Discomfort seethed through Woolwich, and he wondered suddenly if Clara had forever gone from his life, slipped too quickly from him. A large black hole, the one he normally ignored, gaped wider in his chest.
He nodded at the maid and hurried up the outer steps of the house to reach the cooler interior. More boxed goods and valises cluttered the hallway, and then from high above, he heard Clara’s voice, talking lightly to her maid, a giggle to the tone. Often, he had heard it raised in argument or disagreement. On occasion, he had heard it engaged in lively debate. Last night, he’d heard her sweet, cooing noises, which had heated his blood. His only conclusion was that her voice was the most intoxicating sound, a blend of heat and passion, wisdom, and excitement, that no other woman could match. Her voice locked its nails into his chest and pulled him forward, exerting her influence without even knowing her power over him.
Without thinking it through, Woolwich took the stairs, rushing up to the higher levels of the mansion, eager to find his temptress.
“Now Saunders,” she laughed, “it shouldn’t take me too long to gather the last of these things. You head downstairs, and I will see you tomorrow.”
Woolwich had paused in the corridor and watched Clara’s maid depart, carrying luggage with her. Stepping through the open door, Woolwich entered Clara’s bedchamber, relieved she was still here, the pleasure at seeing her afresh alive within him.
There she stood, surrounded by several piles of her beloved books, a novel in each of her hands, bending close to one of the cases, her rounded derriere pulling the gown she wore flush against her frame. Her red curls were loosely tied back with a black ribbon and hung low down her back. She had not heard him arrive.
Unable to stay still any longer, Woolwich walked forward and wrapped his arms around Clara, pulling her against him so that he could finally breathe again.
CHAPTER22
When Clara felt his arms close around her, for the briefest of moments, she allowed herself just to feel. To acknowledge this pleasure of being close to Jasper after the tumult of thoughts and worries which had consumed her, to luxuriate in the strength of his arms, which made her feel safe, and the warmth of Jasper’s breath against the back of her neck. It was so tempting to whisper, ‘I’ve missed you,’ but she feared what power this would give him, given the amount of sway he already had over her.
Leaning down, she loosened Jasper’s arms from around her and turned to look up into his face. Her friends, her dearly beloved friends, were all wives, and their gossip had removed a great many anxieties she might have had about the marriage bed, as well as laying the groundwork for an expectation that it would involve some joy. Clara had not been prepared for the rising desire she felt now as she looked at Jasper. One taste, one night had merely stirred the ache within her. His presence in her bedchamber, of course, fed that hunger—from his haughty stare and posture, a presence of his which was both known but not indulged in. As she searched his brilliant eyes, part of her felt sure he must feel a similar desire. It thrilled her to feel as if the power of their physical appeal to one another was mutual and that he wanted her as much as she wanted him. The only problem was, of course, how angry she was with the duke and how much she would need to cling to that shield unless she wanted to drop to her knees and beg him to take her. That image of doing just so blazed through Clara, warming her innards and making her want him all the more.
“I did not expect to see you here,” Clara said. Her words could be applied to his presence generally, or rather to him being in her bedchamber—she liked how her statement had multiple applications. She stepped back, away from him, until her legs came to rest against her desk. If this were downstairs, she would perhaps sink into the seat next to the desk, but she did not want to grace this visit with the impression of formality.
“You knew I would need to see you.” Woolwich remained stationary, although his gaze never left her face. The expression was intense, almost like he was memorising her features.
“Your choice to run to my brother-in-law was humiliation enough. You now seek to make it worse by what, being discovered here?”
Woolwich shrugged. It was a nonchalant gesture, and it infuriated Clara. How could he remain so calm and careless when she may well be ruined? She certainly was, in the eyes of the earl and countess and anyone else he might have told. Marching away from the desk, she reached Woolwich and grabbed his coat, shaking him, determined he would see the damage his reckless actions had caused. Sadly, she realised too late that this put her far too near to him, and when she tried to step back, Woolwich’s hand had already snaked around her waist, locking her to him.
“Do you think I would let you remain engaged to another man?” He was bending close to her, and when Clara looked into his eyes, she realised the coldness he had shown had melted, and the very soul of him seemed enflamed. “After what had occurred between us.”
“It was a mistake.”
“Like hell it was.” His free hand came up and tangled amongst her curls, encouraging her to stay looking into his face. The very touch of him seemed to be causing cartwheels beneath Clara’s skin, a burning mixture of heat, desire, and light which was scolding its way through her body, blood, and deeper still. Now, of course, she knew all too well what that lingering, desirous feeling meant. She wanted him pressed against her, inside her once more. Overwhelmingly masculine, the touch of his hands gracing and stroking against her body until she could barely think clearly.
“All we do is argue,” Clara said, her frame leant in for just the briefest of moments, merely to satisfy her curiosity, she told herself, but she then found it impossible to pull away.
Woolwich was smiling, his thin lips oddly amused as if she had made a joke. “I think we’ve found something we prefer doing.” His touch trailed to the point just below her ear, and he made a soft circular movement before leaning closer, giving the impression that he would kiss her. Clara closed her eyes, ready for the taste of him, but it never came. Instead, she heard him whisper, close to the now sensitive spot he had touched, “I would much rather stroke you elsewhere.”
Clara’s eyes shot open, and she stared into his face, unable to look away because of the proximity and how well he seemed to be able to read her. How did he know she had desperately wanted to feel his fingers precisely doing that across every inch of her? When not racked with concerns and frets of the night, she had been consumed with the hunger to repeat what had happened in the conservatory.
“We can’t.” Clara’s voice was not her own. There was a pleading note to it, and it further fed the heat in her face, but Woolwich did not seem to mind. In fact, he just smiled.
“All the servants are busy, and your sister—”
“She has already left with my mother and the children,” Clara muttered. It was galling to realise that the blasted man was right. She was angry, furiously so with him, but it seemed as if it came in second to how much she wanted him.
There was a decided smile on his face as he nodded. “I thought that seemed the case.”
“I am grateful for the time to gather my thoughts—”
“And receive more offers of marriage?”
“Why? Do you know someone who might be interested and is not seeking to blackmail me?” Clara asked. She tried her best to match his teasing tone, but she had her doubts it had worked.
With a careful step backwards, Woolwich eased away from her and dropped to one knee before her. He drew out from his waistcoat pocket a box, and Clara watched in surprise as one of the most eligible men in the whole kingdom lifted the engagement ring up for her approval. It was a stunning ring, elegant and expensive looking, a twist of diamonds and pearls, but all Clara wanted to know was whether the man behind the ring might love her as much as she loved him.
So, she asked, “Why?”
Frowning, Woolwich stared up at her, “Do you not like the ring?”
