Courting Claudia (16 page)

“This spot was made for my chin.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes, it fits perfectly.” She placed a kiss on the spot for confirmation, then moved her mouth along his chest, tentatively licking the moisture from his skin.

She turned her head so that she faced the pond, her curls lightly brushing his chin. Her hand
rested on his stomach. He absently rubbed her back, soaking in the moment.

“Have you thought any more about what you want to do with your illustrations?” he asked.

“Yes. I would like to continue. I haven't yet decided whether to keep my identity a secret.” Her finger made slow circles on his abdomen. “I enjoy the mystery.”

“Whatever your decision, I'll stand behind you. I don't want you to make that decision based on your father. He can't hurt you anymore, and whether or not you have a paying job won't disparage my reputation. You've lived your life far too long consumed by what people think about you. It's not a good way to live.”

“It's been a fine way to live.”

“But what has it gotten you?”

She shrugged. “It's not about me. I have a responsibility to my family and my family's name. I have a duty to uphold my father's reputation.”

“If the politicians are driven by the antics of their daughters, then Parliament is in more trouble than I thought.”

“That's not precisely what I meant.”

“Your father's reputation is no longer your concern. You are my wife now.”

She said nothing for a while, just continued to drag her fingers lightly across his abdomen. Per
haps now wasn't the best time to discuss her father. Her hand inched lower, following the trail of hair below his belly button. He felt his blood stir and knew it wouldn't be long before he could take her again.

He enjoyed her curious exploration of his body and didn't want her to stop.

“Did you always want to be an artist?”

“No. I didn't know I could draw until after my mother died.” Her fingers brushed against his sensitive flesh. “It had been a hobby of hers, and I suppose I tried it as a way to feel connected with her.”

She was watching his body change, and that made it all the more exciting. She would soon know the power she had over him, the power to arouse him, to make him think of nothing else but making love to her again.

Lightly, she moved her hand against him, a feather of a touch with the tips of her fingers, back and forth. She was telling him about her past, important information, but he found he could not concentrate.

“So I painted at first. Watercolors, because that is what well-bred ladies do.” Her touch became bolder, rubbing a bit more firmly and moving across his length to the tip.

He closed his eyes.

“I don't recall what made me decide to try
drawing, but I wanted to do something with more detail, more dimension. It was never my intention to end up drawing fashions. I envisioned myself doing portraits.” She wrapped her hand around him, and he released a moan. Her boldness was intoxicating. She moved her hand up and down, and he wished he could see her face. But then it didn't matter at this point, because he could barely concentrate on her words.

“But I love doing the fashions. I love the intricate details of the dresses and getting them perfect in my pictures. I especially love hearing about that perfection at balls when the paper has just been released.”

Faster and faster she pumped him, and he knew his release was near. He didn't want it to happen like this, as erotic as the situation was. He stilled her hand.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No. You're doing everything right. But I won't have any control in a few moments, and this can get messy.”

She lifted her head. “Oh?!”

He tilted her head and kissed her nose. “But suffice it to say, I enjoyed that very much, and we'll have to continue that again sometime. When things can be cleaner.”

“Like in the water?”

“Exactly. I like the way you think.”

She chewed at her lip.

“What are you thinking about?”

“That was rather amazing. The way your body works. The way you responded so rapidly and boldly only by my touch.”

“I've responded to less than your touch. Sometimes it's something you say, or the curve of your neck, or the hint of your perfume. I've never wanted a woman the way that I want you.”

 

Three days since her wedding, and married life was nothing like Claudia had anticipated. Derrick had what seemed to be an unquenchable desire for her body, and she matched him with every stride.

She wasn't ready to say she was comfortable with her nakedness around him, but there was so little time for thought once he started touching her that she didn't have many moments to fret about it.

He'd said he'd never wanted any woman the way he wanted her. It was a glimmer. Certainly not an admission of feelings, but it gave her hope. He didn't talk much about Julia, but she knew that Derrick's first marriage had ended with his heart broken. Claudia still did not know the full story, only that Julia had broken his heart. Not by her
death, but by some betrayal before she'd died. Perhaps once he realized that Claudia would never hurt him, he'd open up his heart to her.

So much for keeping her own heart closely guarded. She tried not to expend too much thought on the matter, but she was fairly certain she loved him already. She wouldn't dare admit to it for fear it would break whatever spell she miraculously held over him.

T
he note from Mason had arrived that morning confirming that Richard was dead and the authorities hadn't been forthcoming with specific details, but said they suspected it was murder. Derrick knew he'd have to tell Claudia.

If Baubie's suspicions were correct, her father was to blame, but he couldn't tell her that. Not yet. Not until he had proof.

If her father was capable of such a crime, he might hurt Claudia, and that thought had Derrick feeling rage as he'd never felt it before. He'd kill him. With his bare hands, if the lousy excuse for a father hurt Claudia. It was a sobering thought to
find he had so much violence in him, when he'd always considered himself a gentle man. Perhaps marriage had changed him.

No, Claudia had changed him.

The thought of losing her or someone harming her made his thoughts spin out of control.

Which was why he had to convince her to stay here in the country without him. Then he could be sure of her safety. Back in London he could do some investigating and uncover the truth behind Richard's murder. If her father was to blame, he wanted to be the one to tell her.

Publishing the information contained within the blackmail letters would eliminate some of Chester Edwards's guilt in the embezzlement. Give his family a little peace. It would also reestablish Derrick's name as a journalist. It would be the last and final story he'd write, and then he would retire to his job as editor and publisher.

Printing that story would indict Claudia's father, which might or might not pit her against him. If he knew she trusted him, if he could guarantee her loyalty would lie with him, then he could print it with no worries. But he had no guarantee. He knew she trusted him, to an extent. But he wasn't so certain that choosing him over a man she'd idolized her entire life would be easy.

He had called her to meet him in his study. Hav
ing both of them fully clothed and on neutral ground might prevent this discussion from becoming a lovemaking session. Not that he wouldn't rather do that, but they needed to have this conversation. She needed to know about Richard's death.

He tried to prepare himself for her reaction, not knowing the extent of her feelings for the man.

A knock sounded on the door, then she poked her head in.

“You don't need to knock, Claudia. This is your house now.”

“Oh.” She opened the door, then shut it behind her. She looked fetching in a simple gown of lavender. It suited her much more than those frilly frocks she usually wore.

“I like that dress,” he said.

“Really?” She looked down on it. “You don't find it boring?”

“No. I like the simplicity. It allows me to see you and not a dress. Which is nice, because you are what makes the dress attractive, not the other way around.”

“Thank you.”

“You should order ten more just like it when we get back to town. In every color.”

“Ten?”

“Twenty then. However many you want. But I
much prefer this to the ones covered in ribbons and ruffles.”

“I certainly don't need twenty new gowns.”

“I can afford them.”

She scrunched her nose. “Is this what you wanted to discuss with me?”

“No.” He was avoiding the real topic. “It was merely an observation.”

“Well, I shall go to the dressmaker when I return and order some dresses more to your liking.” She sat across from him. “I rather like the simplicity as well. It's that I felt—”

“Felt as if you had to hide yourself behind those layers? Not necessary. You have a beautiful body that any woman would be lucky to have; you should flaunt it with pride. You should consider wearing bolder colors. They would suit you. Especially a nice, bold red or wine.”

She chewed at her lip a moment, then said, “I've always been rather fond of daring colors, but never thought I could wear them. I shall consider your suggestions.”

“Excellent. Now we need to get to that thing I wanted to discuss with you. I'm afraid I have bad news. I don't know how you're going to take it, but I wanted to tell you myself before you read it in the paper.”

“Is my father well?”

“Yes. He's fine. As far as I know.” He leaned forward. “It's Richard. I'm afraid he's dead.”

“Richard?” Her brow furrowed, but no tears came. “Dead? Are you certain? How?”

“Murdered. At the moment the police don't have any suspects, but they're doing an investigation.”

“Oh my,” was her only response.

“Are you all right?”

“I suppose so. I'm not certain. I don't really know what to feel. I suppose I should feel sad.” She looked up and met his eyes. “But I don't. Not in a personal way. I mean, I'm sad that he lost his life, just as I would feel reading about anyone's death. But it doesn't feel as though I lost someone I knew. Someone I cared about.”

“Perhaps you're in shock.”

“Why aren't I sad? I should be sad.”

He came around the desk and knelt beside her. “Claudia, you feel the way you feel. There aren't any shoulds when it comes to our feelings. You can't control them.”

“But I was going to marry him.” She shook her head. “I should feel something, and yet inside”—she tapped on her chest—“there is nothing.”

“Give yourself some time.” He pulled her to a standing position. “Come sit with me on the sofa.”

She followed him, a blank stare on her face.

“His death is simply not real to you yet. Let your mind absorb the information. You knew Richard a long time. But not feeling something is fine too. Let your heart guide you.”

“Are you sad?” she asked him.

He took a deep breath. “Richard and I were friends a long time ago. Good friends. The best even. But then we grew up, and things changed. Life was different away from school. Richard made some decisions that drastically changed his life and the man he became. In the end he was not the person I remembered, the person I cared for. He died to me a long time ago. So, no, I'm not sad.”

“Thank you for telling me.”

“Not knowing who did this, I can't in good conscience bring you back to London with me. I want you to stay here for a few weeks. Until I can be sure that you will be safe.”

“What does his murder have to do with me?”

“Perhaps nothing, but I don't want to put you at risk.”

“It was probably a burglary and nothing more. I shall be fine in London. I do not want to stay here alone.”

“I can send Poppy out here to stay with you.”

“Poppy's mother will never hear of that. She
can't miss one single engagement and the opportunity to find herself a husband.”

“Well, then I can send my aunt out here. The two of you will get along fabulously.”

“No.” She folded her arms across her chest and nodded, punctuating her stance.

“What?”

“I said no. I don't want to stay here, and I refuse to do so. You told me that you wanted me to speak my mind, have opinions, argue with you. Well, I'm taking advantage of that. I am going back to London with you. That's my final decision.”

“This is not what I meant and you know it. This is a different situation than disagreeing with me on an everyday matter. Your safety could be at risk, and it is my duty to care for you.”

“Your duty?”

“Yes.”

“Derrick, you suggested I fight you. Stand up for what I want. This is what I want. I don't want you to stick me here in the country and forget about me. I want to go home to London with you. Continue my illustrations. It will be easier to keep me safe when you can keep an eye on me.”

Damnation. He had asked for it. He needed some bloody distance from her. Her body was intoxicating, and having it at his disposal was weak
ening his resolve, and he could not allow her to get to his heart.

So he could make her stay here. But she'd hate him for it. Although perhaps that wouldn't be such a bad thing. On the other hand, he didn't want to destroy their marriage. So if he made her stay here, she'd consider him a liar. He'd told her in one breath to speak her mind and then in the next stifled her because she disagreed with him. He would have to keep her close and possibly hire someone to watch the house to ensure her safety.

He would bring her home, knowing full well that in the end she would probably choose her father over him. He'd ignore the tiny hope that she'd choose him. That in the end she'd fall in love with him and give him her complete loyalty. Why would he need her love? It was cruel to want it when he wouldn't return it.

“All right, my wife, you win. But I am not pleased about this. You will not be able to traipse about London as you are accustomed to doing. I expect you to use an escort at all times. And tell me where you're going and when.”

She smiled brightly. “I can do that.”

“As it turns out, I need to get back to the paper, so we'll be leaving today.”

She stood.

“One more thing.” He pulled her down onto his
lap and kissed her. It was a full assault on her mouth; he plunged his tongue deep in her mouth, swirling it around with hers.

God, he wanted her
.

He released her. Her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled at him.

“I believe my aunt is planning a ball in our honor. An announcement of our marriage. I hope you don't mind.”

She shook her head. “But I will definitely need to go to the dressmaker now.” She gave him a quick kiss, then left the room.

She closed the door behind her and leaned against it. She couldn't keep her mind clear for more than a few minutes with him kissing her all the time. It was deliciously fun, but it rattled her, kept her from thinking clearly.

He'd wanted her to stay here. Was he ashamed of her as a wife? Did he not want a real marriage with her even though he claimed he did? He obviously wanted her body, a realization that thrilled her like nothing else, but what about her? She'd spent her entire life waiting for a man to notice her, expecting to find a man who would eventually grow to love her for the person she was on the inside. Instead she married the only man in London who physically desired yet could not love her.

Of all the rotten luck.

 

Once they'd arrived back in London, Derrick had left her at home with strict instructions that she was not to go anywhere except to visit Poppy. Which she fully intended to do and was on her way out the door when the butler stopped her.

“Mistress, these letters came for you while you were in the country.” He handed her a stack of letters, three in all.

She recognized her father's penmanship immediately. She thanked the butler, then took a seat in the nearby parlor. The wax seal cracked as she quickly unfolded the letter.

All three of them were similar. “Please come quickly.” “I need you.” “I can't believe you deserted me.” Her heart beat wildly in her chest. Her father was reaching out to her the only way he knew how, and she'd left town on her honeymoon. What if he was ill? Oh, please don't let her be too late.

She gave the carriage driver the address. A visit to Poppy would have to wait. She must see her father now. Derrick would likely be upset, but surely he would understand these circumstances. Derrick had made it clear how he felt about her father, but a good daughter wouldn't desert a man in need.

The carriage rocked to a stop, and she didn't
even wait for the driver to assist her to the ground. She flew up the front steps and let herself in.

“Father? Father, where are you?”

She met Baubie halfway up to the second floor.

“How is he?” Claudia asked.

“The worst I've ever seen him. He's not eating, only drinking. And cursing and yelling like a madman. I've been tossing the liquor when I can find his hidden bottles. Doesn't seem to do much good though, he seems to always have one on hand.”

“Thank you, Baubie. I've got to find him.”

She opened two doors before she found him, sitting in his office, a drink in one hand and looking more ragged than she'd ever seen him.

“Father?”

He looked up, his eyes not quite focusing on her. “Claudia, is that you?”

She came to kneel before him. The sharp odor of alcohol almost knocked her over. He looked and smelled as if he'd been drinking for days. “I came as quickly as I could. I've been on my honeymoon, or I would have been here sooner. Are you ill?”

“Ill?” His voice was louder than necessary considering she was right next to him. His breath reeked of brandy. “No, I'm not ill.” He dropped his glass, and the contents splashed onto her
dress before seeping into the carpet. He grabbed both her arms and shook her. “You've deserted me.”

“No, I haven't.” She peeled his hands off her and took a seat in the chair across from him. She needed distance, from the stench and from his forceful touch. “I got married, that's all. I'm still here for you.”

“You chose that bastard over me. I told him he couldn't marry you. But you did it anyway. Didn't you care that I didn't want you to marry him?”

“Father, I had to. If I hadn't married him, my reputation would have been ruined. You wouldn't have wanted that.”

He swiped his hand through the air. “Pah. We could have sent you to the country for a few years, then you could have returned, and no one would have even remembered.”

“It's over and done with. I'm married to Derrick.”

He reached across and grabbed her knee. “You must leave him, Claudia. He's a dangerous man. You've got to leave him and come back home. I can protect you.”

What was the matter with him? She knew Derrick, and Derrick wasn't dangerous. Of course, she'd thought she knew Richard too, and she'd
been dreadfully wrong. But still, this was her husband. He wasn't dangerous. “You're talking crazy. Derrick isn't dangerous, and I can't leave him. He's my husband.” With all their lovemaking, she could very well be carrying his child right now, but she left that out.