Bound By Temptation (21 page)

She was every bit as much a person as he. “You could begin nasty habits as easily as I—and I would have no recourse.”

He did not answer that. He did not disagree, but neither did he accept her words.

Why should she trust him?

When have I ever given you reason not to?
His question echoed through her mind. It frightened her that she couldn’t think of one. She was sure that at some point he had overruled her, but not a single one came to mind.

If she tried to think, all she could remember were the times he had espoused some unreasonable viewpoint, but when she argued, he did listen, and gave way.

Was it possible that if she stood up to him, he
would be willing to bend? She would never have thought so, but now she wondered.

He was holding her tighter now, grinding their hips together. Was he trying to tempt her to agree by such obvious moves?

“Marry me?” He whispered the words against her neck this time. “I will be a good husband to you.”

She tried to push back against him; she needed space to breathe, to think. It was impossible to know what her mind wanted when her body was so insistent. “We still have too many points to cover.”

“Like what?” He was laying small kisses just under the curve of her ear. How could he be so restrained? If she hadn’t been so set on resisting, she’d have been tearing at his clothing.

“Like children,” she gasped out, turning her head away from him as he laid assault to her cheek.

He groaned. “I thought we’d covered that one. I will be fine if we do not have them.”

“Yes, but what if we do?”

“God, woman you drive me insane. How is that a problem? I thought it was what you wanted.”

She took his momentary distraction and used it to ease back. Their torsos still touched, but at least she could turn her head with freedom. “I do. But I cannot see that we would agree on how to raise them.”

He tried to press against her again. “How can you even think right now?”

This time she pushed hard, giving it everything
she had. “I can think because I—we need to. You cannot toss me such a ridiculous question and then try to brush it away.”

He stepped back with a deep sigh. His chest was still rising and falling rapidly, and his eyes were so dark as to appear black. “Fine, we will discuss it then. Although I was only trying to demonstrate how we belong together.”

Now that her freedom was granted, she was strangely loath to step away. She felt distinctly chilled without him pressed against her. “How do you plan to raise your children?” She was careful not to say “our.”

He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it almost to the point of humor. “I haven’t really thought about it. I imagine the usual—a nurse, then a governess, then school if the child is a boy.”

“There, we already have a profound disagreement. I would wish to send my daughter to school as well. I do not see education as the prerogative of the male sex.”

“If that is your wish, we can send her to whatever school will take her.” His gaze was on her breasts.

Clara almost felt the need to raise her hands to cover them. They would never have a meaningful discussion if he spent his time thinking about her bosom. Wrapping her arms about herself would show too much weakness. Instead, she turned and walked back to the desk, placing both hands upon it and staring at the shelf behind. He could not stare at what he could not see.

“Is there more?” he asked, moving to stand behind her.

“You mention a nurse and a governess. That does not tell me much about your own plans for involvement in your children’s lives.” She needed to know his answers. It was all she could do not to drop her hands to her own belly, to cradle the life within.

“I can only say again that I have not really considered the issue.”

“Would you raise them as Violet and Isabella were raised? As you were raised?” Her voice trembled as she spoke.

“If you refer to the time before my parents’ deaths, I will say that I would be proud to be the man that my father was during my childhood. He showed both care and discipline with both Violet and myself. As for after his death, Violet and I were both nearly grown. I did the best that I could with Isabella.”

“And you would raise future children in the same manner?” She had heard from Violet how Isabella had been left in the care of the governess for months at a time. That was not a life that she would wish on any child of her own.

“Are two children ever raised the same?” He moved up close behind her, and she could feel the heat of his body again, the faint scent that was only he.

She should have chided him, made him move away, but in truth it was hard to push away the comfort his closeness offered. A woman could do the right thing only so many times.

She closed her eyes and tried to gather herself. Surely, she could manage his nearness as long as there was no actual touching involved. “You take the easy way out. Are you saying that you would do things differently?”

“I suppose I am. I am aware that I did not do things perfectly with Isabella. One always learns from experience, and I am sure I would do better a second time.”

She wished she could turn now and see his face, catch the nuance of expression that must come with such words. Did he mean what he said, or was he only seeking to appease her, to win her agreement to his proposal? “So you admit you made mistakes?”

He was quiet for a moment, and then answered with more seriousness than she had yet heard. “I know you refer to things Violet has told you, that I ignored Isabella until I had need of her. I cannot deny there is some truth to that, and what truth there is can only be described as a mistake. But you must remember my circumstances. I was spending every waking moment attempting to put my parents’ affairs in order and to keep my sisters fed and housed in the manner they were accustomed to. I do not, even now, see what I could have done differently. I might wish for a different ending, but I still do not see how I could have achieved it and still kept home and hearth together.”

He placed his hands on her hips at the end of this statement and drew her behind firmly against him. Despite the seriousness of his tone, it was clear he was still occupied with other thoughts.

Should she give in? She was not satisfied with his answers. There was some reason to them, but they were not as full of reassurance as she would have desired.

Damn though, he felt good pressed tight against her. She could feel his firmness between her buttocks, and her inclination was to push against him, to wiggle in the manner that would drive him toward insanity.

This discussion was about power and control as much as anything, and she wished to show him just how much she had.

She knew that was not the answer, though. She might be able to win in this one area of their lives, but it did not mean he would grant her victory in others.

He leaned forward and nuzzled the back of her neck.

“Stop,” she said, but without conviction.

“I can’t,” he groaned into her hair.

His hands slipped about her waist and then upward, cupping her breasts.

Now it was her turn to groan as his fingers flicked with expertise over her taut nipples. The silk of her chemise rubbed against the tips, the friction drawing another moan from her lips. “If we do this, it means nothing.”

“It always means something.” His fingers slipped over the edge of her dress, pushing it down as they sought her flesh.

“It does not mean I agree to anything but this, to sex.”

“I could argue”—he was breathing hard, and it was difficult to hear the words—“but I won’t—in truth, I do not much care at this exact moment.”

“Just sex,” she whispered as she let her head fall back against him. Her arms were still firmly planted on the desk as he curved over her from behind, his fingers working magic on her breast, kneading, caressing, teasing, comforting. His lips worked their own magic over her neck and then moved to nibble an ear.

She swayed her hips against him, proving that she too could play, no matter how helpless her position.

His fingers squeezed tight, and she could feel the passion grow and flare. Skill and patience were relaxed as her skirts were pushed up. There was the whisper of fabric, and a single low curse from his lips, and then she felt him against her—hard, thick, and velvet.

He nestled in the cleft between her buttocks, and then his hands were on her hips again, raising her, lowering her until they were joined completely.

She pushed hard back against him, grinding, seeking her own pleasure. She shoved with her hands upon the desk, giving herself leverage. She would not be denied.

As if sensing her desires, one of his hands came around to cup and squeeze at her breasts again while the other slipped lower, raising the front of her skirts and slipping between her damp folds. She suppressed a squeal as he found that tender knot of nerves.

Then all was frantic.

Back. Forth. Squeeze. Release.

He thrust hard against her, his mouth closing on the back of her neck. Every muscle of his body was hard, tight. She pressed back, moving, seeking that final moment when nothing mattered.

Then it was almost there. She twisted slightly, heard his groan.

There. There it was.

His teeth bit into the back of her neck. His hand gripped her breast tight, almost too tight, and she felt him give that final surge.

The cry escaped her lips, louder than she meant as his thrust brought the world spinning about her, all thought lost in pleasure.

The door cracked open. She did not care.

The light from the hall shone in. She could not think.

“Oh dear. I did not mean to intrude.” Even the deep masculine voice followed by feminine twitters did not seem worth noting as her body collapsed, its last spasm passed.

O
f course the feeling could not last. There were only seconds of enjoyment before reality closed in all too quickly.

She heard the door shut with a definitive slam, but not before a few more shocked giggles and squeals filled the room.

Masters released her from behind, pulling her skirts down as he went. Her fervent desire was to collapse forward onto the desk, hiding her head beneath her sheltering arms. If she could have simply vanished, she would have done so in an instant.

Life did not work that way. She pushed herself to standing and quickly pulled up her disheveled bodice, attempting to set everything to rights. She ran quick fingers through her hair and could find nothing out of place, it lay smooth against her head save for the desired curls, one small piece of order in her world. She stepped away from the desk and shook her skirts out. They fell smoothly from her waist to the floor; the few wrinkles in the many layers of silk would ease soon.

Her dress seemingly had survived amazingly un
damaged. Her face was probably another matter, and she wouldn’t be surprised if there was a bite mark on the back of her neck. Her shawl must be somewhere. Perhaps she could wrap it about herself and pretend that she was chilled. It was a cold evening.

But that was only the physical. Her emotions she carefully wrapped and put away for later. She must not let them matter now.

Then it was time to turn and face Masters. She had heard him making his own adjustments and was unsurprised to find him looking as crisp as ever. His hair was mussed, but he had done that before when he ran his fingers through it.

With some trepidation, she raised her eyes to his. “I did not see who it was. Did you?” She tried to hold her voice steady as she spoke.

“No. I believe it was Lord Wainscott who spoke, but I could not be sure. And I fear that some of the giggles may have been Miss Belinda Thwaite.” His eyes were hard to read, but there was something there buried deep.

“That would not be good.” That was a gross understatement.

“No, it would not be,” he replied.

She leaned back on the edge of the desk, trying to find words to say. One of her first lovers after Michael’s death had a fascination with illicit activities in public places, and she had caught some of his excitement. It was far different, however, to wonder at being caught than to actually be caught.

He stepped toward her, stopped, then turned and walked away. “What do we do now?”

“Why do you ask me?” she asked. “Do you really imagine that I have been in this situation before?”

“No, only—”

“You believe that, given my scandalous life, that I am used to facing public censure and should have profound advice.”

“You deliberately misunderstand me, Clara. I meant only the literal words that I spoke. Do we walk out together? Separately? Do we announce our engagement tonight or should I put it in the papers?”

She closed her eyes against the pain she felt surrounding her. In all her imaginings, she had never pictured a situation as dreadful as this one. Or imagined him discussing their engagement in such a silky, determined voice. “I have not said that I will marry you. You presume much.”

His voice turned cold. “Under the circumstances, I would not have thought it was a presumption.”

Her head was beginning to ache, and for the second time that night, her stomach was roiling. “You are doing it.”

“Doing what?”

“Assuming that you know best.”

“I do not see that there is an alternative.” His voice was gentler and he turned to face her. “I understand that you were not persuaded by my proposal, but surely now you understand that you will be ruined if we do not marry.”

She rubbed her temple. “Yes, I do understand my fate if I do not become your wife. But it is my fate. It really does not concern you.”

“How can you say that? I am here too. Surely our fates are intertwined.” He was only a few inches from her. It did not bring the comfort it always had before.

“But you are a man. No matter what happens, the talk of you will only last a day or two at most—will, in fact, probably last longer if you do marry me than if you leave now and never speak to me again.”

“I can’t believe that is true.”

“It is. I have moved in society far more than you. If we marry, there will always be sly comments, wondering if you are enough to keep me happy, and every time I even look at another man, it will be commented upon. Men will take great pleasure in pointing out who I am rumored to have shared my favors with. This would have been true even before tonight. After this, what reputation I had will be in shreds.”

“Not if we marry.” He spoke firmly and placed a hand on each shoulder. “Marry me, Clara, and let us face this together. I will leave here and go use all my contacts to get a special license. I will have you as my wife before the week is out.”

There was temptation. Oh, there was temptation. Whatever emotion he had spoken with right after they were discovered had faded, and now he spoke with gentle persuasion. She wanted to lay her face against his chest and pretend that everything could be right.

She would say yes. She would tell him of the baby. He would take her in his arms and tell her he
loved her. They would marry, and he would have the faith that she could make her own decisions and would not seek to control her. There would be long hot summers at his estates and the excitement of the season each spring. She would create the home she had always dreamed of—a homey, safe place to raise their child with love.

But that was a fairy story. He was already demonstrating that he did not trust her to decide on her own. He had spoken with persuasion, but also with command. He really did not see that she had any possible choice to make—and perhaps she did not. It was hard to see how she could go on from here.

There must be a way.

She stepped back from him and slipped around the desk. “We cannot stay here any longer. The talk will only grow by the second. Perhaps we were not recognized—the lighting is dismal—or perhaps those who found us will hold their tongues. I will not make any decision without knowing the truth.” She turned and walked toward the door.

He tried to step ahead of her. “I will go first. I can report back what I learn.”

He was doing it again, taking away her control. She stepped quickly, almost running, and placed her hand upon the cold metal of the handle. “No. I must do this.”

She twisted the handle and stepped out into the hall.

She had left him. She had really left him. He had not bargained on it coming to this.

He pushed back the pain of her refusal and examined only the most manageable of emotions.

He had been shocked to be discovered. Somehow, the possibility had never entered his mind. It should have. Having sex in the library at a party was certainly not discreet or proper.

He caught a glimpse of his reflection in a darkened window and moved closer to straighten his hair, smoothing the slick waves back into place. He was amazed that no other mark of the evening’s activities remained on him.

He still needed to face the crowds below.

She would marry him. There was no other choice. Surely she would see that.

He walked to the door with a confidence he did not feel. She had spoken correctly when she said that he did not know how to face scandal. Since his parents’ deaths he had managed his life in order to avoid it.

There had been some talk soon after their deaths—a mysterious shooting did not go unnoticed—but his feelings had been numb at the time and he had been too busy trying to manage the debts they had left to be overly concerned with gossip.

He ran his fingers through his hair. Damn. He had to stop doing that or he’d be spending the evening staring at himself in the window trying to put it to rights. He yanked it flat again.

Had she been truthful in saying that she was capable of facing scandal after the life she had led? This was different from her other indiscretions.

This would ruin her.

She must see that.

Bloody hell. It was his duty to protect her. Grabbing the door handle, he stalked out into the hallway. He would do what was needed.

What was she going to do now? Walking out on him had been the right thing. She had no doubt about that. But what now?

She paused for a second outside the door, her innards turned to jelly. Always before when she had braved scandal and indiscretion, she had known before time what she courted. This time she was unprepared.

Still, she pulled back her shoulders and tilted her chin up. Let them talk. She was capable of handling this. She would not be bowed.

It was easier to face what was below than what was behind her in the library.

She took the first step and pretended that her legs were not shaking. She closed her eyes and imagined Masters’s surety that she would marry him, his assumption that she had no other choice.

She would prove him wrong.

She let anger build within her. Anger could protect you from almost anything.

Two more steps.

Three more.

She reached the top of the steps and was about to descend when Anna Struthers came running up. “Don’t go down there.”

“What? Why?” She took a step backward.

“Rumors are flying. They think it was you, but
nobody is sure. The room was dark, and they could only see Masters clearly. If you come down these stairs, there will be no question.”

Word could not have spread that quickly. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

Anna gave her the exasperated look one would give a difficult child. “You know exactly what I mean. I’ve been told by three different people in the last two minutes that Mr. Masters was caught at a most intimate moment in the upstairs library—although not all of them put it quite so delicately. Miss Thwaite informed me it was you. Someone else informed me it was Miss Thompson—although how the two of you could be mistaken, I am unsure. The third did not know who Masters was with.”

“Oh.” It was not much of an answer.

“So if you sneak down the servants’ stairs and enter through another door, it will seem less likely it was you,” Anna suggested. “I would claim you were with me, but I was dancing with Lord Wilcox, and you know what a gossip he is.”

“Yes, I do. Thank you for your help. I don’t know—”

“Nobody should be forced to choose marriage or disgrace.” With those few words, Mrs. Struthers turned and headed back down the stairs at a much more sedate pace than she ascended.

Clara headed back toward the far end of the hall. She was not exactly sure of the way to the servants’ stair, but it should not be hard to find.

She was slipping through the door when she heard the library door creak open and Masters
walked out. He walked firmly toward the stairs and did not look back.

She was tempted to chase after him and inform him of her plan, but the risk of being seen with him was too great. She slipped forward and was gone.

The world froze as he descended the stairs. Masters had never seen anything like it before. The whole room full of people stopped and stared as he came into sight. Only the orchestra played on.

It was all he could do to keep walking and not stop and stare back.

Then the whispers began. He could not hear a single distinct word, but instead, it was as if a swarm of bees had suddenly flown into the room. The buzz rose and filled the space, drowning out even the music from the orchestra.

Or perhaps it was only his head that was filled.

He forced his features to utter calm as he reached the main floor. He stepped forward and the crush parted before him. Nobody approached and nobody made eye contact.

He wondered if this was what Clara had lived with all these years. This knowledge that the whole room was speaking of you and not to you.

He paused and waited, seeing if anybody would approach.

No one did.

It was as if a magic circle had been drawn around him, one that nobody could cross and he could not leave.

He had heard of being alone in a crowd, but this was beyond the pale.

He walked toward Mr. Miles, a man he had known for years, and saw desperation flash in the man’s eyes. He stopped. It would be unfair to force the situation.

“Oh, there you are. Peter was just wondering what had become of you. He thought you’d come down right behind him.” Violet walked to him and smiled brightly.

At first he thought she did not know what had just happened, but then he caught her glance and saw full knowledge reflected there.

“I merely chose to linger over my brandy a few minutes. There is no crime in that.”

“Of course there is not.” Violet smiled and gave a gay little laugh for no reason that he could determine. “Come now, brother. Let me show you the portraits in the long gallery. They are really quite magnificent.”

Before he even knew what she was about, he found his arm taken, and he was leading her from the room. Or at least anybody watching them would have assumed he was leading; in truth Violet had her nails dug in deep and there was no choice but to move in the direction she chose.

He tried to stop. “I must find Clara. She—”

“Don’t even say her name, you fool,” Violet hissed.

“But—”

“I am rescuing you for the second time this night. Please behave.” She laughed again as if he
had said something particularly witty, and then he found himself shoved through a door and dragged into an endless room filled with dour portraits.

Violet did not even pretend to look at them before beginning. “How could you? Have you no sense? No, of course you don’t. You are a man. Why do men never think of the consequences of their actions?”

“I do not know what you speak of. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must find Clara.”

Violet rolled her eyes at him. He remembered Clara looking at him with exactly that expression. Where had she gotten to? He had not seen her when he came down. How had she managed to escape into the crowd? Given his own reception, he would have thought it an impossibility.

“Do not be an idiot,” Violet said. “You know exactly what I am talking about. I am more shocked than I can ever explain that you would engage in such an activity. Mind you, I am not shocked by sex in the library, only that you would engage in it, my oh-so-proper brother.”