling was quite different from this position, and then coherent thought was no longer possible as the exquisite spiral of sensation coiled ever tighter. His hands were hard on her hips, holding her tightly, and she rocked on her knees to meet his thrusts, her cries of delight muffled in the coverlet. And when it was over, she rested her forehead on the bed and fought for breath as wave after wave of sweetness flooded her loins.

  Jasper kissed the nape of her neck, his body molded to her damp back as he came back to his own reality. There was something about making love with an enigma that transcended the ordinary, he reflected with an inner smile. Slowly he disengaged and rolled onto his side, letting his hand rest on her bottom.

  After a minute, Clarissa turned onto her side to face him. She rested her cheek on her arm and with a free hand touched his face. “I still seem to be flying around the room in little pieces. Do you think they’ll all come back together again eventually?”

  “I certainly hope so,” he responded with appropriate gravity, belied by the dancing smile in his eyes that matched her own.

  It was on the tip of Clarissa’s tongue to ask him how many other positions he knew for this delightful activity, but she bit her tongue in the nick of time. A whore would surely know everything there was to know.

  “What were you going to say?”

  “Nothing,” she denied. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

  The smile stopped dancing in his eyes and he became reflective. “Why do I so often think that you’re not telling me the whole truth, Clarissa?”

  “I can’t imagine.” She sat up on the edge of the bed, so that he could see only her back. “You know everything relevant about me. Everything relevant to this game we’re playing.” How she wished she could turn to him, tell him everything, but there was too much at stake. She had t
o keep up the lies for Francis’s sake. But it was tearing her apart; every time she had to come up with yet another lie, another twist to the fabrication, she seemed to lose a little bit of herself, her essential integrity.

  Jasper pursed his lips. Once again he wanted to shake her, tell her that the game was no longer the point, demand that she admit she understood that. But instead, he swung out of bed and began to dress. “We’re going to pay a visit this afternoon.” He wandered over to the armoire. “Let’s see what you should wear.”

  “A visit to whom? Not your uncle again, I hope.”

  “No.” He opened up the double doors and examined the contents. “Lady Mondrain; you saw her at the theatre last night.”

  “And will you present me as your mistress?” Their lovemaking had been spoiled and Clarissa felt dejected, out of sorts.

  “I won’t need to.” He took out a driving dress of rich dark brown velvet. “This, I think.”

  “You mean they’ll automatically assume it?” She watched with little interest as he laid the garment over a chair.

  “Of course. But these things do not need to be spoken. While they’re not spoken, they can be ignored. It’s much more comfortable all around, if they’re ignored.”

  “And if . . . when I become your wife, they’ll still be ignored?”

  “Certainly. The marriage will be a quiet affair, discreetly noted in the Gazette.”

  “And your uncle will be satisfied with that? Aren’t you supposed to shock society?”

  “No, only the family,” he said with a wry smile. “Uncle Bradley doesn’t give a fig for society, but he wants to rub the family’s nose in the dirt, as they’ve tried so often to do to him.

  “Besides,” he added, giving her a covert glance, “your position as my wife will be much more comfortable if society is able to ignore the truth. Of course, there’ll be some holdouts, some sticklers, but I have every hope, my dear, that in time you’ll win them over.”

  “In time?” She stood up slowly. “But this marriage is not to last.”

  “Why?” he said, looking at her directly. “It doesn’t have to be annulled, Clarissa. Not if we don’t wish it.”