Page 38 of The Trouble with True Love

“I shall do my best to come up to snuff. Just remember, this sort of thing works both ways.”

“Meaning?”

“You’ve told me what you expect of me, but I haven’t yet told you what I expect of you.”

Clara’s heart gave a hard thump against her ribs, and it was several seconds before she could respond.

“But you did tell me, remember?” she said at last, managing to inject a deceptive sweetness into her voice. “You intend to court me.” She gave him a wide, bright smile. “I merely have to tolerate you.”

He laughed, but before he could reply, the bells sounded, indicating that the performance was about to begin. Clara turned away and took her seat, but when Galbraith moved behind her chair and bent down close to her ear, she discovered their conversation was not quite over.

“I realize I’ll be doing all the work,” he murmured, his voice low so the others moving to take their seats would not overhear. “Nonetheless...” He paused, his warm breath against her ear making her shiver. “I think I got the better bargain, Clara.”

Suddenly, every cell in her body was tingling with awareness. She could smell the sandalwood fragrance of his shaving lotion. She could feel the tickle of one unruly lock of his hair against her temple. She could almost hear the hard thud of her own heartbeat.

Thankfully, the lights dimmed. He straightened to take his own seat somewhere behind her, but though he was unable to see the evidence of how his closeness and his words affected her, she feared he was fully aware of the feelings he had evoked. He was, she acknowledged in chagrin, that sort of man.

The orchestra began to play the overture to Verdi’sAida, but even over the music, she could still hear his words from that afternoon echoing in her mind.

I know women.

He certainly did. And though he might be right that he was the one required to do all the work, their bargain wasn’t going to be a stroll in the park for her, either. Quite the contrary, for only a few suggestive words on his part, and she could barely draw breath.

Clara pressed a hand to her tightly corseted ribs and grimaced. This mock courtship hadn’t even begun, but she feared she might already be in over her head.

Chapter 9

Rex had no illusions about his own character. He liked women, he’d discovered just what delights they could offer about the time he turned fifteen, and he had never suffered any pangs of conscience about the fact that most of the delights he preferred were carnal in nature.

And though he did have certain strict rules when it came to his conduct with women, he’d never been one for suppressing naughty thoughts about them, particularly nowadays when thoughts were all he could afford. By the time he sat down behind Clara, the image of her laughing face and the orange-blossom scent of her hair had already lit the erotic fires of his imagination.

Unfortunately, the view he had of her now afforded that fire little in the way of fuel. Her back, sheathed completely in deep pink silk, her hair, swept up in its usual severe braided crown, the back of her long, slender neck—he stopped there, his gaze caught at her nape just above the edge of her evening gown.

In the dimness of the theater, her pale skin seemed to gleam like alabaster, but he’d wager it was as soft as velvet. If he leaned forward and kissed her there, he could find out for sure.

He closed his eyes, savoring the imagined texture of her skin against his mouth, and the desire in his body deepened and spread. His breathing quickened at the imagined scent of orange blossoms. A picture of her formed in his mind, an image of all that brown hair unbraided and falling loose around her small, round breasts and pale pink nipples.

Fully aroused, he shifted in his seat and grimaced, appreciating that this sort of thinking did have its drawbacks. Unrelieved, it would soon make him deuced uncomfortable. And since with her it could never be relieved, going down this road was probably unwise.

Clara Deverill was not a dancer at the Gaiety, or a woman on the town. She was innocent, pure, and definitely marriage-minded. Her opinion of his character put him just a little above—or perhaps even below—the slimy muck that lined the bottom of ponds. She might look as soft as a lamb, but she had a surprisingly steely core and a staunch sense of morality. And though she had a bit of a stammer when she was nervous, her tongue could sting him quite well when the need arose.

If he hoped any of that would put paid to his erotic imaginings, however, he was mistaken, for he immediately began contemplating various ways Clara could employ her tongue for purposes more pleasurable than stinging him, and he shifted in his seat again.

“For heaven’s sake, Rex,” his cousin Henrietta whispered beside him, “what is wrong with you? You’re wriggling like a boy at Sunday service.”

Rex gave a caustic chuckle. “You have no idea how inappropriate that analogy is right now, Hetty,” he muttered and opened his eyes.

“Indeed?” purred his cousin. “Dare I wonder who is the subject of these irreverent thoughts? Do tell.”

Rex cast a sideways glance at her, noting her amused expression. “Nothing to tell,” he said and looked away, pretending a sudden interest in the performance going on below. “And even if there were,” he added, striving to sound carelessly blasé, “it wouldn’t matter. As a gentleman, I am obligated to keep mum.”

“Such discretion does you credit, of course, though I shouldn’t think it necessary. But then...” She paused, her gaze glancing sideways to the seat directly in front of his. “Perhaps we’re not talking about a Gaiety Girl.”

There was a question in those words, giving him the perfect opportunity to begin playing the part he’d created for himself, but before he could affirm the direction of her speculations, Clara’s words of a short time ago came back to him.

What you’re asking me to do is deliberately mislead the members of your family.

He stirred in his chair again, frustrated by something beyond mere physical discomfort. Guilt was an emotion he did not care for and could certainly not afford to indulge.

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