An Invitation to Sin (16 page)

Jeremy had died from a bullet to the chest. In all her nightmares, he looked exactly like that.

She gasped, opening her eyes. The room whirled about her and she staggered. Christian’s hands shot out to keep her from falling.

“Clarissa! What the devil—”

With a quiet oath, he swept her into his arms. She knew she ought to protest, but she couldn’t even muster a squeak.

Striding across the room, he gently deposited her in a leather armchair by the fireplace. He hunkered down in front of her, taking her cold hands in a comforting grip.

“It’s all right, sweetheart. If that’s what it takes to make you happy, I won’t challenge Blundell.”

Sweetheart?

She ignored the shock of pleasure that one little word gave her, focusing instead on her anger to restore her strength.

“I don’t believe you,” she said, tugging her hands away. Whenever he touched her like that, her mind went sideways in the most disconcerting fashion.

He gave an exasperated shake of the head.

“Oh, ye of little faith,” he replied sardonically. “I give you my word.”

She snorted, and his eyes narrowed with a dangerous intensity. A prickle of apprehension slithered down her spine. Perhaps she had challenged him enough for one night.

“Oh, very well,” she said in a grumpy tone. “I believe you.”

“I should hope so,” he said dryly. “Not that I won’t be keeping an eye on Blundell. And if he touches you like that again, I won’t be answerable for my actions.”

Her frustration spiked. “Christian, I already told you—”

“Hush,” he said, laying a finger across her lips.

All rational thought fled her brain.

His finger left her mouth and traced a soft path along her chin. He touched her with such tenderness that it brought a sting of tears to her eyes.

“I know how difficult this last year has been for you. And I know how much you hate violence,” he said quietly. “I would not add to your distress. If Blundell makes any trouble, I promise I’ll tell you before I take any action.”

She stared at him, at sea in a swirl of conflicting emotions.

“It’s just that I miss Jeremy so much,” she tried to explain. “I can’t help seeing him … all alone on that battlefield. If anything were to happen to you …”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me. I’m as tough as boot leather.” Rising to his feet in one fluid motion, he said, “Now, you must promise me something in return.”

“What?” she asked suspiciously, trying to ignore how big and handsome he looked as he stood over her.

He pulled her to her feet. “You must promise to drive in the park with me tomorrow. Just the two of us.”

She started to protest, but he cut her off.

“It’s my condition for capitulating to your wishes. I won’t take no for an answer.”

She bit her lip, buffeted once more by those annoying emotions. As ridiculous as it sounded, he threatened her peace and security in every way possible. He shouldn’t be able to make her feel so unlike herself, but he did. It was mortifying, as was her overwhelming impulse to say yes.

“What are you afraid of, Clarissa?” he taunted softly. “It’s just a spin around the park with an old friend.”

“I’m not afraid,” she scoffed, determined to reassert herself. “But I don’t want people to gossip about us.”

“Then we’ll go earlier in the day. That way, only the nursemaids and the children will see us.”

He grinned—a beautiful, boyish grin. One she remembered all too well. “Give over, Clarissa. It’ll be fun. Just like the old days. You do remember having fun, don’t you?”

Her inner defenses collapsed. She did remember, and
that
was exactly the problem.

Chapter 4

Clarissa strolled along the meandering path through Hyde Park, intensely aware of Christian beside her. He cast a mocking glance her way, then nodded at a group of nursemaids and their charges—a cluster of little boys and girls pelting about the lawn of a nearby sheltered grove.

“See, Ladybird? Not a gossip or an old biddy in sight. Just a few nursery maids and their innocent darlings. No one who could be bothered to take notice of little old us.”

She only just managed to hold back a sigh of relief. He was right, of course. No person of fashion would be seen in the park at this hour of the morning, which was precisely why she had insisted on it instead of a drive later in the day. Christian hadn’t been pleased that she preferred a walk to a drive, but she’d stuck to her guns. The thought of sitting up next to him on the high perch of his curricle in a public display made her shudder. Even Blundell, who had been in his cups last night, had noticed Christian’s flirtatious behavior. God only knew what the gossips would say if they saw her tooling about town in his dashing carriage.

A penetrating shriek from the direction of the grove interrupted her thoughts.

Christian jerked his head around in search of the source of the commotion. “That’s the most appalling noise I’ve ever heard. Who’s getting murdered?”

Clarissa pointed across the lawn. “I believe the culprit is that little girl. One of those grubby boys yanked on her braids.”

He snorted. “You never screeched like that when I pulled your braids, did you? I think I would have remembered if you had.”

“I didn’t, but only because most of your crimes were so much worse. Shrieking about the occasional hair pulling hardly seemed worth the effort.”

A wicked gleam lit up his eyes. “Crimes such as?”

“Hmmm,” she murmured, pretending to think about it. “There was that time you put salt in my tea. Quite a lot of it, I remember.”

“I would never do anything so underhanded,” he protested, trying to look innocent.

“You would and you did. And what about that time you snuck over from your estate to our manor house—which you did on a regular basis, as I recall.”

“Our houses were only a few miles apart,” he said. “I liked to come by and visit you.”

“Torture me, you mean. Like the day you got into my bedroom and stole all my shoes.”

He laughed, a deep, rolling sound that shot thrills of pleasure all the way to the soles of her feet. The morning sunshine picked out flecks of gold in his light brown hair and gilded his tanned skin to bronze. He looked like a young Greek god—so full of vibrant life that it made her head spin.

“I didn’t steal them,” he said with a grin. “I just hid them for a little while.”

“In the stables, as I recall. It took me days to find them. I wanted to kill you.”

Actually, his ridiculous prank had made her laugh, especially since it infuriated her father. Not that Christian gave a fig about that. He’d been on the receiving end of her father’s wrath on many occasions, but had always shrugged it off. His fearlessness as a young boy had astounded her, and she had admired him for his courage.

“But you didn’t kill me,” he said, gently brushing his hand down the length of her spine. His touch and his warm smile created an air of intimacy around them, as if they shared a delicious secret. It made her feel youthfully awkward, and she had to resist the urge to pull away from him.

Instead, she cleared her throat and adopted a tone of matronly disapproval.

“The worst was when you put a toad in my jewelry box. My heart stopped when I opened the lid and it jumped out at me. If I could have laid hands on you at that moment, I most certainly would have killed you.”

He laughed outright at that. “But that was my way of showing you how much I liked you.”

She frowned and came to a halt in the center of the path.

“You liked me? What do you mean?”

He arched an eyebrow. “What do you think I mean?”

She stared up at him. His gaze, flaring with laughter and warmth, flickered over her. Tiny crackles of energy danced along her nerves. “You were only fourteen,” she exclaimed in a breathless voice.

He gave her a lazy and utterly sensual smile. “I was a very mature fourteen.”

She gaped at him, bewildered by the sense that she was tumbling through a strange landscape—one both terrifying and wonderful. He held her gaze, his eyes no longer laughing, but still full of a heat that made her skin prickle.

“Ladybird,” he murmured in a husky voice.

“Stop calling me that!” She snatched her hand away from his arm and fled down the path, heading in a blind rush in the direction of Grosvenor Gate. In seconds, Christian had caught up with her, grasped her hand, and placed it back in the crook of his elbow. She wanted to pull away, but he held her firmly against his side. Heat flowed between them, thickening the air in her lungs, trapping the words of rejection in her throat.

But what was there to reject? He hadn’t offered anything.

She managed a weak protest. “This … this is ridiculous.”

“What is, sweetheart?” he asked quietly.

The simple endearment drove a spike of longing and pain through her heart. Only Jeremy had ever addressed her like that. Jeremy, the only man she had ever loved. And yet, when Christian spoke to her in that low, rumbling voice, and held her close to him, surrounding her with his seductive, masculine strength …

She pulled in a frustrated breath and threw her free arm out in a circle.

“
This.
Us. You, acting like—” She broke off, trying to find the right words, the words that would make him stop doing whatever it was that made her wish for things she could no longer have.

Gritting her teeth, she ordered her pounding heart to settle, then met his gaze. He looked calm and watchful, completely in control. For some reason she couldn’t explain, that frayed her temper until it broke into pieces.

“Christian, why are you wasting time with me?” she snapped. “Don’t you have better things to do than toddle around the park with boring old widows?”

He drew her to a halt, turning her to face him. She suddenly became aware that they had walked into the shade of a secluded stand of trees, away from the open lawns of the park. The playful shrieks of the children had faded, a peaceful silence taking their place. The bustle of the city seemed distant. Only the coo of a mourning dove calling for its mate intruded on their solitude.

Christian tilted her chin up with a gloved finger. His features were stern, even remote, but his eyes smoldered with a fierce emotion, an intensity that unnerved her, making her stomach flutter.

“You mustn’t talk about yourself that way, Clarissa.” His low voice held a note of command. “Not to me. I won’t allow it.”

She stared wretchedly up at him, at a loss for words. The hard lines of his face gentled. He stroked his finger along the edge of her jaw, the texture of his leather glove a whisper of velvet across her skin.

“Shall I tell you why I won’t allow it?” he murmured.

She struggled to find her voice. To find her wits. “Yes … no. I … don’t know,” she replied, cringing at her awkward response.

He studied her, then shook his head, looking rueful. “Maybe later. You’re not ready to hear what I have to say.”

She blinked, deflated by his answer. Whatever it was that he wanted to tell her, she knew it would frighten her. But a part of her brain—her heart—yearned to hear it.

Yearned for him.

Transfixed and horrified by the thought that had popped unbidden into her head, Clarissa didn’t resist when he guided her back along the path. Silence fell between them, weighted and full of meaning—for her. She hadn’t a clue what Christian was thinking.

After waiting minutes for him to say something, she could no longer stand the silence. If one of them didn’t speak, she might very well succumb to a fit of the vapors and run screaming from the park.

Or box Christian’s ears.

Taking a deep breath, she blurted out the first thing that came into her head. “Captain Archer, when do you return to Portugal? Very soon, I would think.”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to sink into the ground. Could she possibly have made it any more evident that she wanted him gone?

He muttered a quiet oath. It was not the kind of thing he would normally say in polite company.

She lifted her eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”

He shot her an irritated glance. “Don’t start calling me
Captain Archer,
Clarissa.”

“And don’t make a fuss over such a little thing,” she retorted, feeling defensive. “Please answer my question. When do you return to Portugal?”

“In a few weeks, at most. My shoulder is healed, so I don’t have any reason to remain in London, do I?”

He sounded enough like a disgruntled schoolboy that she was tempted to laugh. She suddenly felt on familiar ground, with everything back in its proper place.

“Do you miss the Peninsula?” she asked, genuinely curious. “Even though it’s dangerous, it must be very exciting, especially since you’re an ADC to a general.”

He shrugged, a graceful movement of his powerful shoulders. “Sometimes. Especially when we’re out on campaign. But mostly it’s hard, slogging work. Through rain and mud in the winter, and heat and dust in the summer. Often without decent food, or precious little of it, anyway. It’s not the grand adventure people think it is.”

Startled, she sucked in a breath. Had that been Jeremy’s life? His letters had always assured her that he was comfortable and well. But his health had never been strong, and more than once she had suspected he lied for her sake. But, selfishly, she had always tried to avoid the pain of knowing what his daily life had been like.

“I hate to think of our men suffering like that,” she said.

“It’s not all bad. There’s hunting when we have time, and even the occasional party or ball, especially when we’re in Lisbon. The officers’ wives make the best of everything, no matter how dreary the conditions.”

She shuddered. “The women who follow the drum … they’re so brave. I couldn’t imagine doing that. All the hardship, the deprivation …” She let her voice trail off.

He ducked his head to inspect her face. “Not even to be with the man you loved?”

She flushed, reluctant to admit the truth. Besides, Jeremy would never have allowed her to join him, even though she knew several women of good standing who had gone to the Peninsula with their husbands.

Of course, it had never even occurred to her to ask.

“I don’t think I could do it,” she admitted. “I’d be too afraid.”

He pressed her hand, giving her a warm smile. “You only think that because you can’t imagine it. I’ve always known you had more pluck than you gave yourself credit for. You survived all those years with your father, didn’t you? Don’t you remember how you stood up to him when you decided to marry Jeremy? The old bastard blew his top, but you refused to back down.”

“Christian! Your language,” she spluttered, even though his praise brought a welcome warmth to her cheeks. She’d always thought of herself as ridiculously timid, but apparently Christian didn’t see her that way.

“In fact,” he continued in a musing tone, “if you were in the Peninsula, I’m sure you’d be the toast of the regiment. You have your own sort of courage, and you’re the kindest woman I know. There isn’t a lady over there who can hold a candle to you, Clarissa, once you put your mind to it.”

A sudden, intense wave of shame washed through her. No matter what he thought, she wasn’t brave. She was the cowardly one who had begged her husband to abandon his duty to country and king because she was afraid to let him go. A wife who blamed her husband for his own death—for doing what he thought was right.

She turned her head, blinking away the sting of tears.

“Clarissa, what’s wrong?” he asked in a puzzled voice.

“I’m none of those things, and it’s wrong of you to tease me,” she choked out.

He gripped her by the shoulders and spun her to face him.

“I’m not teasing you,” he exclaimed. “Why the hell would you think that?”

Suddenly, she couldn’t take it anymore. “Christian, why are you doing this? It doesn’t make any sense!”

His gaze burned through her. “I should think it would be obvious by now.”

“Christian—” His fingers tightened on her shoulders, pulling her fractionally closer. Her heart fluttered like a trapped bird.

“No, Clarissa,” he said gently. “I won’t let you hide behind the wall you’ve built around yourself. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

A scorch of anger and humiliation drove her to throw the ugly answer back in his face. “I think you’re bored, and I’m convenient.”

His expression went dark. “Convenient for what?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” she retorted, hating herself even more than she hated him for making her say it. “I’m a widow and will probably never remarry. Perfectly
convenient
for a soldier on leave.”

He gave her a prolonged stare, his features so grim that she considered pulling herself from his grip and making a dash for the gates. But now that he had forced her to this point, some impulse held her in place, refusing to let her back down.

“Ladybird,” he finally growled. “What kind of loose screw do you take me for? How in God’s name could you place so little value on yourself?”

His answer mystified her. “Then why, Christian? Do you just feel sorry for me because you’re my friend, and I’m a lonely old widow?”

He abruptly released her, but then grabbed her by the hand and drew her behind the shelter of a towering shrub.

“Christian!” Her voice came out on a startled squeak. “What are you doing?”

He backed her against a gigantic oak, caging her by placing his hands on either side of her shoulders. “Showing you that you’re the furthest thing possible from a lonely old widow.”

He swooped down and took her mouth in a ravening kiss. She whimpered under the onslaught. Her fists came up to his shoulders but, to her amazement, she didn’t push him away. Instead, as his mouth devoured hers, tasting her with a hot passion, she felt her fingers open and then dig into the wool of his coat with a desperate grip. When his tongue slid along her lips, teasing, silently asking for her to open, she moaned and melted into him, hanging on with all her rapidly fading strength.