Seduction In Silk: A Novel of the Malloren World (Malloran) (23 page)

“With the counters,” Tom said.

“But they must represent real money, or where’s the point? How much can you afford to lose?”

Both twins slumped. “Nothing,” Peter said. “We have no money.”

Claris saw Perriam about to give them some and spoke first. “I should be providing a small allowance for you, shouldn’t I? We’ll discuss what it should be, but for now, I promise you two shillings each to celebrate our wedding, yours to game with or not, as you wish.”

She hoped they’d retreat from risking real money, and she saw their hesitation, but then Peter looked at his counters. “We each have twenty. If they’re worth a penny, that’s one shilling and eight pence.” Again he hesitated, glancing at Tom. Tom nodded. “We’ll play for pennies and stop if we lose a shilling.”

A shilling would seem like riches to them, but they were willing to risk it. That worried Claris, but she adored them for their careful consideration and caution. She also understood Perriam’s purpose. He was going to teach them about real consequences.

She hoped they lost.

Perriam put a counter in the center of the table. “I bet one penny. Now I deal three cards to each of you and you decide whether to match my stake or not. If not, you’re out of the game at no loss.”

“We have to decide our chances of winning?” Peter said. “How can we know?”

“Unless you’re holding three aces, you can’t. You can estimate the probabilities, but that takes practice. For now, you guess. You should also watch your opponents, for some show their hand in their expression.”

“But some put on expressions in order to deceive,” Ellie warned.

“They do indeed.” Perriam deftly dealt three cards to each of them.

Claris picked hers up, acknowledging the tingle of excitement when she found two fives. Only fives, but two of them. What was the probability of getting a pair? Surely it couldn’t be high.

“Fan them like this,” Perriam said, and she imitated him. “It doesn’t matter in handling three cards, but with more it’s essential.”

“I’m not likely to make a habit of card playing, sir.”

“As your husband, I approve.” He turned to Ellie on his left. “Miss Gable, do you wish to match my stake, or even raise it?” To the boys he said, “Raising the stake is a means to frighten off other players and can sometimes have a weak hand win.”

Ellie said, “I’ll merely match your stake, sir,” and put a counter in the middle.

The twins each did the same. Claris considered her fives and put in two counters.

“Aha! Does she have a strong hand, or is she bluffing? Now we’ll have to add two pennies to stay in the game.” He matched her two pennies.

Ellie put down her hand. “I retire.”

The twins looked at each other and at the counters in the middle. There was eight pence there now, a very tempting sum.

It was Peter’s turn next and he looked at Perriam. “I don’t like competing with my brother. Can we play together?”

“No.”

Peter frowned, but he added two counters.

Frowning just as much, Tom put down his hand and copied Ellie. “I retire.”

That left only Claris, Perriam, and Peter.

“What now?” she asked.

“We continue until only two remain.”

Claris didn’t want to compete with her brother, so she put down her cards. “I retire.”

“But you raised the stake,” Peter protested. “You can’t give up so easily.”

“I didn’t know what I was doing.” Perriam raised a brow at her, however, and she saw the message. This should be real. “Oh, very well.” She picked up her cards and put two more counters in the middle.

Perriam put down his cards. “I retire.”

“Do we get to see what you held?” Claris challenged.

“No. Now you and Peter can continue to bet until one of you runs out of money or loses your nerve, or one of you can put in double to see the other’s cards. Then the best hand wins. Peter?”

Watching her, Peter put in two more pennies. The clever lad knew she’d pay the double to put an end to this.

She did. “Show me your cards.”

When he put down the ten of hearts, the nine of diamonds, and the ace of clubs, she didn’t know whether to be delighted that he’d won or terrified that he’d get a taste for this.

She showed him her pair of fives. “You win.”

He whooped and gathered in the money, but then he happily shared his winnings with his brother.

“Can we play again?” Tom asked, arranging his wealth in lines of five.

Claris agreed, praying that the play go against the boys and teach them a lesson. It did. They continued to play, and luck wandered evenly around. Claris suspected that Perriam and Ellie sometimes retired good hands, for she certainly did, but the twins lost as often as they won.

When she finally called a halt, they were down threepence from their original twenty. She thought that about right for a lesson but could only hope they hadn’t been infected with a mad taste for gambling.

They went off to bed and Claris gathered the counters back into the box. “I’m not sure that was wise.”

“It’s played everywhere, and the ignorant can be sucked into a game with stakes too high and honesty too low. I’m sure you can impress upon them the folly of wagering large amounts. Unless it runs in the blood.”

“My parents never touched cards or dice.”

“What of your family?” he asked Athena.

“My husband’s vices were other.”

“And your parents? Lord and Lady Littlehampton, I gather.”

So Athena was from the nobility, Claris thought. How odd, especially when it meant she was too, after a fashion. No wonder her mother had been so bitter about Father not “taking his place” in local society.

Athena gave him a cool look. “Been digging into it, have you? My mother ruined us all with her gaming, which is why I was sold off to Mallow. I, however, have no addiction to the tables.”

“Quadrille? Basset?”

“Can amuse and even be profitable. A clear mind and a keen eye can reap rewards.”

“That’s true.” Perriam turned to Claris. “Teach the boys never to play drunk, especially if anyone at the table is sober.”

She was to teach. He was leaving tomorrow, and that caused an ache in her chest. He’d been such a pleasant companion and he was very good with the boys.

He turned to Athena. “The current Lord Littlehampton is your nephew, I believe. He seems steady enough. Your family could be a useful connection for Claris and her brothers.”

Athena smiled drily. “Make it if you can, you busy boy. I was consigned to darkness for fleeing the blessings of marriage.”

“I accept the challenge.” He rose. “My apologies, but I must prepare to leave. I bid you all good night.”

Claris watched him go. She would not fall into misery over the man.

“As you said, sharp enough to cut,” Athena said.

“You had no problem with that until the blade was turned on you.”

“Of course not.”

“There’s nothing amiss with being clever.”

“That depends on where the blade is pointed. If my husband had been clever, I’d not have won adequate support from him. He actually bargained to keep Henry, as if I wanted him.”

“You must have,” Claris protested. “Just a little.”

“Rid yourself of this notion of maternal destiny. I felt no more for my son than for any other child, which was little, and I’m not the only mother to feel that way.”

“I find that hard to believe. What if he’d died? Would you have felt nothing?”

“I’d have regretted the wasted effort, and especially that my husband would have wanted to try for another.” She rose. “Believe what you want. I bid you good night.”

Ellie lingered long enough to say, “It’s true, dearie. I don’t think it’s common, but she never gave him a thought as best I could tell.”

Alone in the drawing room, Claris put away the cards and counters. It made no sense to her that a woman could bear a child and feel nothing for it. She’d been entranced by the twins from the first. If someone had tried to take them from her . . . she didn’t know what she would have done, but she would have fought with every weapon possible. She’d have bargained away her soul.

She’d even felt fondness for the baby she’d held so briefly today, and for the little boy who’d run to the horses and been captured to safety. Rescued by Perriam, who’d seemed at ease with the lad.

She wanted to think of him as Perry.

Her brothers called him that, so why not?

Because it would be a perilous weakening of the defenses between them.

Did she want to maintain those defenses?

She extinguished most of the candles, keeping one to light the way to her bedchamber. Alice was waiting for her, attending to some needlework. Bells. She must see about bells.

Alice hurried away to get hot water, and Claris undressed herself, her mind still circling, circling. Once she had the water, she sent Alice off to bed.

Then she found the nightgown, the lovely impractical one that Genova had provided, which she’d never worn as yet. She put it on and considered herself in the mirror. It didn’t transform her into a siren.

In some way when she was with Perriam—with Perry—she didn’t feel so lacking in charms. She rubbed at the freckles across her nose, but they weren’t going to come off. She’d not yet plaited her hair and decided to leave it loose. There were no bright threads in it, but it was thick and glossy.

Alice had left out her robe, the pretty mass of pink silk. Claris put it on and tied the ribbon that held it together at the top. She looked in the mirror again.

Better. The warm shade suited her, though she feared it emphasized her freckles as if shining a light on them.

She extinguished the candles except for one and then sat on the bed’s edge, on the side facing the adjoining door.

She knew what she wanted, and thus what she had to do.

Foolish or not, she knew.

It was only a matter of courage.

H
e might have already gone to bed, but that seemed unlikely. He had too much energy for an early bedtime.

He probably was dealing with papers, making plans, drawing up lists.

She shouldn’t distract him.

But he would leave tomorrow.

The thirty days might bring him back soon, but it might not. Even if he returned in a week this wouldn’t be any easier.

She slid down off the bed, rubbed her hands together for a moment, and then walked to the door and rapped her knuckles on it.

The seconds seemed eons, but then it opened.

“You need something?”

He was in shirt and breeches again, the shirt open at the neck and down a few inches. He was in stocking feet.

“Claris?”

“Yes,” she managed. “Yes, I need something. . . .”

Behind him, she could see papers on his bed and table.

He seemed at a loss, which wasn’t surprising. “We can’t speak across a threshold like negotiating armies. Your room or mine?”

She backed away and he came in. Why had she imagined she could simply ask, that it could be a practical matter?

“Has something upset you?” he asked. “Would you like some wine, or brandy?”

“No. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have interrupted you. . . . You have ink on your finger.”

Why on earth had she said that?

He looked at it and pulled a wry face. “The perils of hasty writing. You haven’t interrupted me. The important stuff is done.” He took her hand with his ink-stained right one. “So tell me what you need.”

She looked into his eyes and blurted out the words. “A baby.”

But then she pulled free and turned away, hands over her face. “Oh, I shouldn’t ask. I shouldn’t. You didn’t bargain for that!”

Hands on her shoulders, he turned her to him, then pulled down her screening hands. She squeezed her eyes shut.

“You can’t imagine me unwilling.”

“Why should you be willing? You agreed to a practical marriage.”

“What could be more practical than a baby?”

She risked a look at him.

He didn’t seem distressed.

He seemed, perhaps, amused.

“Don’t laugh at me!”

“On my honor, I’m not.”

“It was never mentioned. I never thought of it, I promise. Until today . . .”

He was holding both her hands now, gently, warmly, firmly. “The cradle?” he asked.

“And other things. Mothers with babies. Athena. She claims not to have loved my father at all.”

“You wouldn’t be like that.”

“I know. I loved the twins from the first. But soon they’ll leave. . . . It’s unfair to you. You can’t want . . .” She tried to pull free, but he tightened his grip.

“What you saw as amusement, Claris, was delight. May I kiss you? I’ve wanted to kiss you for quite some time.”

She stared up at him. “Why?”

“Freckles.”

He slid a hand behind her head and drew her to him, pressed his lips to hers.

Claris’s heart pounded with sudden anxiety, but with something else—something that came from firm, warm lips on hers. His lips encouraged hers to part, and their breath mingled.

He drew back.

“I hope that shows that I’m more than willing to consummate our marriage, my dear. If you’re sure.”

If you’re sure.

“You said the curse was dead, but is it?”

“There’s no surety of anything, but we can’t live in fear. I’m certain we face no more risk than any other couple.” When she hesitated, he said, “It need not be now. I’ll return from Town as soon as possible.”

No surety. Life was chancy, and not only for infants. Her healthy mother had died of a sudden fever. Her father had been struck down mid-rant. The thought of Perriam dying made her want to clutch him close, to lock him safely here.

“Is your London life dangerous?” she asked.

“No more than any other man’s. The chances of my returning are excellent, Claris.”

He was speaking sense and she wasn’t, but Claris had come to a realization, enlightened by a kiss. She didn’t want only a baby; she wanted the marriage bed. Parts of her had been warmed to growth during this pleasant day and were now unfurling, demanding. . . .

“I want a baby,” she said, because it was the only excuse she could speak. “I want to try now.”

His smile turned warm. “Thank you.” He sobered to say, “I must warn you of one thing, however.”

The horrors of the marriage bed.

The pain and mess that her mother had mentioned.

“In other times, in other spheres, I might like to be a true father, but my plans remain the same. I will mostly be in Town and in other places where I am required, even abroad. You will have to raise the child alone.”

That hurt, but she found a light tone. “Except for thirty days a year.”

“Which are beginning to seem a gift. I do hope hell allows the residents to witness what goes on here. Cousin Giles will be exploding with fury.”

It made Claris laugh, but she shook her head at the same time. “You’re being kind.”

“Not to Cousin Giles.”

“To me! About this,” she said, gesturing toward the bed.

“My dear, I’m restraining myself from wild enthusiasm for fear of frightening you.”

“I know it will be unpleasant.”

“Do you?”

“My mother told me, and Athena. . . .”

“Disregard both.” He took her hands and kissed them. “It will be pleasant, my word on it. I aspire to more but won’t risk breaking my word.”

He unfastened the ribbon that held her silk robe together at the front. “I chose this for you because it was pretty, but I had no hope then of enjoying it, on and off.”

He eased it off her shoulders and it slithered down her arms, down her body, to the floor, whispering promises.

“Your nightgown is pretty too, and not of my choosing.”

With hardly any breath to speak, Claris managed, “Genova.”

“Has excellent taste.” He led her to the bed, which Alice had already drawn down, then lifted her in his arms and laid her gently there. Her head swam with a sense of weightlessness. “I can go and put on my nightshirt and probably should, but you’re an unpredictable woman, my wife. I daren’t risk you locking the door. Would you object to nakedness?”

Claris felt extremely odd, lying here in her nightgown, conversing with a man about nakedness, and she carefully considered her response.

“I’m sure I should, but I’m very curious.”

He laughed. “You are a dear delight.” He unfastened his cuffs and drew his shirt off over his head.

His look asked a teasing question, and Claris responded in kind. “I’ve seen no other man’s chest, husband, so cannot evaluate.”

He laughed again and sat to remove his stockings. When he tossed them aside he sent the same teasing question.

“Your feet seem adequate.”

“They get me from place to place.” He undid the buckles at the bottom of his breeches and then stood to unfasten the front.

Claris found she’d half-closed her eyes and forced them open as he lowered them and revealed the manly secrets.

A soft swelling and a long thickness.

She’d heard the term “rod.”

That sounded painful.

Remember, you want this,
she told herself.
You want a baby, and this is the only way.

He joined her in the bed, pulling the clothes up over both of them. “You’re thinking unpleasant thoughts again.”

“Please don’t worry. I won’t mind.”

“Idiot,” he said and drew her in for another kiss.

Drew her against his nakedness. Thank heavens for her nightgown.

One of his hands cradled her head again, but the other . . . the other wandered. As their breath melded, he stroked down her back, then over her hip, then down her thigh, making her squirm.

His tongue.

Touching hers, teasing hers. Hand touching, teasing. Brain spinning between the two and all places in between. He’d captured her mouth completely now, exploring as his hand pulled up cloth and stroked her thigh. . . .

She tensed, resisted. He broke the kiss. “We’re married, remember. This is permitted, even blessed.” He rolled her back and his hand slid from thigh to between, to touch.

She flinched.

His hand drew back and worked its way up, up her belly, fingers teasing, the heel of his hand pressing as he scattered light kisses on her chin, her cheeks, her lowered eyelids.

She was bewildered by sensations.

Dazzled.

Then he cradled her breast, brushing her nipple with his thumb.

This time she jerked.

She couldn’t help it.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. My dear, sweet wife, you’re ripe for this. Such a delight. I really do think you should join me in nakedness. You permit?”

“Is it necessary?”

“To be honest, no. But I would like it, very much.”

The warmth in his eyes allowed only one answer. “Then as you will.”

He sat her up, worked off her nightgown, and tossed it to the floor. Then he lowered the hands she’d raised to cover her breasts. She’d expected to be beneath the covers again, but he kept her there, looking at her.

“Closing your eyes doesn’t mean I can’t see, you know.”

She opened them, glowering, but the teasing warmth in his eyes thawed her and she couldn’t help smiling back through her blushes. “This feels wicked.” But her heart wasn’t in the protest, not with such an expression on his face.

“This feels delicious,” he said, looking at her left breast, which was cradled in his hand. “Round, firm, perfect. If you permit . . .”

Without waiting for her consent, he lowered his head and kissed the top of her breast and then her nipple. Her very sensitive nipple.

She’d felt that sensitivity before sometimes and found it irritating, especially when it joined with a stabbing ache between her thighs. She’d never connected it with this, with the marriage bed. This wasn’t irritating. It was . . . ecstasy.

He kissed, he licked, he sucked, and that ache between her thighs made her squirm. He laid her back and continued to torment her with pleasure. He put a leg over hers so that her surges of movement met resistance, which seemed to make them worse.

Or better.

She clutched.

His hair.

His hip.

Whatever part she could.

His hand between her thighs again, stroking, pressing, feeding the ache so it spread throughout her body, building, coiling, tighter and tighter.

“You said it wouldn’t hurt,” she gasped.

“It doesn’t,” he murmured. “Surrender to it, my lovely. Fly with it.”

“How?” she demanded, the ache tightening, her body tense with it. But then it happened. A spasm that tipped pain into pleasure, into pleasure so intense she cried out with it, pressing into his hand, into the whole of him, especially his commanding mouth.

She sank into pure sensation as her body, her wild, unruly body, rippled down from the peak, stroked and pressed by his hand, back into something that could be normality, except that nothing would be normal ever again.

Her heart was still pounding, her breathing passionate, and every bit of her was hot and sweaty. Strangely, she knew how her mother could think such mess and passion unpleasant.

The word “wanton” came to mind.

Yes, indeed, that had been the epitome of wanton.

He was nudging her legs apart, moving over her.

It wasn’t done?

No, for she remembered the rod. She could feel it now, as hard as wood pressing against her, where she was still so very sensitive. An ache inside welcomed it, but the sensitive parts shrank back.

He kissed her again and pushed inside her. She felt a sharp pain and then fullness. She opened her legs wider to try to accommodate him, but the fullness pushed deep inside, where the ache had been, was, the ache that wanted this so much.

He pulled out and she thought it done.

Regretted that it was done.

But then he pushed in again, a hand beneath her hip moving her with him, and the knowing ache commanded. She moved with him, finding the rhythm, celebrating the rhythm with fierce necessity. Like a drumbeat it carried her up, up into that ache again, and beyond into red-hot darkness.

She came back slowly, reluctantly, aware of him stroking her hair and murmuring things, sweet things she was sure, but understanding was too much effort.

He was looking at her, a smile in his eyes.

He kissed her again. “What a perfect wife you are.”

“Perfect?”

“Hardworking, practical, and passionate. Oh, Giles, how tormented you must be.”