A Little Bit Sinful

by Robyn DeHart

  “Trouble,” Clarissa said. “What do you suppose they’re talking about?”

  “You, no doubt in my mind. Mr. Rodale is probably telling George to back off because he wants a shot at you. It’s all wildly romantic,” Ella said dreamily.

  “Can you be serious, this is terrible. I have kissed both of those men.” Then she looked at Ella in horror. “Oh you don’t suppose they’re discussing that.”

  “I don’t know. I suspect you can ask one of them later. I’d suggest Mr. Rodale. Out of the two men, he seems the most honest.”

  “I believe I shall,” Clarissa said. She walked off and headed straight for Justin now that George had left his side.

  “Why were you just speaking to George?” Clarissa asked from behind him. Justin turned to face her.

  “Clarissa,” he said, his eyes warming as he took her in. “You look beautiful.”

  “Answer my question. What were you and George talking about? He looked very upset when he walked away. What did you say to him?”

  Justin sighed. “Ask George yourself what we discussed.”

  Panic seized her chest. “Why won’t you tell me? What did you do?”

  “I did nothing more than ask him to talk to you.”

  “Justin, I don’t need you to protect me,” she said. Even now she wanted to lean up and kiss him. But of course she didn’t dare, not here in front of everyone. Still the urge was overwhelmingly strong. But damnation he had gone and talked to George on her behalf.

  “Whether or not you can see it, you need protection,” Justin said. “I merely explained to George that it would be in his best interest for him to have a conversation with you about the future of your relationship. He is not the man you think he is.”

  Which meant that George could come up to her at any time and tell her that he had no intentions of marrying her. That he’d, once upon a time, been courting her, but over time he’d seen that she simply wasn’t what he wanted in a woman.

  “If you continue to talk to me alone like this, you will cause a scene. Dance with me,” he said.

  She chewed at her lip.

  “Clarissa, trust me, I will not do anything to hurt you.”

  She looked up at his face, saw nothing but earnestness and honesty. She wanted to trust him. She nodded.

  He swept her into his arms and for a moment she forgot everything she’d fretted about that evening—the failed kiss, Justin’s confrontation with George. For a moment she was merely in Justin’s arms.

  She tried to ignore the feel of his large hand resting at the small of her back. She could feel the warmth from his palm and she remembered what that very hand had felt like on her bare skin. On her breast. Heat pooled between her legs. She swallowed.

  “Tell me about your family,” she said abruptly. “What was it like when you came to live at Chanceworth Hall?”

  “Things were tense for a long time. I was angry with our father. He didn’t treat me well, he clearly didn’t want me there. But Roe’s mother was always kind to me, treated me no differently than she did her son. I should say she treats me no differently.”

  “She is still living?”

  “Yes, though she lives full-time in the country now with Roe’s ward.”

  “Oh, that is right. I seem to recall Roe’s ward and I came out the same year, but she did not stay for the full season. What is her name?” Clarissa asked. She was glad for the diversion, but couldn’t help but notice how easy it was to converse with him. She was so intent on him being so very different from her. But he wasn’t. They’d been raised the same.

  “Caroline Jellico.”

  “She prefers the quiet life in the country, I suppose. I can see how that would be nice,” Clarissa said. “Sometimes London is,” she paused grappling for the right words, “too much.” She sighed. How could she feel like that and ever be the right wife for George when he so clearly wanted, needed excitement and thrills at every turn?

  “I enjoy the countryside myself. My estate is in Derbyshire,” Justin said.

  “Oh, I did not realize you owned an estate in the country.”

  “There was no way for you to know that,” he said. “I bought it from a family who no longer could care for it, and I’ve been restoring it.”

  “I should like to see it sometime.” She looked up at him, his dark brown eyes warmed.

  “Of course.”

  She nodded and smiled, and they finished the dance. Once they were done, he leaned forward and kissed her hand.

  “Can I come see you again tonight?” she asked in a whisper.

  “Chrissy, I cannot say no to you.”

  …

  Again there was a late night knock at Justin’s door. And again Clarissa stood there covered with her cloak. She stepped inside even before he invited her. His body reacted to her presence immediately, his abdomen tightened, a heaviness settled in his groin. He said nothing, but took her hand and led her forward.

  Unlike her previous visit, he did not lead her into his study, but rather into the back parlor that led out to the garden. She lifted the hood off her head and took a deep breath.

  “This room is lovely.” Her eyes immediately fell on the piano that sat near the French doors.

  “I was hoping you’d play for me,” he said.

  Her brow furrowed slightly. “Truly?”

  He nodded. He helped her out of her cloak. “I’ve wanted to hear you play on an actual piano ever since you played that night on the pianoforte.” If she left here tonight with her virtue intact, it would indeed be a miracle.

  She smiled and sat at the bench. “What do you want to hear?”

  “Whatever you want to play,” he said. “Your favorite piece.”

  Her fingers settled on the keys and she began to play. He watched her as she closed her eyes and leaned forward, her fingers flying over the ivories. She was hypnotic to watch and the music itself was perfection. He’d bought this piano years ago because his mother had played and he remembered that as a boy. But it had languished in this parlor, empty of music.

  Until now.

  Until Clarissa.

  Her body moved with the music, her eyes closed, her lips parted and she played and played, the notes soared and crested.

  She held nothing back tonight. Her lips parted, emotion flickered across her face. She was so beautiful, mesmerizing the way she moved, the way she felt the music. He didn’t understand why George didn’t want her, why she wasn’t enough for him, but right now Justin didn’t give a damn about him. Though he was thankful the man hadn’t yet claimed the lovely Clarissa.

  Maybe someday he’d be able to convince her that she was more than enough for him, that he could take care of her in ways that George couldn’t, that once he gave her a vow, he’d never leave her side. But she shouldn’t have to settle, not for George and not for the bastard who so desperately wanted her.

  “It’s beautiful,” he said.

  Her eyes fluttered open and she finished the piece. “Beethoven’s 22 Piano Sonata. It’s not one of his more popular pieces,” she said. “But it has always been my favorite.”

  He came to stand by her and she stood to face him. “What have I done so wrong that you keep sending me away?” she asked.

  He pushed the bench out of the way, then pressed against her, putting his face close to hers. “You think you did something wrong?”

  Her breath tightened. “Why else would you have stopped me? We were kissing and then you—” She swallowed. “You pushed me away.” She looked up at him. “Do you not find me attractive?” She held a hand up before he could argue with her. “I know you have said you do, but you are a charming man, Justin, if I were truly desirable wouldn’t you not be able to walk away?”

  She did not mention George; she only wanted to know if he found her attractive. He wrapped an arm around her waist and leaned into her. Her bottom brushed against the keys, the dissonance of the notes rang through the room.

  “Clarissa, you shouldn’t have to ask such
a question. I find you exceedingly attractive. You’re so beautiful that when you walk into a room, it as if all other women fall away and there is only you. I’ve stopped only because I don’t want to ruin you.”

  Then he kissed her, showing her how much he desired her, precisely how attractive he found her.

  …

  Even as he kissed her, his words rang in her ears. “When you walk into a room, it as if all other women fall away.” She had been told she was pretty before, but never quite like that. His kiss deepened and she nearly forgot why she’d come here tonight.

  His kisses were intoxicating. Mesmerizing. And all the sensations she felt at his touch surged through her body. What was it about this man that made his touch and his kisses so very different from George’s? She’d told herself that she’d come here tonight to find out why the kiss with George had not created such sparks in her body, but now, in this moment, she no longer cared. And she could no longer deny the truth—she’d come here hoping Justin would seduce her, hoping he’d make love to her. But then what would happen? He’d said it himself. He didn’t want to ruin her. Ruination would mean marriage and obviously Justin had no intention of marrying her.

  His hand slid up her dress, his palm against her stocking clad leg. That touch purged her mind of all other thoughts, she couldn’t think, could only feel. He stopped when he got to her knee, but the hidden part at the center of her begged for him to continue, for something she did not completely understand. With her sitting on the piano like this in front of him, she felt exposed, yet empowered. She opened her legs wider, pulled him closer to her.

  He kissed her neck, nibbling at her throat. And his hand traveled upward from her knee to her thigh. She put her head back and focused on the sensations he caused with his hand, his mouth.

  Her brief kiss with George had been without even a glimmer of passion. It couldn’t simply be her skill level as she felt so different in the arms of this man. His mere touch brought awareness to her entire body, as if every nerve ending was alert, waiting for his command. One kiss with Justin Rodale and desire pooled to the center of her body, making her ache, making her crave, making her wet. His hand continued its climb up her leg and his mouth found her breast.

  She arched into him. She knew she should probably stop him, should probably race out of her and return home, but she craved his touch too much. And like any good story, she wanted to know the ending, as she knew there was more to come.

  He suckled at her breast, her nipples ached and his mouth gave her what she needed. And his hand, his fingers slipped in between the slit in her drawers to the curls that hid between her legs. The touch should have sat her upright, but this was what she’d been craving. This was where all the sensations hovered, over that center core. And he knew what to do.

  His fingers parted her and every touch was like a jolt of pleasure. He toyed at the opening, running his finger around her and she tried to push against his hand, begging him for more. Every movement she made played notes and chords, creating odd music. And as he played her body, knowing every note to hit, her body crescendoed, climbing higher and higher and his mouth kissed her breast and his hands pushed her closer and closer to her peak.

  Finally she broke. Notes sang out from the piano. She cried out, calling his name again and again. “Justin!” She shook in his arms as the pleasure rode through her.

  When it was done, he picked up her body, cradling her to him and carried her over to the plush blanket in front of the hearth. They lay down beside one another. She snuggled against his chest, wishing his clothes were removed so she could touch his skin.

  This man was a mystery to her. Her body craved him, yet at the same time she feared her need of him, her reaction to his touch.

  “You want me to teach you these things so you can seduce George,” he said. His deep voice broke through the silence. “But what if I want you all to myself? What if I only want you to do these things with me?”

  …

  After an hour of lying in Justin’s arms, Clarissa made some excuse about needing to get home before daylight. Once in her room and settled in her bed, she lay there, looking up at the darkened ceiling, her mind racing.

  Over and over she heard his words: “What if I want you all to myself? What if I only want you do these things with me?” She was so confused, and being next to him with his hands on her body, she’d wanted to say, “Yes, I pick you.” But she couldn’t do that. He hadn’t offered marriage, he’d merely told her he wanted her. That wasn’t enough.

  It wasn’t so much what he said that terrified her, but her reaction. She’d wanted to roll over and agree. Tell him he could be the one. She’d come so close to giving him her body and then where would that have left her? Justin wasn’t bound by the same societal rules as she was. If he ruined her, there was nothing that demanded he do right by her and marry her.

  It was time to settle things with George once and for all before she did something she truly regretted with Justin.

  He was illegitimate, and he owned a gaming establishment. Not at all the manner of man she was raised with the idea of marrying. Nor did he have intentions of marrying her. He’d even said once that he’d never marry a girl in proper Society. No, George was the kind of man she was supposed to marry.

  It didn’t matter that all things considered she’d pick Justin.

  Chapter Eleven

  On very little sleep Clarissa had risen the following morning for a scheduled shopping excursion with Ella. Her brief stop in the dining room to pilfer a piece of something for breakfast had been met with Marcus and Vivian sitting entirely too close to one another for the first meal of the day. They’d exchanged pleasantries, but Clarissa hadn’t stayed around for any lengthy conversation.

  Once in the carriage with Ella and Lady Weaver, they both began talking so quickly Clarissa wasn’t certain who to listen to.

  “Start over,” Clarissa told them.

  “Mother, allow me,” Ella said. Her mother nodded. “I cannot believe how much you missed. This will teach you to leave a ball that early. Lord Rutherford announced his engagement to an heiress. An American heiress.”

  “Good heavens, wasn’t he already betrothed?” Clarissa asked. “To Jane Pendergast. I thought they’d made a love match.”

  Ella nodded. “Yes, I believe they were in love. Evidently, he and this American girl got themselves locked in a room at some soiree and the girl is obviously ruined though even she said that Lord Rutherford never touched her. Still he’s doing the honorable thing by marrying her. I’m told poor Jane is simply devastated.”

  “He is a man of good breeding, doing the right thing by the American girl,” Clarissa said.

  Lady Weaver nodded. “True, but I don’t believe the Americans put much stock in their reputations else the girl would not have been out without a chaperone. Let this be a lesson to you girls.”

  “Yes, mother,” Ella said. She gave Clarissa a sly smile.

  Clarissa smiled in return, but she couldn’t help wondering what would happen to Jane Pendergast. Would another man step forward to marry her now that she’d had her engagement dissolved? Yes, it was a good thing that men of title did the honorable thing, but it still seemed a little sad considering Lord Rutherford and Jane had seemed quite enamored of one another.

  Right now Clarissa knew if she allowed her heart to choose, she’d be back at Justin’s house tonight. There was no denying that she had feelings for him and that he clearly desired her. But she couldn’t afford to fall into another scandal with him. There were those that wouldn’t have survived the rumors that had surged after Clarissa had visited Justin at his gaming hell. Thankfully, Vivian had smoothed things over and Clarissa’s reputation had remained unscathed. It was one thing to dally with a gentleman knowing he would be honor-bound to marry you, but to engage in an affair with a man who had no said obligation was downright foolish.

  “Sounds like a very exciting evening,” Clarissa said. She’d almost asked Justin Rodale to
make love to her so anything Ella or her mother had to tell her seemed to pale in comparison.

  Ella shook her head. “An understatement, and I still can’t believe you missed it. Where were you?”

  “I went home early with a headache.”

  Ella looked at her with a slight frown as if she did not believe what Clarissa said. But she would not inquire further in front of her mother. They arrived on Bond Street and began their shopping. It didn’t take too long for Clarissa to hear several different versions of the story from the night before. Everyone was talking about it.

  Ella was able to sneak over to Clarissa while her mother talked to the milliner about a new hat. “Where were you?” Then she paused and her mouth opened wide. “Were you out kissing George? Oh, or Mr. Rodale?”

  “I did kiss George, though not last night,” Clarissa said quietly. She hadn’t yet told her friend the details of her kiss with George because so much had happened. And she still didn’t understand her own reaction to said kiss.

  “And?”

  She had thought she loved George, once upon a time. Well, she was still fond of him, she knew that much. Though now when she thought of love, George was not the first name that came to mind. Everything had seemed so concrete in her mind a few short weeks ago. Now it was all muddled. But what to tell Ella? Clarissa wasn’t generally in the habit of lying to her friend.

  “Your silence tells me everything,” Ella said. “Your heart knows what it wants, Clarissa. There is no reason to deny it.”

  “I’m not so certain it’s that simple. What if what my heart wants, my heart can’t have?” Then she shook her head. “There’s no reason to answer that.” Regardless of the pull she felt to Justin, they could never be. Theirs was not the kind of love match she’d read about in Jane Austen novels. Clarissa was no Elizabeth Bennet, and Justin was certainly no Mr. Darcy. If anything he was more like Mr. Wickham.

  No, no he was far more honorable than that.

  Yet she felt certain that if she pursued Justin, she would end up ruined and heartbroken. Whereas George would do the right thing, he would have to, he was the heir to a viscount. People knew he’d courted her. Not only that, but it had become quite clear she could no longer trust herself with Justin. If he asked her those questions again, she might say yes. Not that he’d asked for anything permanent. No, she had yet to be able to evoke that manner of response from any man. Perhaps she merely hadn’t done it the right way.