Simply Perfect (31 page)

She gazed into his eyes to detect irony, or at least humor, there, but she could see neither. And then she could see nothing very clearly at all. She blinked away tears. And then he leaned closer and licked them away with his tongue before drawing her closer and kissing her deeply.

She was beautiful, she told herself as they undressed each other slowly, pausing frequently to caress or embrace each other. She was
beautiful
. She ran her palms over the muscles and light hairs of his chest after removing his evening coat and waistcoat, his elaborately tied neckcloth, and his shirt. And he moved his hands all over her before cupping her breasts, rubbing her nipples with his thumbs, and then bending his head to take them, one at a time, into his mouth and suckling her so that raw desire stabbed downward into her womb and along her inner thighs.

She would not feel self-conscious or inadequate. She was beautiful.

And desirable.

There was no doubt of that once she had removed his silk evening breeches and his stockings.

She was desirable.

And she was not the only one who was beautiful.

She twined her arms about his neck, pressed her full naked length against his, and found his mouth with her own. When his tongue pressed into her mouth she sighed. He was right, there
were
perfect moments even though they were both pulsing with need.

“I think,” he said, drawing back his head to smile at her, “we had better make use of that bed. It will be more comfortable than the ground was last night.”

“But narrower,” she said.

“If we were planning to sleep, perhaps,” he agreed, smiling at her in such a way that she felt her bare toes curl on the hard floor. “But we are not, are we? It is quite wide enough for our purpose.”

He drew back the blankets, and she lay down on the sheet and lifted her arms to him.

“Come,” she said.

He came down on top of her and she spread her legs and twined them about his. They were both ready. He kissed her and murmured low endearments against her ear. She kissed him back and twined her fingers in his thick hair. And then he slid his hands beneath her, she tilted herself to him, and he came inside her.

His size still shocked her. She inhaled slowly as she adjusted her position to allow him full access, and closed her inner muscles about him. There could surely be no lovelier feeling in the world.

Though perhaps there could. He withdrew from her and pressed deep again and repeated the action until she could feel his rhythm and match her own to it and revel in the sheer carnality of their coupling. There could be no lovelier feeling than
this
—both during the first few minutes of controlled pleasure and during the final minute of deeper, more urgent lovemaking as the climax neared.

And then it came—for both of them at exactly the same moment, and she opened to the outpouring of love and gave back in equal measure, and
that
was the loveliest feeling of all, though it was almost beyond feeling and well beyond rational thought or words.

She was beautiful.

She was desirable.

And finally…

Ah.

Finally she was simply woman.

Simply perfect.

No, she thought as she gradually began to return to herself, she would not go back and change a single detail of her life even if she could. There were all sorts of complexities, complications, impossibilities to face when she had been restored entirely to herself and sanity, but that time was not yet. There was this moment to live.

He inhaled deeply and audibly, and then let the breath go on a sigh.

“Ah, Claudia,” he murmured. “My love.”

Two words that she would treasure for a lifetime. Even the costliest jewel could not tempt her if it were offered in exchange for them.

My love.

Spoken to
her,
Claudia Martin. She was one man's love. Just a few weeks ago all this would have been quite beyond the bounds of credibility. But no longer. She was beautiful, she was desirable, and…She smiled.

He had lifted his head and was looking down at her with heavy-lidded eyes, one hand smoothing back her hair from her face.

“Share the thought,” he said.

She opened her eyes.

“I am woman,” she said.

“Hard as this may be to believe,” he said with laughter in his eyes, “I
had
noticed.”

She laughed. His kissed her eyelids one at a time before kissing her lips again.

“It only astonishes me,” he said, “that it seems like a novel idea to you.”

She laughed again.

“You have no idea,” she said, “how a woman's femininity becomes identified with an early marriage and the production of a number of children and the running of an orderly home.”

“You surely might have had those things if you had wished,” he said. “McLeith cannot have been the only man who showed an interest in you when you were a girl.”

“I had other chances,” she admitted.

“Why did you not take any of them?” he asked her. “Because you loved him so dearly?”

“Partly that,” she said, “and partly an unwillingness to settle for comfort over…over integrity. I wanted to be a person as well as a woman. I know that may seem strange. I know it is hard for almost anyone else to comprehend. It is what I wanted, though—to be a
person.
But it seemed that I could not be both—a person
and
a woman. I had to sacrifice my femininity.”

“Are you sorry?” he asked her. “Though you did not do it with any great success, I might add.”

She shook her head. “I would do it all again if I could go back,” she said. “But it
was
a sacrifice.”

“I am glad you did it,” he said, feathering light kisses along her jaw line to her chin and then lifting his head again.

She raised her eyebrows.

“If you had not,” he said, “you would not have been there to call upon when I was in Bath. And if I had met you elsewhere, you would not have been free. And I might not have recognized you anyway.”

“Recognized me?”

“As the very beat of my heart,” he said.

Her eyes filled with tears again, and she bit her upper lip. She heard the echo of what he had said in the carriage on the way to London when Flora and Edna had asked him to share his dream.

I dream of love, of a family—wife and children—which is as close and as dear to me as the beating of my own heart.

She had judged him quite insincere at that time.

“Don't say things like that,” she said.

“What has this been about, then?” he asked, somehow turning them so that he lay on the inside of the bed, pressed against the wall, and she lay facing him, held firmly by his arms lest she fall off the bed. “Sex?”

She thought for a moment.

“
Good
sex,” she said.

“Granted,” he agreed. “I did not bring you here for good sex, though, Claudia. Or not
just
or even primarily for that.”

She would not ask him why, then. But he answered the unspoken question anyway.

“I brought you out here,” he said, “because I love you and because I believe you love me. Because I am free and you are. Because—”

She set her fingertips over his lips. He kissed them and smiled.

“I am
not
free,” she said. “I have a school to run. I have children and teachers dependent on me.”

“And are you dependent upon them?” he asked.

She frowned.

“It is a valid question,” he said. “Are you dependent upon them? Does your happiness, your sense of self, depend upon continuing your school? If it does, you have a genuine point. You have as much right to pursue your happiness as I have to pursue mine. Fortunately, Willowgreen can be run from a distance as it has been for the past number of years. Lizzie and I will take up residence in Bath. We will live there with you.”

“Don't be silly,” she said.

“I will be as silly as I need to be,” he said, “to make things work between us, Claudia. I was in a basically arid relationship for twelve years even though I was fond of poor Sonia—she did, after all, give me Lizzie. I came within a whisker this year of entering into a marriage that would surely have brought me active unhappiness for the rest of my life. Now suddenly, just this evening, I am free. And at last I want to choose happiness. And love.”

“Joseph,” she said, “you are an aristocrat. You will be a
duke
one day. My father was a country gentleman. I have been a governess or teacher for eighteen years. You cannot just give up all you are to live at the school with me.”

“I would not have to give up anything,” he said. “Nor
could
I if I wanted to. But one of us does not have to sacrifice our life for the sake of the other. We can both live, Claudia—and love.”

“Your father would have an apoplexy,” she said.

“Probably not,” he said. “But the matter would admittedly have to be broached carefully with him—yet firmly. I am his son, but I am also a person in my own right.”

“Your mother—”

“…would adore anyone who could make me happy,” he said.

“The Countess of Sutton—”

“Wilma can think or say or do what she likes,” he said. “My sister is certainly not going to rule my life, Claudia. Or yours. You are stronger than she is.”

“The
ton
—”

“…can go hang for all I care,” he said. “But there are precedents galore. Bewcastle married a country schoolteacher and got away with it. Why cannot I marry the owner and headmistress of a respected school for girls?”

“
Will
you let me complete a sentence?” she asked him.

“I am listening,” he said.

“I could not
possibly
live the life of a marchioness or a duchess,” she said. “I could not
possibly
mingle with the
ton
on a regular basis. And I could not possibly be your wife. You need heirs. I am thirty-five years old.”

“So am I,” he said. “And one heir will do. Or none. I would rather marry you and be childless apart from Lizzie than marry someone else and have twelve sons with her.”

“That sounds all very fine,” she said. “But it is not practical.”

“Good Lord, no,” he agreed. “With all those boys I would never know a moment's peace in my own home.”

“Jo-seph!”

“Clau-dia.” He set one finger along the length of her nose and smiled at her.

A log crackled in the hearth and settled lower. The blaze began to die down. The little hut was as warm as toast inside, she realized.

“There are some problems, admittedly,” he said. “We
are
from somewhat different worlds, and it seems that they would make an awkward fit. But not an impossible one—I refuse to believe it. The idea that love conquers all may seem to be a foolishly idealistic one, but I believe in it nonetheless. How can I believe otherwise? If love cannot conquer all, what can? Hatred? Violence? Despair?”

“Joseph.” She sighed. “What about Lizzie?”

“She loves you dearly,” he said. “And if you marry me and come to live with us, she does not have to fear that you will take the dog away from her.”

“It is all quite impossible, you know,” she said.

“But there is no conviction whatsoever left in your voice,” he told her. “I am winning here. Admit it.”

“Joseph.” Once more her eyes filled with tears. “This is no contest. It
is
impossible.”

“Let's talk about it tomorrow,” he said. “I'll come over to Lindsey Hall to see Lizzie, and you and I will talk. But perhaps you should have a word with my cousins before you leave here—Neville, Lauren, Gwen. Perhaps you had better
not
talk to Wilma, though she would be able to tell you the same thing. They will all tell you that I never played fair as a lad, that I always had to have my own way. I was quite detestable. I still do not play fair when I want something badly enough.”

He had snuggled closer—if that were possible—while he talked, and was now nuzzling her ear and the side of her neck while smoothing his hand over her hip and buttock and along her spine until her toes curled again.

“We had better dress and go back to the house,” she said. “It would be too shameful if everyone were ready to return to Lindsey Hall and I was nowhere to be found.”

“Mmm,” he said into her ear. “In a moment. Or several moments might be better.”

And he moved them again so that this time he was lying on his back and she was lying on top of him.

“Love me,” he said. “Never mind practicalities or impossibilities. Love me, Claudia. My love.”

She spread her legs to set her knees on either side of his hips and raised herself onto her arms to look down at him. Her hair fell forward to form a sort of curtain about them.

“Once upon a time,” she said, sighing one more time, “I thought I was a woman of firm will.”

“Am I a bad influence on you?” he asked.

“You certainly are,” she said severely.

“Good,” he said and grinned. “Love me.”

She did.

24

It was a blustery day. White clouds scudded across a blue sky,
bathing the ground in sunshine one moment, darkening it with shade the next. Trees waved their branches and flowers tossed their heads. But it was warm. And it was potentially the loveliest day of his life, Joseph thought as he arrived at Lindsey Hall late in the morning.

Potentially.

It had not been an easy day so far.

His father had quivered with fury even just with the news that Portia had run off with McLeith. He had not excused her actions for a moment—far from it. But neither had he excused Joseph for driving her to take such drastic measures.

“Her disgrace will be on your conscience for the rest of your life,” he had told his son. “If you
have
a conscience, that is.”

And then Joseph had broached the topic of Claudia Martin. At first his father had been simply incredulous.

“That spinster schoolteacher?” he had asked.

Then, when he had understood fully that it was indeed she, he had exploded in a storm of wrath that had had both Joseph and his mother seriously worried for his health.

Joseph had held firm. And he had shamelessly played his trump card.

“Mr. Martin, her father,” he had explained, “was guardian to the Duke of McLeith. The duke grew up in their home from the age of five. He thinks of Claudia almost as a sister.”

McLeith was not much in his father's favor this morning, of course, but nevertheless the man was of a rank to match his own, even if it
was
only a Scottish title.

Joseph's mother had asked the only question that really mattered to her.

“Do you
love
Miss Martin, Joseph?” she had asked.

“I do, Mama,” he had told her. “With all my heart.”

“I never did really like Miss Hunt,” she had admitted. “There is something cold about her. One can only hope she loves the Duke of McLeith.”

“Sadie!”

“No, Webster,” she had said. “I will not be quiet when the happiness of my own children is at stake. I am surprised, I must confess. Miss Martin seems too old and plain and stern for Joseph, but if he loves her and if she loves him, then I am content. And she will welcome dear Lizzie into your family, I daresay, Joseph. I would invite them both to tea if I were in my own home.”

“Sadie—”

“But I am not,” she had said. “Are you going to Lindsey Hall this morning, Joseph? Tell Miss Martin if you will that I will call on her this afternoon. I daresay Clara will go with me or Gwen or Lauren if your father will not.”

“Thank you, Mama.” He had raised her hand to his lips.

There had still been Wilma to face, of course, before he left for Lindsey Hall. She was not to be avoided. She had been waiting for him outside the library and had forced him into the small visitors' salon next to it. Surprisingly—perhaps—she had had nothing but recriminations to call down upon the head of the unfortunate Portia. But she had been deeply shocked by the rumors she had heard last night—rumors none of her cousins would either confirm or deny. Not that rumors had been necessary.

“You
waltzed
with that teacher, Joseph,” she had said, “as if no one else existed in the world but her.”

“No one did,” he had told her.

“It was quite indecorous,” she had said. “You made an utter cake of yourself.”

He had smiled.

“And then you
disappeared
with her,” she had said. “Everyone must have noticed. It was quite scandalous. You had better be very careful or you are going to find yourself trapped into marrying her. You do not know what women like her are capable of, Joseph. She—”

“It is I,” he had told her, “who am trying to trap
her
into marriage, Wilma. Or to persuade her to marry me, anyway. It is not going to be easy. She does not like dukes or even dukes in waiting, and she has no desire whatsoever to be a duchess—even if such a fate is comfortably far in the future provided we can keep Papa healthy. But she
does
like her pupils—especially, I suspect, her charity girls. She feels an obligation to them and to the school she began and has run successfully for almost fifteen years.”

She had stared at him, almost speechless for once.

“You are going to
marry
her?” she had asked him.

“If she will have me,” he had said.

“
Of course
she will have you,” she had told him.

“Lord, Wil,” he had said, “I hope you are right.”

“Wil.” She had looked arrested. “You have not called me that for
years
.”

He had caught her by the shoulders suddenly and pulled her into an impulsive hug.

“Wish me luck,” he had said.

“Does she really mean that much to you?” she had asked him. “I cannot see the attraction, Joseph.”

“You do not have to,” he had said. “Wish me luck.”

“I doubt you will need it,” she had said. But she had tightened her arms about him. “Go and get her then if you must. I daresay I will tolerate her if she makes you happy.”

“Thank you, Wil.” He had grinned at her as he released her.

Neville had clapped a hand on his shoulder when they met on the stairs after he escaped from the salon.

“Still on your feet, are you, Joe?” he had said. “Do you need a sympathetic ear? A companion with whom to ride neck or nothing across the roughest terrain we can find? Someone with whom to get thoroughly foxed even this early in the day? I am your man if you need me.”

“I am on my way to Lindsey Hall,” Joseph had said with a grin. “Once my relatives have stopped delaying me, that is.”

“Quite so.” Neville had removed his hand. “I left Lily and Lauren and Gwen all huddled together in our room, all close to tears because Uncle Webster's voice was carrying from the library and it did not sound pleased with life. And all agreeing that
finally
, despite Uncle Webster, dearest Joseph was going to be
happy
. I think they must have been referring to the possibility of your marrying Miss Martin.”

He had grinned back at Joseph before slapping a hand on his shoulder again and then continuing on his way downstairs.

And so now at last Joseph was arriving at Lindsey Hall, buoyed by hope despite the fact that he knew nothing was yet decided. Claudia herself was the remaining hurdle—and the greatest. She had loved him last night with passionate abandon, especially the second time when she had been on top and had taken the initiative in a manner that could make his temperature soar even in memory. She also
loved
him. He felt no real doubt about that. But making love to him, even loving him, was not the same thing as marrying him.

Marriage would be a huge step for her—far more so than for almost any other woman. For most women marriage was a step up to greater freedom and independence, to a more active and interesting life, to greater personal fulfillment. Claudia already had all those things.

He asked for her when he arrived at the house, and she sent down Lizzie. She came alone, with the dog leading her, and stepped inside the salon when a footman opened the door for her, her face lit up with smiles.

“Papa?” she said.

He strode toward her, wrapped his arms about her, and twirled her about.

“How is my best girl this morning?” he asked her.

“I am well,” she said. “Is it
true,
Papa? Edna and Flora heard it from one of the maids, who heard it from another maid, who heard it from one of the ladies—it might have been the duchess, though I am not sure. But they all say it is true.
Has
Miss Hunt gone away?”

Ah.

“It is true,” he said.

“Never to return?”

“Never,” he told her.

“Oh, Papa.” She clasped her hands to her bosom and turned her face up to his. “I am
so
glad.”

“So am I,” he said.

“And is it
true,
” she asked him, “that you are going to marry Miss Martin instead?”

Good Lord!

“Is that what Flora and Edna and all the maids say too?” he asked her.

“Yes,” she said.

“And what does Miss Martin have to say about it?” he asked her.

“Nothing,” she said. “She was cross when I asked her. She told me I ought not to listen to the gossip of servants. And when the other girls asked her too, she got
very
cross and told them she would make them all do mathematics problems for the rest of the morning if they did not stop even if this
is
a holiday. Then Miss Thompson took them all outside except for Julia Jones, who was playing the spinet.”

“And except for you,” he said.

“Yes,” she agreed. “I knew you would come, Papa. I waited for you. I wanted Miss Martin to come down with me, but she would not. She said she had things to do.”

“She did not say
better
things, by any chance, did she?” he asked.

“Yes, she did,” Lizzie told him.

It sounded as if Claudia Martin was as prickly as a hedgehog this morning. She had had a night—well, a few hours anyway—to sleep upon her memories of last evening.

“I am thinking of selling the house in London,” he told Lizzie. “I am planning to take you to Willowgreen to live. It is a large house in the country with a park all about it. There will be space there for you and fresh air and flowers and birds and musical instruments and—”

“And you, Papa?” she asked him.

“And me,” he said. “We will be able to live in the same house together all the time, Lizzie. You will no longer have to wait for my visits—and I will no longer have to wait until there are no other obligations and I can visit you at last. We will be together every day. I will be home, and it will be your home too.”

“And Miss Martin's?” she asked.

“Would you like that?” he asked her.

“I would like it of
all things,
Papa,” she said. “She teaches me things, and it is fun. And I like her voice. I feel safe with her. I think she likes me. No, I think she
loves
me.”

“Even when she is cross?” he asked.

“I think she was cross this morning,” she said, “because she wants to marry you, Papa.”

Which, he supposed, was perfect feminine logic.

“You would not mind, then,” he asked her, “if I married her?”

“Silly,” she said, clucking her tongue. “If you marry her, she will be my sort-of mama, will she not? I loved Mother, Papa. I really did. I miss her dreadfully. But I would like to have a new mama—if she is Miss Martin.”

“Not sort-of mama,” he said. “She would be your stepmother.”

“My sort-of stepmother,” she said. “I am a bas—I am your
love
child. I am not your proper daughter. Mother taught me that.”

He clucked his tongue, took her firmly by the hand, opened the door, and marched her in the direction of the stairs. The dog trotted after them.

Claudia was still in the schoolroom. Julia Jones was not. She had finished playing the spinet and had gone about some other business.

“I need your opinion on something,” Joseph said, shutting the door firmly behind them as Claudia rose to her feet and clasped her hands at her waist, her spine ramrod straight, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Lizzie informs me that if you were to marry me, you would be her sort-of stepmother. Not her full stepmother because she is not my full daughter. She is only my
love
child, which she understands to be a kindly euphemism for bastard offspring. Is she right? Or is she wrong?”

Lizzie, who had removed her hand from his grasp, looked from one to the other of them almost as if she could actually see them.

“Oh, Lizzie,” Claudia said, sighing and relaxing and transforming herself all in one second from stern, starchy schoolteacher to warm woman, “I would not be your
sort-of
stepmother or even your stepmother except in strictly legal terms. I would not even be your sort-of mother. I would be your
mama
. I would love you as dearly as any mother ever loved her child. You
are
a love child in all the best meanings of the term.”

“And what if,” Lizzie asked while Joseph gazed unblinkingly at Claudia and she gazed unblinkingly anywhere but at him. No, that was unfair—she was looking steadily at his daughter. “What if you and Papa were to have children?
Legitimate
children.”

“Then I would love them too,” Claudia said, her cheeks an interesting shade of pink. “Just as dearly. Not more so, not less. Love does not have to be portioned out, Lizzie. It is the one thing that never diminishes when one gives it away. Indeed, it only grows. In the eyes of the world, it is true, you would always be different from any children your father and…and I might have if we were married. But in
my
eyes there would be no difference whatsoever.”