“It is beautiful.”
“Will you try it on?”
The devil may as well have been tempting Eve, Clara thought as she looked at the ring once more. If the more practical side of her mind won, she would say yes to him. She would be a wealthy, well-connected woman for the whole of her life. The worries or isolation she had, on occasion, experienced or feared would be gone. She would never have to don male clothes in a desperate bid to win a groom.
Woolwich had captured her left hand and slipped the ring in place as he got to his feet. “It suits you.” There was a tentative note to his voice as if he still wanted to give her the impression she had some choice in the matter, and this wasn’t a manipulative ploy on his part.
Tentatively, Clara touched the largest diamond.
“It was not Annabelle’s if that was your fear.”
“That is considerate of you.” Immediately, Clara wondered what Annabelle’s ring had been like.
As if sensing her query, Woolwich said, “There are not two more dissimilar women I can think of.”
“She was very elegant and beautiful,” Clara supplied, feeling her confidence dip.
Woolwich made a strange noise, and said, “Your beauty matches hers, and besides, there is the matter of your internal nature which far exceeds hers. Loyalty and strength of will and mind are more worthy indicators than a neatly turned wrist.”
To this, Clara nodded, only half agreeing with his assessment. The problem, as she saw it, was straightforward: She was different as night was to day in comparison to Annabelle. And she normally wouldn’t mind, but it was Annabelle who he’d loved. Clara did not think herself an envious person, especially not about a woman who was dead, but that she might be held up in comparison or to a standard. She did not think she could bear that.
“If you do not like it, there are other family rings you can pick. Or we can choose something new.”
Swallowing, Clara tried to think of what to say that would adequately describe the push and pull her feelings, how tempted she was by him and his offer, and yet how she knew it would not be wise to lock herself in matrimony to a man who could never love again, as Jasper had said was the case for him.
“We can have a great society wedding if you want or a discreet one here in Town. It would not take much to arrange a special license.” His voice changed and even seemed mildly amused as he made his final suggestion. “I suppose we could also run off to Gretna if you really wanted to. My preference would be for a discreet service within the next week. I will, of course, visit your parents in Sussex as well to seek their blessing. There will be no need for a dowry or anything like that. Hurstbourne informed me that your former fiancé has been paid off, so we need not fear any problems arising from him. The sooner our own announcement is made, the better.”
“You have not answered my question,” Clara said. “I want to know your reasons for wanting this union. I know there are practical—”
“There is a risk, a chance of you being pregnant. I will not see you go through that scandal, and I would not put my child through such a…”
“And if I am not? Then we have tied ourselves together unnecessarily.”
“I would want you either way. Whether you are or not. If we had a dozen children or none, I would still wish to marry you. You and I are alike—we are both stubborn creatures who would prefer solitude to company, who find it hard to unearth kindred spirits amongst theTon.” There was a pained expression on his face. Woolwich found the words difficult to formulate, but nevertheless, he soldiered on. “With you, there is a comfort and a solace that I never expected to experience with someone I fought with in such a manner.”
A flood of emotion made Clara smile at him, although she wished that Woolwich would say such things with a touch more sentiment, rather than his normal, brusque manner. She returned to the desk, leaning against the solid structure. If he wanted her in such a manner for his wife, was that not remarkably similar to affection? And could deep regard and lust, humour, and time blend into something strikingly similar to love? Besides, the practical voice in Clara’s head reminded her she was ruined by this man.
He must have seen that moment of hesitation because suddenly Jasper was before her, his hands cupping her face, angling her mouth to kiss her wholeheartedly, as his body pressed against hers. It was humbling to realise that, whilst she could question everything else, she had no doubt she wanted this: his kiss, the feel of him, his touch close to her. Lifting her hands onto his shoulders, Clara accepted the taste and feel of his tongue slipping between her lips and the heady sensation of him being so close to her once more.
One hand moved from untying her hair to gliding down her back before lifting her more securely onto the desk and moving between her parted legs.
Jasper leant forward and kissed her, the momentum carrying them back to lean over her wooden top, spilling the remaining books onto the floor. Her hands clung to his hair as she held on to him. With scrambling hands, he eased apart her gown, keen, it seemed, to touch her. As desirous as she was to feel his fingers on her quivering flesh.
As soon as Jasper did, Clara cried out. She could not hide her eagerness for him. His fingers slipped inside, tentative at first, until the rhythm of her hips begged for more. The wood of the desk on which they were located was hard against her back, making Clara conscious of her body against the unforgiving material. He loosened his touch from her and freed his own manhood, and Clara felt it brush first against her leg and then against the wet folds of her sex. With a passionate thrust, he pushed inside her.
With his arms on either side of her head, Clara felt certain there was a world outside the one they were making together, but all that really mattered was what existed between them. He was stretching her with silken ease as he moved deeper inside her. Each time he did so, Clara swore she’d remember the sensation, note it down to treasure it for later. But the truth was, every time he pumped in and out, the rational sense she prided herself on slipped away from her, and all she could do was cling to his shoulders, lift her hips, and enjoy every inch of it. Of him. The sensation of being made love to. Now she knew why it was called such—it transcended all reason being linked to another human, and in this case being connected so to Jasper meant that he was touching, devouring, consuming not just her body but her soul too.
Comprehending what Jasper was doing to her was beyond Clara. How he was making her beg, the gasps uttered forth from her lips, unbidden and unchecked. Especially when he caught her eye and slid his hand down between their joined bodies to first touch and then stroke and enflame the sensitive spot buried at the top of her sex. The pressure caused stars to appear before her eyes, and Clara’s breathing grew ragged, and her hands clung to his pulsing back. Her touch seemed to trigger something within him, and Jasper rocked faster, catching at that burning, bright, glorious need that was ratcheting higher within her. There were colours not present within her bedchamber blurring her eyes, and as she gazed up at Jasper above her, she felt tears flood her eyes, and the needful release clawed its way through her body, making her cry out in desperation, because of the beautiful trickery of his hands.
“Jasper,” she said. Her voice changed to high pitched and needy, eager for more, the thrill of his fingers touching her, the strength of him inside her, of his body so close and surrounding her. Loving her in a way he could not say yet, but nonetheless showed in these gestures and care.
“Beg me, Clara, say how much you need me.” There was a desperation to his tone which forced Clara to focus on him, to see how keenly he wanted her, as he plunged deeper into her. “Tell me how good this feels for you.”
“It does, it does,” her voice was growing fainter, and she realised it was because it was being robbed—stolen away by that pressure that was loosening her limbs, pinpointing over her skin, and dancing through her blood. That mounting crescendo heightened as he surged into her more fully. Clara screamed, her release coming on her again as the colours burst and the pressure lessened. All of a sudden, she was more conscious of her body, of the weight of him, and the scent and feel as he plundered her. Instinctively, her arms and legs, despite being somewhat held in place by her dress, wrapped closer to him. Enjoying the sensation as Jasper found his own release, swept up in what she assumed would be a similar feeling as her own.
Their foreheads came to rest against each other’s, still and at peace, after that whirlwind of emotion and sensation that altered all of her being. Had he felt it too, she suddenly wondered? There was a sickening feeling of fear as she realised that he had committed this act many, many times, and surely it could not be so special to him as it was to her.
As if he knew her fears, she heard Jasper say, “You are extraordinary.”
