by Robyn DeHart
“If I had my eye on someone, I would take her advice,” Ella said boldly. “I think she’s right. Why should we have to wait on the men?”
“But it can also get you into more trouble than it’s worth,” Clarissa said.
Ella squeezed her friend’s hand. “True, but in the end I believe you married the best man for you. In time I hope you’ll agree with me.”
…
They had been home from the ball for nearly half an hour. Justin had tried to give her time to undress, have the maid take her hair down. He rapped his knuckle against Clarissa’s bedchamber door.
“Come in,” she said.
Justin opened the door. Clarissa sat at her dressing table, brushing her hair. She smiled shyly at him. He stepped inside her room and closed the door behind him.
“Do you need help?” he asked.
“No, I’m nearly done.” She brushed a few more times, then methodically worked her hair into a long braid that went down her back. She stood and faced him. She removed her dressing gown, leaving her in nothing but the sheer shift he’d purchased for her. He took in the sight of her.
His mouth went dry.
“Do you like it?” he managed to ask.
“I do, it’s very soft.” She ran her hands down the gossamer fabric, it moved like water across her perfect body. The sheer fabric hugged her curves. “Do you like it?” she asked in return.
He met her gaze. “Indeed. It is why I purchased it for you. I knew you would look stunning in it. I was not wrong.” He took several steps toward her and she met him the rest of the way.
“You will be a good husband to me, Justin,” she said.
Her words echoed through him, words he never thought he’d hear, at least not from her. “I shall try. Every day, I shall try.”
She slid her arms up around his neck. “I thought tonight, I would.” She chewed at her bottom lip. “That is to say, I thought I would take your advice. You asked me once or suggested that you be the man I use my seduction on.” She smiled. “As it turns out you were training me for you.”
“Do your worst, Lady Seductress,” he said. She began working at his buttons of his shirt. Once they were all undone, her warm hands slid across his chest, down his abdomen. The muscles there tightened beneath her touch.
She slid the shirt off his shoulders, down his back and onto the floor. She leaned in, placed a kiss on his chest, her mouth tentative at first and so soft. She grew more brazen with each kiss until she nipped and licked at him. He closed his eyes, focusing in on her every touch. God how he wanted this woman as he’d never wanted another.
Her fingers dipped into the waistband of his trousers ever so slightly. Her mouth found his, slanted across him, her tongue swept across his in an invitation he could not ignore. He kissed her back eliciting a feminine groan from her throat. Her fingers slid lower into his pants, brushing across his erection. Then her hand was gone and she pulled back from the kiss.
“My apologies having never unfastened a gentleman’s trousers before. I should like to see what I’m doing,” she said with an impish grin.
It was a slip, the word she’d used, but it warmed him from the inside. Gentleman. Oh, how he’d wish that were true. If only for her, he wished he’d not been a bastard, not been the product of an affair so he could offer his sweet Chrissy a good name.
She unfastened his pants and slid them down his legs, then worked on his undergarments until he stood before her without a stitch of clothing. “I should like you on the bed now,” she said boldly.
“Indeed.” He followed her orders.
“Now then, tonight I believe I shall have my way with you.”
“I am but a vessel for you to enjoy,” he said.
Her eyebrows rose. She climbed up on the bed with him, still wearing the nightrail he’d purchased her. It moved flawlessly with her, flowing over her body like translucent silk.
“I like this,” she said, trailing her fingers along the hair that started at his chest and tapered down his stomach. “It is like a map.”
He chuckled. But as she bent and kissed along the trail, his laughter died in his throat. She was his. His and only his. Her fingers shimmied up his legs lightly all the while her hot mouth blazed kisses across his abdomen.
“Chrissy, you’re torturing me,” he groaned.
“Patience. I am the seductress.”
Then her mouth was on him, lightly at first, explorative. But when she took the length of him, he grabbed the sheets. Again and again she brought him closer to the edge. Then she stopped. She slid her body up his, the soft fabric tickled across his skin.
“I fear I have loosed a monster.”
She laughed. She met his gaze. “Perhaps. I do hope you don’t mind.”
“Never.”
Then she sat astride him. She pulled the nightrail off her body, tossing it onto the floor. Her breasts begged for touch. She settled herself on him, without allowing him entrance. The moisture from her desire slid against his erection. She moved against him, her eyes fluttered closed and she tilted her head back.
Damnation if she wasn’t testing his restraint. His hands cupped her breasts and she moaned in response. Her release hit quickly, her eyes shot open and she cried out. Then just as quickly, she sat up and slid herself down on top of him.
She was impossibly wet. Tight. Warm.
There was no hesitation in her movements. She took what she wanted and gave him more in return. He felt his release building. So when she climaxed again, he let go, spilling himself inside her.
His and only his.
She moved to lay next to him, her head nuzzling on his chest.
“I don’t think you need any more lessons.”
She laughed. “I had a most excellent teacher.”
They were quiet for several moments before she spoke again. “Did you know there was a group of French nobles who took refuge here in the late 1840s during the revolution?”
“Am I now to endure a history lesson?”
Clarissa moved so her chin rested on his chest and she could see his face. “Quite the contrary. I thought you would find that of personal interest.”
“And why is that?” He braced his arms behind his head.
“You are seven and twenty, are you not?” When he nodded, she continued. “Then you would have been conceived sometime in 1848, about the time the French visitors were here.”
“Clarissa, what are you talking about?”
His use of her given name meant she’d gotten his attention and not necessarily in a good way. “Your mother. Don’t you think she was probably one of them?”
He shook his head. “No, my parents met in Paris.”
She frowned. She’d been so certain after speaking with Lady Forrester. “How do you know that?”
“I was told that.”
“But don’t you think it’s possible whoever told you that didn’t tell you the truth? It’s far too much of a coincidence that so many of them were here during that very time. I know where they stayed too.”
“Why are you doing this?” he asked, all manner of flirtations and his easy nature gone.
She dipped her finger in the divot right below his throat. “I merely want to help you find your mother.”
“Yes, but why?”
She sighed. “You endeavored to put yourself out here, in Society, to help me and my situation,” she added quietly. “Then you rushed in and married me when I made an utter fool of myself. It is the very least I can do.” She looked up at him. “Plus, I know what it is like to not know your own mother.”
He sighed. “Where?”
“Manchester House.”
He stood from the bed, retrieved his clothes. “I shall look into matters.” And just like that he strode from her room, entering the door that adjoined hers to his. It closed behind him.
She’d effectively seduced him and then just as effectively, it seemed, built a wall between them. She rolled over on her back. Why was she doing this? To prov
e to everyone that he was just a worthy as they were to bear a title. She wanted everyone to see him as she saw him, not as a bastard, but as a true gentleman. A man full of honor and character.
…
Everything Clarissa had told him last night had given him pause. After he’d left her bed he’d gone down to his study and written out a handful of notes, sending out queries to check on a few things. This morning he’d already heard back from two of them. It would seem the little bit Clarissa had discovered certainly changed everything in regards to his search for his mother’s identity.
The woman whom had raised him, the one he’d loved and thought was his mother until that fateful day when she’d sat him at the table and told him everything. Or what he’d thought was everything. As it turns out, he wasn’t quite certain of anything she’d told him. It was funny, though, he felt no anger towards her, no bitterness. She’d been a good woman, no doubt having her hand forced by the men with power who stood invisible behind her.
Eloise had told him that his parents had had a brief affair in Paris and that his mother had been unable to take care of him.
He’d spent all of his resources investigating a time when his father had supposedly been in Paris, a time when his parents could have met and had their brief affair. And then Clarissa had brought to his attention something he’d never quite considered. What if his parents had met right there in London? If his mother had been there, that changed everything.
So far he’d confirmed that there had, in fact, been a large group of French nobles who had come to London for refuge during the last revolution. And the timing fit perfectly for his birth. It certainly explained why he’d been raised here in England rather than in France. He’d also discovered that Manchester House was still opened and acting as a hotel, though the ownership had changed.
Now he had to decide if he wanted to pursue this particular thread. He’d followed every other lead he’d ever come across and they had all led to nothing, simply one dead-end after another. But this, this was so very different than anything he’d ever looked into, which made him wonder if it wasn’t the truth.
Clarissa poked her head in the doorway of his study. “Are you working?”
He closed the letter he’d just read. “Did you eat breakfast?”
She nodded. “Your cook is wonderful. Did you steal him away from some unsuspecting lord as you did for Rodale’s?”
He grinned. She was making an effort, discussing neutral ground as a peace offering. “I did not. She’s actually Mr. Clipps’s wife’s sister. And you’re right, she is a very good cook.”
Clarissa came in and sat opposite his desk. “Justin, I did not mean to be insensitive about your mother. I merely wanted to help.”
He wanted to ask her again why, why she was so intent on helping him. She’d given him a reason last night, but he knew there was more to it. But he didn’t want to hear her say the words or to lie and say something else. He knew that if she could prove his mother was of noble birth that it would somehow make it right in her eyes that she’d had to marry him. It would make him more palatable to her. “I looked into your claims,” he said.
Her brows rose in surprise. “Already? And what did you discover?”
“Everything you said was correct. At least about the group of nobles staying in London.” He tilted his head. “Now whether or not my mother was one of the women that was here, that I do not know.”
“But you intend to find out?”
He nodded. “I do.” It would seem he’d made his decision. He would pursue this until the end.
“How?”
She wanted to help him, he could see it in her eyes, the way she chewed at her bottom lip. If finding out the truth about his mother would somehow reconcile for her the fact that she’d married a bastard, he would help her. He only hoped that what they found out didn’t make matters worse. Justin stood, braced his palms on his desk. “A visit to Manchester House.”
“I wish to accompany you on that visit,” she said.
“I suspected you might.”
She frowned. “And?”
“There’s no reason for you to go.”
“I want to help. I found this particular clue, it would seem I’ve earned a place at your side for this.”
Earned a place at his side. The words warmed his insides like a much needed meal after a long day’s journey. He exhaled slowly. “You may come along, on one condition.”
“Anything,” she said. She came to her feet, met his gaze.
“When we discover that my mother was nothing more than a French commoner promise me you won’t be disappointed.”
“Why would I be disappointed?”
“I require a promise.”
“Very well, I promise. When will be leaving?” she asked.
“After luncheon.”
She turned to leave, then paused. “Oh, Ella is joining us for luncheon today. Could she accompany us to Manchester House?”
“Why?”
“She has helped me find the information thus far. It was her mother that gave me the first clue. It seems only fitting that she…never mind, it is not of importance.”
“Yes, she can go.” If the girl would offer a buffer should they discover less than pleasant news about his mother, then he would welcome her company.
…
Ella smiled at the two of them in the carriage. The good thing about having someone else in the carriage with them though is that they did not have to discuss last night and the fact that he’d left her bed. When they’d married, he’d fully intended for them to spend every night in the same bed. But last night he’d had to leave, hadn’t been able to face her in light of the things she’d said about his mother.
“This shall be an adventure,” Ella said cheerfully.
“I want it to be productive,” Justin said.
She gave him a serious nod. “Indeed, Sir.”
Clarissa smiled. “Were it not for Ella’s mother, I’m not certain we would have stumbled upon this clue,” she said again, this time for Ella’s benefit.
“My mother knows nearly everyone in town,” Ella said. “I’ve asked her to remember if she saw any of the visiting women with your father.” She shrugged. “But that was the Season my father started courting her and she said she was addle-brained for months.”
She was endearing this one, Justin could see why Clarissa was her friend. She was genuine and happy, a good sort to be around when you tended to take matters in life too seriously. “I thank you for your assistance,” Justin said. “I have been searching for my mother’s identity for many years.”
“I’d wager you never thought your two accomplices would be the likes of us,” Ella said with a giggle.
Clarissa clicked her tongue. “It is not proper for a lady to make wagers, Ella.” Then she grinned. “Well, except for that one lady.” She met Justin’s gaze.
“Who?” Ella asked.
Clarissa shook her head. “I cannot say. It would not be the thing. Rodale’s is nothing if not discreet.”
Justin smiled.
Ella twisted her mouth and hit her hands upon her lap. “Oh you two and your secrets. No fun at all.”
Justin chuckled. “To answer your question, Lady Ella, no, I never expected to have two ladies as my accomplices.” The carriage rolled to a stop and he assisted both women down from the rig. “I would appreciate the two of you allowing me to do the talking.”
Clarissa nodded. They climbed the steps to Manchester House. It was an attractive hotel, converted from a rather large corner townhome. The lobby greeted them with light blues and yellows, fabrics and wallpaper that was probably a few years past its prime, but still in good condition.
He motioned to the two of them to sit in some of the cushioned chairs in the middle while he went to speak to the man standing behind the counter. It was not an overly large lobby so Justin felt certain everyone in the room would be able to hear his request, but nothing could be made of that.
“Ye
s, how may I help you, my lord?” the man asked.
“Simply a mister. I should like to speak with you about records of past guests.”
The man retrieved a book from beneath the counter and set it in front of Justin. “This contains the last year.”
“No, this would have been from a long while ago. 1847 or 1848,” he said.
The man shifted his weight. “Yes, well, that would be when my cousin owned this property.” He returned the book to under the counter.
“Do you still have the records, Sir?” Justin asked.
The man waved his hand, shaking his head. “No, no, that would be far too much trouble and I am quite busy,” he said.
Clarissa looked around the empty lobby. She stepped forward. “Yes, well, since you are so busy, might we look for you? You could simply point us in the right direction.”
The man stood there, not saying anything for several breaths. “No, you see, I meant that it would be too difficult because I do not have those records. I believe all of her records went with her when she gave this hotel to me.” His eyes looked behind Justin and then down at the counter. “I don’t believe I can help you.”
“You do not have such records here in a storage room?” Justin asked. Justin had agreements with a handful of nice hotels in the city. They would send their patrons to his gaming hell and he would always recommend their establishments for visiting guests. He knew how hotels were run, knew that most worth their salt kept records of their guests because they wanted repeat customers.
“No, I do not.”
Justin had every record ever documented at Rodale’s. Granted they’d been open less than ten years, still, one never knew if that information would be needed in the future. There was something in the man’s mannerisms that bothered Justin. He’d wager the man was hiding something.
“Thank you for your time,” he said, then he turned on his heel and retrieved the women.
Clarissa walked passed him back up to the desk. “Pardon me, Sir,” she said. “Are you telling me that you did not keep any of the records of previous guests?”
His lips pinched. “No, that is what I was telling your, friend,” he said deliberately, “and now what I am telling you.”
