by Robyn DeHart
Her breasts were perfectly shaped with rosy nipples that budded for his pleasure. His eyes followed down her torso past her waist to her curvaceous hips. He didn’t let his gaze dip any further, not yet. With one hand he twirled her around so her backside faced him. “I’d ask if anyone has ever told you that you have a delicious bottom, but I’m fairly certain I know the answer already,” he said.
She looked over her shoulder, her brows angled in surprise. “I’ve always thought it was a little too big.”
He ran his hands over the rounded flesh. “I disagree, it’s perfect.” While his hands continued to fondle her generous bottom, he nibbled at her neck. Looking up, he realized they stood directly in front of his dressing mirror. Clarissa’s head leaned back against his chest and her eyes were closed in an expression of delight.
He pulled his hand back, then swatted her bottom playfully. Her eyes flew open and he waited for her reaction. She didn’t cry out in pain, instead a shy, yet sexy smile slid into place that had him itching to take her right now.
His eyes took in the full length of her and he was certain in that moment he’d never seen a more beautiful woman. She was perfect in every way.
He swatted her bottom again and she cried out this time, but with pleasure.
Now. He wanted her now. There was time later to take things slow and easy. He kissed and suckled her neck while he removed his trousers and shirt until he too stood nude before the mirror. The contrast in their skin was mesmerizing. Hers so creamy white compared to his darkened skin covered in dark hair.
He led her to the bed, allowing his hands to continue to play all over her body eliciting moans from her. They stood next to the bed, but he didn’t lay her down yet. If he did that, it would be over too soon. This night would only happen once; he wanted it to be as pleasurable for her as possible.
He reached around her body and cupped her breasts as he nibbled the tender flesh at her neck. She leaned back against him, her bare bottom pressed against his erection. He looped one arm around her waist and held her close to him.
“I want you, Chrissy,” he said against her ear.
She nodded, but had no words in response.
His hand slid down her stomach. She sucked in a breath. His fingers parted between her pubic hair and he found her slick with want. He closed his eyes to try to reign in his own desire so he could last for her, have time to pleasure her.
He turned her swiftly so he could kiss her again. She met his kiss with a fierce passion, a passion only for him. This woman, she was his perfect fit. He lifted her gently and put her on the bed, then climbed on beside her. She smelled of lavender, lemon, and desire.
He kissed her. His finger found her wetness and the tiny nub and he moved against it.
She parted her legs further opening herself to him. “Yes, yes,” she hissed.
He positioned himself atop her and moved to her opening, then kissing her gently, he pushed himself into her. She was slick for him, so tight.
“Oh God, Chrissy.”
He kept his hand between them moving against her while she adjusted to his invasion. When she raised her legs, wrapped them around his waist, he knew she was ready.
Gone were his thoughts of trying to take things slowly. He pushed in and out loving the deepness of her. Faster and harder he pushed until he heard her yell his name then saw her clench the sheets while her body shook with her release. It only took one more thrust before he spilled his seed. He leaned against her back for a moment listening to her heavy breathing and quiet moans. He’d never felt desire this intense with any other woman.
He lay down beside her, pulled the coverlet up to their waists. He traced his finger along her collarbone.
“That made me feel a little bit sinful,” she said with a delicious grin.
“Nothing sinful about it. We are married now.” He pulled her against him so her head rested against his chest. Something in that moment felt so right he nearly stood to leave, but he forced himself to stay where he was. He couldn’t run any longer. Not from Chrissy. She deserved better.
And while she’d deserved better than him, she had married him so he’d have to prove to her and everyone else that he could be a good husband.
…
Clarissa stirred her tea and listened to Ella’s mother, Lady Weaver, catalogue all of the fashion mistakes from the soiree they had attended the previous evening. She had been invited over to their house for refreshments that afternoon and Clarissa had welcomed the outing. She knew that it was Ella’s way of letting her know that simply because she had married Justin did not mean she was no longer welcomed in their home.
“I don’t know how it’s possible for Eleanor Banks to find that many dresses in so many shades of green. And she doesn’t look good in any of them. It’s a mystery,” Lady Weaver said. She tapped her spoon onto the side of her teacup, then took a sip.
In the carriage on the way here, Clarissa had decided what she must do. She could not stand by and allow people to say disparaging things about her husband. It had been one thing when they’d been friends, but now she bore his name. She had an obligation to support him. She thought back to the evening she and Ella had overheard that conversation about Justin and the mystery of his mother’s identity. The women discussing it had been quite nasty. But if it was true, what one of them had said, that Justin’s mother was French royalty, if Clarissa could prove that, then it might change how people saw him, how they treated him.
She considered exactly how she would ask her question, but she knew if there was information on Justin’s mother, then Lady Weaver would know, or at the very least know whom they could ask.
“How was the wedding, dear?” she asked Clarissa.
The night she shared in Justin’s bed with filled her mind. She felt the heat of blush in her cheeks and she brought the teacup to her lips. “It was quick, nothing too exciting. I suppose that’s the way when you have a rush marriage.” She had spoken too quickly, jumping from one sentence to the next. “Thank you for inviting me over for tea.”
Ella eyed her suspiciously, but Clarissa merely smiled in return.
Now was as good a time as any so her friend wouldn’t pry in front of her mother. “I was wondering. Several nights ago Ella and I overheard a conversation about my,” she took a breath, “husband.”
“Yes, yes, handsome devil, that one,” Lady Weaver said. “Consider yourself lucky to have snagged him.”
Snagged him, as if their marriage hadn’t been the result of a damaging situation. As if Clarissa had merely caught his eye, he’d courted her, and proposed like a true gentleman. “Yes, well, these women the other evening were discussing the identity of his mother and one of them suggested she was French royalty.” She took another sip of her tea and did her best to sound casual. “Have you ever heard such a thing?”
“Well, let me think. He looks to be about six and twenty or so.” She tapped her fingers on her skirt and the muffled drumming made Clarissa nervous. “I do recall there being a large group of French nobles that came here to escape from the war. That would have been in the late 40s, I believe.” She nodded as if agreeing with herself. “Yes, that’s right, they were having another revolution in France, you see. We had several French families that came and stayed and attended many Society functions.” She frowned. “I can’t recall any of them being royalty though. I’m certain I would have remembered a princess.”
“But they were here in London?”
“Oh yes, at least for a Season, perhaps two. Many of the women, Englishwomen, that is, weren’t too keen on the visitors. They thought the French women were intent on stealing all of the men.” She took another sip, then waved her hand. “Poppycock, it was. Only one of them married an Englishman. Lord Forrester, his wife is French. But the rest,” she waved her hand around, “they all went back to France, I suppose, once the revolution had settled down.” She tilted her head. “I hadn’t yet met your father yet, Ella, but it was the end of that Season that he took
notice of me.” She smiled warmly.
“I suppose one of those women could have been his mother,” Clarissa said.
“Now remind me again who his father is?” Ella’s mother asked. “I know he’s illegitimate,” she said in a whisper even though the three of them sat alone in her own drawing room. “But I can’t place him.”
“The Duke of Chanceworth. His brother Monroe is now the duke, but they shared a father,” Clarissa said.
“Ah yes. Now let me think, I never did garner the attention of any dukes, but I do remember him. Dashing, powerful yet he always seemed so stern. I believe he was betrothed to Millicent, or perhaps they were already married then.” She shook her head. “I wish I remembered more.”
“You’ve remembered plenty,” Clarissa said. So now she knew that more than one French woman had been in London during that time. Any one of them could have had an affair with the duke and gotten pregnant with Justin. Lady Forrester might be just who she needed to talk with to uncover more information.
…
They sat in the carriage on the way to ball. Clarissa fidgeted with her hands, the satin of her gloves felt as heavy as wool tonight.
“What did you want to ask me?”
Clarissa looked up at Justin. “I beg your pardon?”
“Earlier today you said you had something you wanted to ask me, then the messenger arrived and we never continued the conversation.”
Clarissa took a deep breath. “Was your mother really French royalty?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know where that rumor got started, but no, she was not French royalty.”
“People talk.” She shrugged. “I don’t recall you ever speaking of her, so I didn’t know. And I figured, as your wife, that now we should get to know one another better.”
“My mother, or the woman I knew as my mother, Eloise Rodale, was a music teacher, or at least she had been before I was born.” His words were even, almost as if he spoke of someone he knew rather than his own life. “She was not, as it turns out, my actual mother, only the woman who raised me until her death. That’s when I went to live at Chanceworth Hall.”
She was quiet a moment, thinking on his words. Had he been devastated when he’d found out the woman he’d lived with since infancy hadn’t been his mother? The urge to embrace him nearly overwhelmed her, but she stifled it else she really cause damage to her name. “But your other mother, she could have been French royalty?”
“That’s highly unlikely.”
“You do not know who she was?” she asked. She watched his features, the way his jaw tensed and how his knuckles whitened as his hands squeezed into fists. “At all?”
“I do not,” he said.
She’d inadvertently hit upon a sore spot for him.
“Not for lack of searching though. I’ve been looking for her, or rather her identity, for years.”
“I could help,” she said.
He gave her a sideways grin. “Help me find my mother?”
“Yes, I’m certain I could prove useful.”
“Why would you want to do that?”
“I am your wife,” she said, hoping that was enough. She certainly empathized with him. She knew what it was like to grow up without a mother. “I never had a mother,” she said, “not really. Rebecca was there for me as was Aunt Maureen, but even though I never met her, I’ve always missed my mother.”
He eyed her for a long while as if estimating whether he believed her or not. “It’s very sweet of you, Chrissy, but there’s nothing you can do.”
Chapter Fourteen
Justin led Clarissa into the ballroom, her arm linked with his. Hell, he hadn’t wanted to come to this thing tonight, but he knew it was important for Clarissa’s sake. If she disappeared from Society now, it would only breed more contention and rumor surrounding her compromise and their marriage.
He knew what it was like to live at the fringe of Society and he didn’t want that for her. So he fully intended to go with her to whatever party she wanted to attend and he’d dare anyone to say anything untoward about her or to her.
He didn’t know where her interest in his mother had come from. But he suspected she might want to discover that his mother was, indeed French royalty in an effort to make Justin himself seem more noble, more worthy to be among the rest of them. He suspected, though, that should they ever uncover his mother’s identity, Clarissa would be sadly disappointed.
…
It was their first outing as a married couple and to say Clarissa felt waves of nervousness was a gross understatement. She had no way of knowing how she would be greeted, or what everyone was saying since her compromise. Did people believe it was she and Justin who had been caught in an embrace that night, or would she be brandished a fallen woman? She wasn’t certain if Justin’s name was enough to protect her from the sharper tongues of London.
The conversation in the carriage on the way here about his mother had not gone as well as she’d hoped. Perhaps she should have been more gentle when bringing up the information about his mother, but how was she to know that he’d been lied to his entire life?
She’d, at least, seen a photograph of her mother and had heard her brothers speak of her. Clarissa knew she favored her mother in coloring, if not temperament. But Justin, he had nothing save what someone had told him and she had ripped that away from him. She sighed.
Perhaps if she brought him some information, something concrete, then he’d see how helpful she could be. Tonight she would speak to Lady Forrester, see if she could get additional information from what Ella’s mother had told her. She didn’t want to desert him when they first arrived, but she was eager to find Ella. She made a quick excuse once Justin was safely surrounded by Marcus and Vivian and Aunt Maureen.
Clarissa spotted Ella and grabbed her arm. “I have been waiting for you forever,” she said. “Come with me.”
“Where?”
“To speak with Lady Forrester.”
Ella grinned broadly. “I’m pleased to see you are following up with matters concerning Mr. Rodale’s mother.”
That gave her pause. Perhaps this was not the most appropriate task for her to pursue in light of the fact that he hadn’t seemed too keen on the idea. But if she could uncover his mother’s identity for him, that would be worthwhile.
Justin had been kind enough to insert himself back into Society, a place she’d always assumed he hated, in order to support her. She owed him. Yes, that was most certainly why she was looking into the identity of his mother.
“Have you ever met Lady Forrester?” Ella asked.
“Yes, but it was years ago. Haven’t spoken to her since,” Clarissa said.
“Well, we simply cannot walk up and ask her which French woman had an affair with the Duke of Chanceworth.”
“Of course not. We shall have to be more delicate.” As they approached the woman, Clarissa hoped that delicate manner would come to her because at that very moment, when Lady Forrester turned to look at them, Clarissa didn’t have the slightest idea of what she would say.
Both she and Ella curtsied.
“My lady,” Ella said. “My mother was telling us the most fascinating story the other day.”
Thankfully Ella had more wits about her. Clarissa smiled. “Yes, about the revolution in France when many of you took refuge here in London.”
Lady Forrester smiled in return. “Oui, it was when I met my amour,” she said. Though age had grayed parts of her red hair and lined parts of her face, she was still a beautiful woman. Her green eyes shone brightly and her smile spoke of genuine friendliness.
“There were others of you that came?” Clarissa asked.
“Oh oui, there were perhaps twenty of us.” She frowned. “Mostly girls and a few of our parents or chaperones. The men stayed to fight or protect their properties, but we came here for protection, and we had a glorious time.”
“Did you know all of them?” Ella asked.
She nodded. “Yes, most of us gre
w quite close. Some of us still correspond with letters. And then I wasn’t the only one who stayed here in England.”
Clarissa’s stomach jolted at the news. Perhaps Justin’s mother had stayed here in England and was still here, all these years later.
“Let me see. Juliet moved to Brighton as she loved the seaside there, Celeste went to medical school and became a doctor. Mercedes also stayed, but I’m afraid she died from the fever last year,” Lady Forrester said.
“I’m very sorry,” Clarissa said.
“Thank you, she was a dear friend.”
“That must have been quite difficult, trying to find places for all of you to stay during the height of the Season,” Clarissa said.
“No, not at all. We all stayed in the Manchester House. It was lovely. Lady Manchester was a widow and she had opened her grand home up as a hotel and we all lived there together. She was wonderfully hospitable.”
Clarissa and Ella looked at each other and smiled. Manchester House, it was still a hotel. Clarissa knew where it was.
“I suspect you were not the only one who found love while you were here,” Ella said.
“Ah, no, amour was all around.” She laughed.
“Anyone fall in love, but not get to stay as you did?” Clarissa asked.
Lady Forrester’s eyes narrowed. “What are you asking, my dears?”
Clarissa looked at Ella and gave a little shake of her head. They could not come right out and ask or else risk starting rumors anew. While Lady Forrester seemed kind and unassuming, they did not know her and therefore could not trust her with such information. “Nothing, we merely thought it was such a romantic story.” Clarissa feigned a giggle she hoped sounded authentic enough.
Lady Forrester smiled. “You shall find love, my dears, in time.” She motioned for them to come closer. “I have such fondness for you English, but English ladies are taught to wait on the gentleman. If you know you have found the right one, you go after him.”
Clarissa and Ella walked away, arm-in-arm.
