by Robyn DeHart
“Alone, but it did not take him long to find companionship for the evening.”
This was the man that Clarissa said she intended to marry and he’d already lied to her about having debts. But why lie about money owed? Even if the man did prefer a gaming hell on the docks inhabited by opium addicts and high stake games.
Justin needed additional information. She deserved more than a man who would lie to her, let alone one would be unfaithful and strike her in anger.
“What do you want me to do now?” Clipps asked.
“Nothing. I’ll look into matters further.” He nodded to the ledger books on Clipps’s desk.
“How is he doing here?”
“Winning. When he plays. He doesn’t always play. He has a drink, makes a few wagers, and then slips out.”
Justin made a note to check the wager book before he left to see where Clarissa stood that day. If the bets were favoring her, then he would need to move quickly to dissuade her from her plan.
It sounded as if George Wilbanks did not prefer Rodale’s at all; he merely used it as a cover for him to enjoy Rafferty’s. Before Justin said anything to Clarissa, he needed to be certain. He would go there himself and see what Wilbanks was up to.
But first he wanted to see Clarissa again, try to talk some sense into her. He’d practically grown up in the Kincaid townhome and he still remembered all the ways to sneak in and out, methods he and Marcus had perfected as boys. He just hoped Clarissa’s bedchamber was still in the same spot.
…
Clarissa rolled over again, situating herself amidst the pillows and held the book up to see it in the glow from the lantern. She hated feeling so confused. Before Justin had come back into her life, she’d never once questioned whether or not George was the man for her. Rebecca had suggested him and Clarissa had spent the majority of her adult life pursuing that relationship.
And she knew she should trust Rebecca’a advice. Clarissa had not done well at all when she’d selected her first suitor. Christopher had broken her heart and nearly stolen all of her jewelry she had from her mother. He’d then moved on from her to another heiress and then another and finally had been shunned from Society. Last she heard he was living somewhere in Scotland. She had learned then that her choices weren’t always the best and it was better for her to trust someone else’s guidance, namely her sister-in-law’s.
Then Rebecca had died and left Clarissa with one last piece of advice—that’s the type of man you should marry. Since Rebecca was no longer around to give her other suggestions of the “type” Clarissa had simply stuck with George. Until Justin and his shocking words and delicious kisses and his reciting of Shakespeare, she’d been content to wait for George to propose. Now it seemed she didn’t have the luxury of waiting—she had competition.
She’d watched Franny Cooper tonight. The woman was so comfortable with men, easy with them, flirting appeared effortless and it never seemed she reserved those sweet smiles for only the wealthy handsome men; she treated all of them the same. Even the old, balding men, she would pat them on the arm with her fan and release one of her twittering laughs. Everyone liked her, men and women, old and young. She, it seemed, was the perfect lady.
Somehow Clarissa had fallen short yet again, and she hadn’t a clue how to fix it or how to change herself. She’d tried to seek out Justin to teach her to be more worldly, but that had only seemed to make her want him more than she already had.
There was a creak outside her door and she wondered if Aunt Maureen had roused for something, a drink perhaps. Clarissa sat up in bed, listening intently and then her door opened.
It was on her tongue to ask if Maureen felt all right, but then Clarissa realized who had entered her room.
“Justin? What the devil are you doing here?” She pulled the coverlet up her chest to try to cover herself. Her nightrail was not particularly revealing, but was certainly more flimsy than a day dress.
“I wanted to see you,” he said with a slight shrug of his shoulders. “Do you want me to leave?”
She couldn’t make herself say the word, so she merely shook her head. “How did you get in here?”
He grinned. “Not much has changed here.”
“I suppose that is true.” Her eyes traveled around her room and she caught sight of her dressing gown draped across her vanity chair. “Could you hand me that?” She pointed to it.
He retrieved it and brought it to her, then turned away from her without her having to ask. He was a bit of a contradiction at times. Seducing her with sinful kisses one day and behaving the gentleman the next. It was enough to make a girl’s head spin.
She crawled out of bed and in doing so she knocked her book to the floor. While he bent to pick it up, she pulled on her dressing gown.
“Shakespeare,” he said as he turned to face her.
“Yes, well, you reminded me that I had not read him in a while.” It wasn’t really the truth. This particular volume of his sonnets stayed next to her bed all the time, she read it almost daily. But she didn’t want Justin to know how much his wooing charade had affected her.
He came to stand in front of her. He leaned close, then around her to place the book on the bed behind her. He was so close she had a difficult time breathing, he smelled so good too, all masculine and clean and Justin. She resisted the urge to inhale deeply.
“What was it you wanted to see me about?”
He leaned in and put his nose beside her left ear and slowly inhaled. “You smell nice,” he said as if he’d read her mind.
Chills scattered all over Clarissa’s body and she felt her breasts tighten. Oh my. Had he come here to seduce her? Her pulse sped up as did her breathing. She wasn’t certain that if that was in fact his intention she had the strength to tell him no. She knew she didn’t want to.
He leaned even closer and she felt his warm breath on her neck. She closed her eyes just as he took her earlobe in his mouth and suckled it.
Desire coiled so quickly through her body, she feared she would melt into the plush rug beneath her feet. She turned her head ever so slightly and he grabbed her fiercely and pressed his lips to hers. His body molded against hers pressing her already sensitive breasts to his chest.
Kissing in nothing more than her night clothes was a different experience than doing so while fully clothed. At the moment she had no buffer between her breasts and his body other than the sheer fabric of her dressing gown and nightrail. As he kissed her, he pressed against her and with each slight movement, the fabric brushed against her aching nipples until she thought she’d go mad from it.
He pushed her back onto her bed and fell over her, all the while trailing searing kisses over her neck, collarbone and ears.
Oh, how she wanted him. Wanted whatever pleasure he could give her. She knew it was wrong. She knew it was improper, immoral even. But she also knew it was completely irresistible.
His lips met hers and his tongue tantalized her. Teasing, licking, stroking until she thought she would go mad. Their tongues stroked and played and shivers cascaded over her like delicious waterfalls of pleasure.
She felt his arousal push into her belly and she instinctively pushed against him.
His hand slid up her abdomen and cupped her right breast. Her back arched, and she felt her nipples harden. Good heavens, she’d never felt such sensations. He kneaded the sensitive flesh and the tingles between her legs intensified.
With a movement full of impatience, he slipped his hand beneath her dressing gown and stroked her aching nipple through the soft fabric of her nigthrail. His mouth left hers and blazed a trail to her ear, then down her throat and finally took the place of his hand. He kissed her breast through the fabric and she wanted to ask him to tear it off her, to touch her flesh, but she kept her mouth shut.
She bucked against him, wanting more, wanting release, wanting him.
“Oh, Justin.”
“I know what you want, love,” he said.
He dipped the fabric do
wn, looked at her exposed breast for several breaths and then lowered his mouth to her. She plunged her fingers into his hair and did her best to not cry out so delicious were the pleasures he created.
“I want you,” she whispered, unable to keep the sentiment to herself any longer.
He swore, then rolled off her. He came to his feet and stepped away from her, his hands clenched at his sides. “Chrissy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” He shook his head.
She covered herself back up and slowly came to her feet. “What’s the matter?”
“I can’t do this. Not with you.” Then he turned and slipped out the door.
Not with her? What did that mean? What was the matter with her? He had told her on more than occasion he found her beautiful. So why not her?
More importantly why did she need him to want her? He was certainly not a suitor and they were not going to marry, so why did it matter? The easy answer was because it felt good. She was obviously attracted to him and his touch did amazing things to her body.
She’d never before been touched or kissed in such a way, and though it might be horribly unladylike, she loved it, loved the desire coursing thick through her blood. It wasn’t merely the sensations, though, because deep down she knew those embraces wouldn’t be the same with just anyone.
It terrified her to examine the situation closer to discover the truth. She was playing a dangerous game, and if she kept at it, she knew she would lose.
…
What the hell had he been thinking? Justin chose to send his rig on the way and walk home, hoping the cool night air would chill away his residual desire. He’d almost taken her. She would have allowed him to, but he could not ask that of her. He’d marry her, but damned if that would ruin her life as she imagined it. Her late sister-in-law, Rebecca, had never cared for him. He’d known that when he was younger. She’d found him sullen, and though she’d never said anything, he always felt she thought his birth made him unfit to be so friendly with their family.
He needed to take more care where Chrissy was concerned. He could not afford to hurt her. He’d only intended to speak with her about George, tell her the truth about his behavior. Certainly she wouldn’t want to marry a man who enjoyed physically pounding on people. But she could only make that decision if he actually gave her the information instead of pawing at her like some randy schoolboy. Next time he saw her, he’d tell her the truth about George.
…
After much deliberation and a letter from Vivian again detailing how beneficial his assistance could be, Justin had agreed to court Miss Riverton. So it was that he found himself attending yet another ball only two days after the last one. This was becoming a disturbing pattern. It has also been the night he’d gone to see Chrissy and he knew he needed to talk to her, give her some explanation, but what would he say? He couldn’t tell her the truth.
That he wanted her for himself.
In the meantime, he’d keep his focus on Miss Riverton and hope that when it came time to speak to Clarissa, he found the right words. They were dancing now, he and Betsy, and she was a pleasant girl, if not a little overly verbose.
Justin could feel Clarissa’s eyes on him even as he twirled Miss Riverton around the ballroom floor. She was a sweet girl, though she chattered incessantly about horses. A fine species they were, and quite necessary for transportation, but he’d never had a particular affinity for the creatures. Perhaps her fascination with them was why other men had not been interested in courting her. Still, he had agreed to stand in as a suitor for her to get the attention of perhaps some other men.
“Miss Riverton,” he said.
She started at the sound of his voice. “I’m sorry I was going on again.” She gave him a weak smile. “I suppose I blather on when I get nervous.”
“First, you shouldn’t be nervous. I am merely a man. Also, one thing you should take note of with most men, they like to talk about themselves,” he said. “Do not change who you are for any man, the lot of them aren’t worth it, but perhaps take a breath every now and again to allow the man to get a word in.”
That earned him a bigger smile. “I suspect that is quite excellent advice, Mr. Rodale. Thank you. Would you like to talk about yourself?”
“No, my life is vastly boring,” he said, giving her a wink.
She laughed.
There was nothing wrong with Miss Riverton, he decided. She only needed the right man to take notice.
Appearing to court one of the Ton’s darlings was raising some eyebrows and ruffling some feathers. Judging by the way a certain woman was looking in his direction, some of those feathers belonged to Clarissa Kincaid.
After their dance, Justin escorted Betsy to the refreshment table and handed her a glass of lemonade. She smiled coyly and then he returned her to her mother who eyed him suspiciously. The girl could do worse than him. Yes, he was a bastard, but he had more money than most of the families in here. He wanted to remind her that she was the one who had sought Vivian’s assistance with her daughter, but he nodded to the woman and walked off.
Marcus walked over to Justin. “I see that my beloved wife has not retired as she suggested she might. When did she convince you to take on this little task?”
Justin smiled. “The other night at dinner. And then again in a letter. She’s quite persuasive. And good at what she does.”
“Yes, she is,” Marcus said without an ounce of irritation. “On both accounts. In truth, I’m glad people still seek her out. She risked everything revealing her past, and it’s nice that some people don’t seem bothered by it.”
“You weren’t,” Justin said.
Marcus shook his head. “No. We’ve all done things we aren’t proud of. Women are no different.”
Justin glanced at the room around them.
“What’s wrong with the chit?” Marcus asked.
“Who?”
“The Riverton girl,” Marcus said.
“Nothing. Well, she favors horses a little too much, can’t seem to stop talking about them. But she’s pleasant enough and obviously intelligent,” Justin said.
“There you go. Smart women intimidate the lot of them.” Marcus motioned to the crowd in front of them.
He was likely right. Plenty of men found a woman with opinions to be unconventional and mouthy. He’d found, though, that he actually preferred a woman with a mind of her own.
A specific woman.
Briefly he considered bringing his concerns about George to Marcus’s attention, but he knew if he did that Chrissy might not forgive him.
…
Clarissa had been watching Justin all evening. Dancing with Betsy Riverton, making her laugh, getting refreshment for her, behaving suspiciously as if he were courting the girl. But certainly that couldn’t be the truth. His attentions to the girl stung, Clarissa couldn’t deny that, especially in light of what had transpired between the two of them night before last.
She’d gone through scenarios in her mind again and again, trying to figure out how to ask him about what he’d meant.
Not with you.
There was nothing really to say. He didn’t want her, had obviously been kissing her before that to, what, entertain himself? She didn’t know. Ultimately she had decided that perhaps it was best to not mention the night in her bedchamber. Yet, she couldn’t make herself walk away from him. And seeing him dote on Betsy made that even more difficult.
Clarissa came up behind Justin and whispered, “Ask to take me on a walk.” Before he could turn around to face her, she walked off and met Aunt Maureen and Ella where they stood by the potted ferns. They were discussing the weather.
“It has been unusually warm for this time of year,” Ella said.
Justin walked up casually and smiled, greeting each of them. “Lady Clarissa, may I escort you on a walk?”
She gave him a smile. “Indeed. Thank you for asking.”
“I shall have her back in a few moments,” he added for Maureen’s sake. He took her
arm and they walked out onto the balcony.
The night was chilly, but not so cold she’d require her cloak, but she was thankful this particular ball gown had sleeves that went to her elbows and her gloves covered the rest of her arms. His warmth surrounded her too, and she wanted to lean into him, but knew better of it.
They went to sit on a bench. The balcony was well lit and they were close enough to the opened French doors from the ballroom that they could still hear the music. Why not me, she wanted to ask, but didn’t, afraid of what his answer might be.
“I know what you’re doing,” she said instead.
“I beg your pardon?”
“With Betsy, you are trying to stir up trouble by appearing to court a lady.” She hoped she was right and that it wasn’t that he found Betsy Riverton irresistible. Not that she should care what he thought of other women, but certainly there were better choices out there. She couldn’t imagine cheerful Betsy being the recipient of one of his heated gazes or even still, one of his passionate kisses. Her face warmed.
He chuckled and she worried for a moment that he had read her thoughts. “Is that what I’m doing?”
“Of course, I am no fool.”
“You know I could never marry a woman from proper society,” he said.
His words sliced through her. She knew it was the truth, knew she could never marry him, yet hearing him admit it still bothered her. “No, of course not, you’re merely trying to raise some eyebrows.”
“Now, why would I want to stir up trouble?”
Good heavens but he looked so very dashing this evening. Every time the breeze blew by, she’d catch a whiff of his soap and shaving lotion. Things were going well between them. It had always been easy to be around Justin, there was no reason to think that one night would alter that. “Because you want to make them nervous. You want to worry them.”
