by Kelly Bowen
August could feel a muscle working alongside his jaw. Resentment edged out the guilt, and he clung to it like a drowning man. “It has never been my intention to trivialize Anne’s existence, if that is what you’re implying.”
“That is not at all what I’m implying.” Clara softened her voice. “I know Anne lived in Marshalsea.”
August flinched. “How did you know that?”
“She told me.” She gestured around her. “Look, I’m not trying to change the world. Well, maybe I am, but not overnight. Not in my lifetime, even. But what would happen if enough women believed in themselves? Believed that they could do more than what they’ve been told they can do?” She sighed. “I’m not so delusional as to forget that the world we live in is real and we must all adapt to it. The classes I teach in London during my regular terms are not ground-breaking by any stretch of the imagination. But occasionally a young woman attends those classes who, like me, believes that things could be different. And I invite her out here to explore just how much.”
August stared at her.
Clara exhaled loudly, her cheeks pink. “I’ll stop talking now. Although you’ve passed on my earlier invitation to collect your sister and run screaming back to London, I wouldn’t blame you if you did so now.” She sounded as if she was only half joking. “But if you’re sending the Bedlam stewards after me, can you at least wait until the end of next week?”
“You think I find any of what you said crazy?” he asked.
“I hope not, but it would put you in the minority.”
“Good. I prefer to be in the minority. The masses don’t know what they’re missing out on.”
“Oh.” She looked up at him. “Thank you. For believing in me.”
“Always, Clara.” He bent and brushed his lips over hers, the softest of gestures. “Let me show you how much.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
Very deliberately August turned and walked to the studio door. Just as deliberately he turned the lock, the click sounding overly loud in the empty room. He returned and stopped just in front of her. He bowed low and straightened. “Dance with me.”
Her lips parted. “I beg your pardon?”
“May I have the privilege of this dance, Miss Hayward?”
“Here? Now? But—”
“No regrets, Miss Hayward. And no excuses.”
“And no music either,” she said with a slow smile.
“Inconsequential details,” August scoffed. He held out his hand. He saw Clara swallow before she reached out and took it.
Her hand was warm in his, and he pulled her to him, his other hand coming to slide around her waist. Her fingers tightened in his, and he heard her slight inhalation. “Close your eyes,” he said.
“August—”
“Close your eyes.”
She gazed at him for a second longer before her eyes fluttered shut. Her free hand went to his shoulder, her fingertips just brushing the back of his neck. “Perfect,” he whispered before he led her in the first step.
It wasn’t the reckless waltz that they had danced a decade ago, surrounded by glittering lights and glittering people. There was no orchestra to keep the time, no constant hum of those trying to make their voices heard over the voices of others. This was a private affair, meant only for them, danced in a small space and danced in silence. But it was no less powerful for it.
August tightened his grip on her waist, pulling her flush against him as they moved in slow circles across the floor in front of the dais. Clara’s hand slid farther around the back of his neck, her fingers tangling gently in the back of his hair. He could feel her body, hot and supple against his, her chest rising and falling. She matched him step for step, and August wondered idly if she could feel the way his heart was thundering in his chest.
He drew the hand that held hers into the space between their bodies, tucking it securely against his chest, and lifted his fingers to stroke her cheek. She kept her eyes closed but her lips curled, and she tipped her head into his touch. God, she was so beautiful like this. So beautiful always, but like this, she was his. She belonged to him in this moment.
He bent his head and caught her lips with his, their steps slowing until they stopped altogether. As before, their kiss started slowly, only for different reasons this time. This time August wasn’t afraid of scaring her or hurting her. This time he was afraid only that he wouldn’t make this last the way he wanted it to. That he wouldn’t be able to make good on his promise to her that he would take his time, learning what made her whimper and writhe with pleasure.
Because holy hell, he wanted her. Wanted her so badly that he ached everywhere. His skin felt two sizes too small, and his cock throbbed. The need to take her then, right there, on the floor in the middle of the damn studio, was pounding through him, making him dizzy with want. His hands slid from her face and over her shoulders and down her back, where they gripped her as though he was afraid to let her go.
And then she moaned, and her mouth opened and her tongue stroked his, and he was completely lost. His hands dropped to her ass, and he hauled her up against him the way he had done once before. She wrapped her legs around him, but her skirts hampered her movements, and it wasn’t enough.
“I want you naked. Now.” His voice was rough.
“Yes.” She slid down the length of him, the friction sending all sorts of uncontrollable shudders through him. He set to work at her bodice, realizing that his hands weren’t entirely steady. He fumbled slightly at the ties until he felt her hands on his, pulling them away.
“You can watch,” she said, looking at him though heavily lidded eyes, her lips parted and her color high.
He cock twitched, and he groaned with need.
Clara took over where he had left off, with a slow, subtle tease as one by one the laces and ties that held her gown and her stays were undone, the garments falling to the floor soundlessly. She stood before him in her shift, the outline of her body a tantalizing breath away. So close and yet so far.
Her eyes dropped to the bulge at the fall of his trousers, and a sultry smile touched her lips even as her fingers played with the ribbon at the neck of her shift. “Steady, Your Grace,” she whispered.
August remained still, his breath coming far too fast. Very deliberately she pulled the end of the ribbon, and the top of her chemise loosened, slipping over one shoulder and then the other before it too joined the pile on the rug at their feet. And Clara Hayward stood before him wearing nothing but a smile.
His heart might have stopped momentarily before it resumed, thundering in his ears with the same rhythm that was pulsing through the rest of him. The sound obliterated everything around him, his eyes riveted on her fingers, which were now trailing over the slope of her left breast, coming to circle her dark nipple, hard and pebbled under her touch. She was watching him watching her, and he had never been as aroused as he was then.
“Don’t stop there,” he rasped.
Clara’s eyes darkened, and her hand slid lower. Her fingers caressed the gentle swell of her abdomen before slipping through the dark curls at the juncture of her legs. He watched as she stroked a finger through the folds of her sex, her eyes fluttering closed and her head tipping back. Her hand circled low and hard, and a soft whimper escaped. She withdrew her hand, her finger wet with her desire, and it snapped whatever control he’d managed to maintain.
August didn’t remember moving, but he hauled her up and against him, and in two steps he had mounted the low dais and deposited her on the edge of the wide settee in the center. He came to kneel just in front of her, her legs falling open as she leaned back. He placed his hands on the backs of her calves, running them up and over her thighs, spreading his fingers to caress as much of that smooth, soft skin as he could. His thumbs skimmed the indentation of her hip bones while his fingers cupped the firm roundness of her ass.
“Don’t stop there,” she whispered, and he might have laughed if he hadn’t been so hot and so hard.
> August bent his head and covered her sex with his mouth and felt her body tense even as she sighed. He caressed her with his tongue the way she had just done with her own fingers, the muscles in her thighs trembling under his touch. He found the bud at the apex of her folds and stroked it, her hips arching off the settee. He did it twice more, then stopped only to gaze at her, her head thrown back and her hands tangled in the emerald silk.
Her eyes opened, dismay clear. “Don’t stop,” she said, and he could hear the frustration and desire in each syllable. Her breasts were rising and falling with each rapid breath she took, and he couldn’t look away. He rose, coming to kneel over her, bending his head to take one of her nipples in his mouth. He sucked and nipped and let the noises she was making in the back of her throat guide him. He let one of his hands delve between them as he kissed her, finding her center and slipping a finger deep.
She arched off the settee again with a gasp as he withdrew before sliding deep again. She was so hot and so wet, and it was just as well that he had yet to remove his clothes because that was the only thing preventing him from thrusting mindlessly into that heat. He dipped his head, catching her lips this time, stroking the velvety softness of her mouth with the same tempo with which his fingers stroked her sex. Her hips rose to meet each stroke, each time with more urgency, and he slipped a second finger into her.
“August,” she breathed, a second before she cried out. He felt her body beneath him stiffen as her hips jerked, and she rode his hand as she convulsed and shuddered. It was a long moment before she collapsed back on the silk, breathing heavily, a look of utter rapture on her face.
Christ, but she was incredible. To the day he died, the image of Clara beneath him, offering herself, letting herself go, letting him take control, would be forever burned in his mind.
He pushed himself to his feet, yanking at his clothes. He needed to be deep inside her. He needed to possess her completely. So, so badly.
Clara raised herself up on her elbows, watching him, her skin flushed and her eyes heavy with desire. The pins had long ago fallen from her hair, and it streamed in a glorious mess behind her. She looked like a woman who had been loved and loved well. And was anticipating being so again.
She didn’t speak, made no move to touch him, just watched in much the same manner that he had. He finally stood before her in nothing but his trousers, letting anticipation build. She pushed herself the rest of the way up, coming to kneel on the settee before him.
“Come here,” she said, and he obeyed. For now.
She lifted her hands and ran them down his chest, tracing the edges of his pectoral muscles and the ridges of his abdomen as though she had all the time in the world. She slid her fingers through the hair at the center of his chest and circled his nipples with her fingers. August forced himself to remain still. Her hands slid over his upper arms, along the small of his back, traveling along the waistband of his trousers.
With no hesitation she went to work on the buttons at the fall and slipped her hands inside, pushing the last of his clothing down his legs and away. His erection surged free, thick and aching. She smiled up at him, her hands circling his waist to cup his ass, her head dipping to—
Jesus. A sound he didn’t recognize escaped from his throat, and he closed his eyes briefly as she took him in her mouth. His hands went to her head, his fingers buried in the wildness of her hair. His buttocks clenched, and he thrust up into her soft heat, unable to stop himself.
Clara made a soft noise of approval. Her hands were working their way over the curve of his ass to the backs of his thighs, and her tongue swept down his shaft and then back up, circling the crown. He felt his cock pulse, and lust pooled low and heavy.
“I’m too close, Clara,” he ground out.
She sucked hard in response, and he moaned. Her hair fell forward, and the urge to thrust into her mouth again was overwhelming. August pulled her head back, and his siren looked up at him, her eyes glazed with the same desire that was coursing through him, threatening to undo him where he stood. “Not this time,” he said.
He lifted her and laid her back on the settee, his hands sliding over the tops of her thighs and around to the backs, spreading her legs wide and lifting her hips toward him. His hand slid back up over the swell of her abdomen and along her rib cage, his thumb just brushing the underside of her breast.
Her hips flexed, a tiny, involuntary movement.
He smiled.
“August,” she whispered, though it sounded like more of a plea.
He ran his finger across her lips, over her chin, and down the column of her throat. He paused in the small hollow at the base before he slid his hand down the slope of her breast, palming its weight and brushing the tip of her nipple. He felt her shudder, and her hips moved again, this time more demanding.
“What are you doing?” she demanded hoarsely.
He brought his hand back to her hip, holding her steady. “Understanding what I possess.” He positioned himself at her entrance and thrust into her slick heat.
Clara made a muffled noise and wrapped her legs hard around his waist, drawing him even farther. He could feel her inner walls flex around him, and he ground against her, stars starting to dance along the edges of his vision. Need was pounding through him with more urgency than he would be able to control.
He withdrew and thrust, once, twice, and again, each time harder and faster, never taking his eyes off her face. White-hot pleasure was streaking through him with each stroke, moisture gathering at his brow. His breathing was labored, and he could feel her heels digging into the tops of his buttocks, urging him on. She reached up and ran a hand over her breasts, rubbing her nipples. With a low growl, August knocked her hand away with his and set his mouth where her fingers had been.
“Yes,” he heard her hiss, writhing beneath him.
She was so responsive, so goddamn perfect. He was never going to survive this.
He swirled his tongue around each nipple, sucking hard as he pumped into her. He lifted his head only enough to find her mouth. “I want you to come for me,” he said roughly against her lips. “I need you to come right now.”
Clara whimpered, a raw sound that sent another wave of pleasure slamming through him. He tilted her hips and thrust hard, grinding himself deliberately against the very apex of her sex, and just like that, she flew apart. She cried his name, a ragged, wild declaration of ecstasy as her orgasm crashed through her. She arched up and into him, her legs clamped around his waist as her inner muscles spasmed and pulsed around his cock. He drove into her, riding her climax, prolonging every wave of euphoria. His fingers dug into her hips as he caged them, his vision dimming as his own release bore down on him.
“Clara,” he groaned, pulling out just as his own orgasm ripped through him, but she was ready for him, her hand fisting him between their heat-slicked bodies. He gasped and shuddered, pumping himself into the friction of her palm. Pleasure of an intensity he hadn’t known rolled through him in unending, merciless waves, one after another without respite. His thrusts finally slowed, though it took them a long time to stop altogether, his body seemingly caught in the eddies of their lovemaking. It took him even longer to catch his breath and his wits, and when he did he rolled to the side, feeling a little out of control.
“We should have done that ten years ago,” Clara said into the silence.
He laughed, a sound that caught him by surprise. “Agreed.”
“Thank you.” He felt her shift, and he turned on his side so he was facing her.
“For what?”
She smiled crookedly. “For your…ministrations.”
“Twice,” he teased.
“Twice,” she agreed. The smile slipped. “And for your control and your responsibility.”
“Oh.” He was a little taken aback. No woman had ever thanked him for that.
“We should have spoken of it earlier.”
August gazed at her. “I suppose we’re speaking of it now.”
“True. And I appreciate your…unselfishness.”
He grinned. “You can make it up to me. I have some ideas.”
She grinned back. “Good. So do I.”
Desire surged through him and stole the breath he had just caught. He leaned forward and kissed her deeply, not wanting this to end. Not ever wanting to leave this studio and return to the real world. Not wanting to remember what sort of reality waited for them outside these walls. And the nagging guilt and discontent that came with it. He pulled back. “Are you happy?”
“Deliriously.” Her forehead creased in puzzlement. “What a strange question.”
He shook his head, wondering what he was doing. This was usually the part where he got up, set his clothing to rights, and left. Instead he found himself lounging naked on a settee in an art studio with a woman who had just shaken his world to its very foundations, and he was asking her about…happiness. Perhaps he was fishing for compliments.
“August?” she asked, sounding concerned. As she should. This whole episode was concerning.
“If you couldn’t teach at Haverhall, what would you do?”
Clara stared at him. “Teach somewhere else.”
He reached for her hand and threaded his fingers through hers. “Where?”
“I’d like to say Oxford. Maybe Cambridge if they’d have me.” She made a wry face.
“I’m being serious.”
She propped her head up on her hand. “Teaching is what gives me my purpose.” Her eyes had a troubled, faraway quality to them. “I don’t think I could ever stop, no matter what happened. Whatever circumstance might change, I’d always try to find a way.”
