by Robyn DeHart
She laughed, then the smile faded and she shook her head.
“You shouldn’t try to be someone else to persuade George to marry you.” He moved to her, ran a hand down the bare skin exposed between her cap sleeve and elbow-length gloves.
“But you could teach me,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
“Teach you what, precisely?”
“How to be more worldly, more, I don’t know, more sensual.” She bit her lip again and looked up at him.
“You are not concerned about your virtue?”
“Are you planning to ravish me?”
He gripped her arm, resisting the urge to do precisely that. She would never ask such a question if she had any idea the kinds of thoughts he’d been entertaining since she’d walked into the room. Thoughts of stripping off her lovely clothes and doing sinful things to her body. Of showing her all the sinful things she could do to his. He could take her three different ways on the rug alone. “Only if you want me to.”
“Perhaps merely some kissing.” Again a bite of her lip.
Only kissing? Ah, if only she knew how much latitude that gave him. He was ready to nibble his way around her body.
The thought was only too tempting. Unfortunately, she would then be ruined and he’d have disgraced the sister of one of the few men in London whose opinion he actually valued. No. That wouldn’t do at all.
“Tell me something,” he said. “Do you believe Miss Franny Cooper kisses a great deal of men?”
Her eyes widened slightly. “I don’t know, to be honest.”
“Why is it you believe her to be so worldly? Has she ruined her own reputation?”
“No, she hasn’t.” Clarissa gave her foot a little stamp, one that was barely visible beneath the hem of her gown. “That is precisely the issue. Miss Cooper’s reputation is intact. Above reproach even. And yet, somehow, she is courted by so many men. And they all seem enchanted by her.”
“If she is courted by many men, perhaps you have nothing to worry about.”
Clarissa seemed to consider the matter, but then she shook her head. “No. George is the most eligible of men. He is handsome, charming, titled. No girl would say no if he asked. Indeed, I am sure that merely knowing George is interested in her will convince Miss Cooper from even considering the attentions of other men.”
“Indeed. George is a lucky man.”
Lucky—that is—that he wasn’t there in the room with Justin at that moment, for Justin would have been sorely tempted to beat this dandy to a bloody pulp.
“So you believe George will propose to Miss Cooper merely because she is more worldly than you?”
“It is highly likely, yes.”
“I remember this Miss Cooper, I believe. You are far lovelier.”
However Clarissa merely waved away his complement. “Pretty words mean nothing in the face of Franny Cooper’s charms and experiences. The very fact that she’s been courted by so many men gives her an advantage I couldn’t hope to match.”
“But surely you have been courted by just as many men.”
In expression flickered across Clarissa’s face. One he couldn’t quite read. Surprise maybe, as if she had revealed something she didn’t mean to. Then she smiled too brightly and turned away from him, once again twisting her fingers into knots. “Why, yes. Of course. I’ve had many suitors. So many I barely remember their names.”
If it hadn’t been for that flicker of emotion, he might have accepted her words at face value. However, her obvious discomfort made it all too easy to question her explanation. He had assumed that a girl as lovely as Clarissa would have plenty of suitors, but what if he was wrong? After all, she had lost several family members when she was younger, not long after she would have had her coming out, if he was not mistaken. She would have been in mourning for a full year after the death of her sister-in-law. Add in more time for her brother’s death, and she simply hadn’t had much opportunity to be courted.
“Clarissa,” he coaxed.
“Very well.” She spun back around, her eyes flashing with chagrin. “I’ve had only one serious suitor other than George. His name was Christopher and I was enchanted by him, thought for certain I would marry him. He did not turn out to be the man I thought him to be. Rebecca hadn’t liked him from the beginning, had warned me not to trust him, but I hadn’t listened. It was all very long ago. So do you see? Do you understand now why I am so worried George might have his head turned by Miss Cooper?”
Indeed he did. Then again, he had understood all along that George was not the sort of man for Clarissa. The man was not the gentleman she believed him to be. However, he couldn’t bring himself to disillusion her, not when she had come to him for help. Not when she was so clearly—and adorably—worried.
“Let’s discuss courtship. Perhaps if you are a bit more comfortable being wooed you will not worry so.”
Her eyes widened. “You intend to court me?”
He waited for her to have a more telling reaction. Would she be accepting of such a gesture from him? He doubted it. But if he could busy her, occupy her mind enough that perhaps George did decide to propose to Franny Cooper, then Justin would feel as if he’d done his duty to Clarissa. And done it without devouring her body. “No, I meant only that we could set up scenarios.”
“Oh, like in a play?”
“Precisely.” He took her hand and pulled her over to the settee near the fireplace. “What do men do these days to court women?”
“A myriad of things. Picnics, walk in the park, rides in the park, poetry—”
“Poetry. Yes, that is somewhere to start. Now would this be poems that the gentleman himself wrote? For instance, I could compare your fair hair to that of freshly pulled wheat. Then I could liken your lovely complexion to the finest quality alabaster. Your eyes, though, those would be far more difficult. The color is so very unique, not quite the color of the sky on a bright spring day, nor the color of the ocean off of Plymouth’s coast. It is rather like a color that only an artist could create by blending and mixing the most beautiful shades of blue.”
The expression on Clarissa’s face filled with surprise and something sharply akin to awe. He simultaneously wanted to embrace her and chuckle. “Or perhaps it’s more that they quote other famous poets.
‘Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.’
“Shakespeare,” she whispered. “Sonnet 116. It’s one of my favorites.”
“Has George ever recited poetry for you?”
“Heaven’s no.” She waved her hand dismissively. “I’m not even certain George knows any poetry. Well, I mean obviously he would have been educated in the verse as you were, but he seems to favor other types of entertainment.”
“Were I to court you, I would recite such verses, though I would have to insist you not relay my secret to anyone. A man has to keep up his reputation, you see, and a gaming hell owner who recites Shakespeare is unacceptable at best.”
Her lips twitched in a smile. “Your secret is safe with me. That is, if you were courting me.”
“Which I am not.”
“Of course not.” She was quiet for a moment. “But if you were, what else, besides poetry, how else would you woo me?”
“Riding in the park is nice, but I’d prefer somep
lace a little more intimate, more private.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Is that so?”
“Indeed. For instance, people would be shocked and scandalized if I kissed you in the middle of Hyde Park, or say in the middle of a waltz at Lord Abernathy’s estate.”
“Oh my goodness.” She leaned in a little closer, and it was all the encouragement he needed.
With one arm, he pulled her closer then dropped his mouth to hers. It was a kiss meant to show her what she could have outside of a marriage with George. A kiss meant to show her she was desirable just as she was, not some enhanced version of herself. But the instant his lips touched hers, he forgot all about his intentions.
Her lips were soft and pliant beneath his. With only a tiny amount of coaxing, he was able to open her mouth and explore inside. Her warm breath mingled with his.
God, she felt so good, tasted so sweet. He deepened the kiss and felt her fingers lace through his hair. Her tongue moved against his, fueling his arousal. Damnation, but he wanted her. Right here, right now on the floor of his billiard room. Or better yet, up against the billiards table.
He fought the urge to groan and forced himself to end the kiss.
Her eyes remained closed, and her breath came in shallow puffs. Then she opened her eyes and smiled at him. “I suspect your manner of courtship would be quite effective.”
…
In the carriage back to her townhome Clarissa replayed the two kisses she’d received that evening. The one with George, she’d instigated, but then somehow had lost control of and it had been an utter disaster. A rather unpleasant disaster at that. There was nothing particularly wrong with George’s kiss; his technique had been different than Justin’s, but still a passionate kiss. And yet she’d felt nothing. Well, nothing save panic to end it quickly.
Contrast to the one she’d received from Justin, which had affected her in both body and soul, it seemed. Of course it hadn’t hurt that he’d quoted her favorite poem. If she could only read one author and listen to one composer, it would be Shakespeare and Beethoven. They’d been her favorites since she’d been a girl. So to say she’d been ripe for the plucking, as it were, would be an understatement. She only wished she could contribute her entire reaction to Shakespeare. Unfortunately, she had begun to sink beneath Justin’s spell long before he’d brought out the poetry. She did not think of herself as a vain woman, but his compliments had turned her head and warmed her to the very core. No man had ever said such things to her. And even if one had, she doubted she would have believed him. However, it was different with Justin. He had a way of looking at a woman that made her believe he could see right to her very soul. And that what he saw there entranced him. It was heady stuff, being wooed by Justin Rodale.
Why was her reaction so very different from one man’s kiss to the other’s? It truly made no sense. Since she had romantic feelings for George, had planned to be his wife for the majority of her adult life, shouldn’t his kisses be the ones making her knees wobble? Shouldn’t his kiss be the one that caused such delicious sensations to coil through her body, teasing at her breasts, and ending up at the apex of her thighs?
Yet, it was Justin’s kiss that made her feel so alive, so full of lust and desire.
Chapter Six
Clarissa and Aunt Maureen stepped into the ballroom that glowed with gold and green fabrics and hundreds of candles.
It was lovely and the air smelled of spiced punch. The musicians had already begun playing and a handful of people scattered about the dance floor moving to the country dance.
Clarissa was nervous. She wasn’t certain why. She’d been to countless balls. But tonight her insides jittered like she’d had too much champagne. Justin had been invited, she’d been told. Evidently when Vivian had seen that he be invited to a handful of functions a few months ago, people had grown accustomed to his presence. Of course it probably didn’t hurt that Justin’s half-brother was the Duke of Chanceworth. But other people being used to his presence did not make it easier for her.
She never felt uneasy around him per se, especially when they were alone, but it was the fact that they’d spent so much alone time together that concerned her. Would people be able to tell? Would others be able to see the intimacy they’d shared? Her cheeks flamed in response.
She was a perfect lady, she reminded herself, or rather she knew how to behave like a perfect lady. A lady Rebecca would have been proud to know, despite Clarissa’s recent actions. Kissing not one but two different men.
She took a deep breath. She loved balls. Loved dancing and seeing her friends. She loved looking at all the dresses and she used to love gobbling up whatever gossip was out for the night. Tonight she was less eager for that bit considering she had so recently been the main dish.
Almost immediately one of Maureen’s friends stepped up and whisked Maureen away to go and hear about so-and-so’s outrageous new hat. Clarissa stepped through crowds of people searching for Ella.
She wanted to see George. She wanted the reassurance that things were still well between them since their kiss. Perhaps she should apologize for being so brazen. No, she wanted him to know she was available, that she would be a good wife to him in every way. She searched the room for his handsome face, but as she looked, he was not the man that caught her attention. Instead of George’s golden good looks, she was struck by a tall man with the more olive complexion and eyes as dark as sin. She sucked in a breath. Her heart quivered and flipped and she tried her best to swallow the sensations so that they did not reveal themselves on her face.
Justin Rodale stood across the room. He nodded to her, allowing his gaze to take in the length of her. He took a step toward her, then came the rest of the way.
“Good evening,” he said, but he never took his eyes off hers. “I would very much enjoy a dance.”
His gaze seared into her, making her warm all over. If she continued to find him so irritating, she would have a long list of things for which she needed to apologize. And truly what was so grating about him? His handsomeness, she decided. Yes, that was it, he was simply too handsome. Practically speaking no one needed to be that attractive. Well, and it wasn’t so much that she was irritated with him as it was the fact that he made her want things she had no right to want. Namely, him. “Do you know how?” she asked.
His gaze darkened. “I know you believe I must have been raised in the forest with wolves, but try to remind yourself that I attended the same school as your brother. I can assure you I’m a rather accomplished dancer.”
Clarissa swallowed. How was it he could be so unfazed by such a nasty question when mere glances of his sent her heart into acrobatics? “That’s not what I meant to ask. I was merely surprised you’d be interested in dancing, that’s all. But since you’ve so eloquently reminded me that you were raised properly, I should like to see you prove such a thing,” she countered, hoping that he wouldn’t notice her hands were shaking. Clarissa held out her dance card and allowed him to write down his name. Once he was done, she smiled slightly. “If you will excuse me, I believe I see my friend Ella over there.” She turned and walked away. She did her best not to run to her friend.
“Did he just ask you to dance?” Ella asked once Clarissa reached her side.
“He did.”
Ella grabbed her dance card to look at it. “A waltz too. Oh how positively scandalous. I think I might swoon.”
“You will do no such thing.”
Clarissa looked down and Justin had most certainly signed his name by a waltz. “He should know better.”
“I suspect he knows precisely what he’s doing,” Ella said. “He is no stranger to Society. Wasn’t he raised in the Duke of Chanceworth’s home?”
“He was, but I know he was not treated as a son.” She remembered hearing him saying such things when he’d come over as a young man. He had confided in Marcus, and she’d overheard their discussions.
Ella started to clap. “Oh, look at Mr. Rodale now, he is positively cha
rming Lady Primrose right out of her knickers.”
“Ella, honestly,” Clarissa said. But she followed her friend’s gaze across the ballroom and there was Justin talking to Lady Primrose, her plump figure bobbed as she laughed at something he said. She placed her fan on his forearm, he said something, and then she laughed again.
“What is he doing?” Clarissa asked.
“Talking to her. Blending in quite well, I might add,” Ella said.
“What do we have here, Lady Ella and Lady Clarissa,” a woman said as she walked up. “What are you two gossiping about?”
Clarissa eyed the woman. Lady Benchly was a notorious gossip and had a reputation for being rather mean-spirited as well. Clarissa had never cared for her.
“Lady Benchly,” Clarissa and Ella said in unison.
“No gossip here,” Ella said.
Lady Benchly smiled. “I suppose that is for the best. Clarissa here certainly knows how damaging gossip can be, don’t you dear?”
“I don’t believe I do,” Clarissa said, deliberately being obtuse.
“Oh, don’t be daft girl, certainly you must know that tongues are wagging about a clandestine meeting between you and the owner of that gambling establishment. Positively scandalous. And to think he’s been invited here, among us.” Lady Benchly clicked her tongue and shook her head.
“I hadn’t realized that coordinating with a family friend about a brother’s return to London was scandalous. If so, I suppose I am rather guilty,” Clarissa said with a smile. “Seems if I were planning a clandestine meeting, I would have been more discreet than speaking to a gentleman on the street. Then again perhaps it is only the people who have intimate knowledge of clandestine meetings who imagine the worst. I admit to being naïve about such matters.”
Lady Benchly pursed her lips. “I don’t know what you’re insinuating, Lady Clarissa, but I do not appreciate your attitude.”
“You know I hadn’t realized that particular shade of yellow had returned to fashion, Lady Benchly,” Ella said. “But you always have been above reproach,” she said brightly.
