Page 50 of The Duke's Rebellious Love
“But…” Clara’s voice was hard, rubbed raw with her desire. She pulled him close against her. She was so desperate for him that she was prepared to be banned for life from Hatchards. Her body and mind wanted him. They were both aligned and eager for the act, whether it be up against the bookcases or on the bookshop’s floor. “We two are alike. We beat and burn together. We will not be parted again.”
“You will need to wrap your legs around me,” he whispered, “and hold on to my shoulders.”
She was nodding in agreement as Jasper’s fingers fiddled with his own breeches, and then, with an eagerness that matched her own, lifted her astride him, sliding himself inside her. Clara’s cry was sucked into his own kiss as the two of them thrust together against the bookshelves, everything else forgotten beyond their passion. Her legs came around his waist, lifting her, and allowing her to control the sensation. The movement of her rocking hips, and the feel of him deeply rooted within her body, was everything she wanted. Clara’s head pushed back against the wood as Jasper’s thrusts spiralled her towards that desperate climax. When stars flooded her vision, Clara’s legs encircled his back more tightly, and as she gasped out her release, she heard Jasper find his.
It was desperate, furious, and beyond anything she had previously envisioned.
A moment drifted past, and then Jasper eased out of her, picked her up, and moved them both over to the small chaise lounge beside the window. Slowly the sounds of the outside world returned, and the memory of where they were flooded in. Clara felt a blush colour her face, but Jasper seemed unbothered, merely pulling her close for another kiss.
“You know,” he remarked as he righted their clothes. “Most couples make love in a bed.”
“Perhaps,” Clara replied as she pulled him in close for another kiss. “That is something we can save for our marriage.”
EPILOGUE
Two months later…
Clara was curledup in a window seat, a curtain partly hiding her from the view of the entranceway. Next to her was her wedding dress, a glorious pink silk gown, whose bodice was dotted with seed pearls and whose train was overlaid with the most beautiful handsewn French lace. Beside it was her carefully selected, cream-coloured bonnet, which had a small lace-trimmed veil attached to it. However marvellous though those things were, and thrilled that it was her wedding day, Clara really did want to finish the chapter of the book her nose was buried in. Because after today, she would be a wife, duchess, and immediately a stepmother, and as everyone kept telling her, these tasks would easily fill up her day. It was odd—these pieces of advice came from every quarter, especially her mother and dowager Woolwich, but never from Jasper himself. No, he insisted that she stay precisely as she was. Still, in case something did change, or their honeymoon proved to be too distracting for reading, she should take the precaution of finishing her book.
The slight easing open of the door did not distract Clara. It would be her mother perhaps, or the maid with breakfast, and she really wanted to find out about—
The curtain parted, and it was neither her mother, her maid, or any female who might be deemed appropriate to be found in her bedchamber. It was Jasper. He filled her vision, his smile charming as he looked down at Clara—that blend of affection, love, and devotion that so moved her. He was the only person who she would willingly lower her novel for, and Clara placed it down next to her on the cushioned seat.
“What are you doing in here? What if you were seen?” She scolded. It did not land since she was smiling, nor did the willingness of Clara pulling him forward for a kiss match her query.
“I know if I am caught, we will simply have to marry.” Jasper grinned back at her. She was pleased to see that in the intervening two months in which they’d become engaged, parts of his humour, and the good-natured temperament she had known was present within him was coming to the fore. Hell, it was even manifesting in these jokes. “I snuck in, and I am sure every other lady present will be too busy with her toilette to trouble us for at least a few minutes.”
“Is that so? I had it under good authority from my own mother, as well as from yours, that we were to have a chaperone at all times.”
“But surely they both know the truth?” Jasper moved the curtain farther aside and slotted down next to her. It was immediately cramped, so he lifted her smoothly into his lap and held her tight. Turning, Clara wove her arms around his neck, and their foreheads came to rest together.
“What, that you are a duke whose bets do not work out well for him?”
Woolwich coloured at the reminder of what had brought them together as Clara raised an eyebrow. The two of them had discussed the Betting Book, and Woolwich had apologised. Snuggling into her fiancé’s arms, Clara was pleased that whilst the vengeful motivation had not been honourable, Woolwich’s amends to both herself and the Heatherbrokes proved himself to be worthy of her love.
“Today will be beautiful,” she said. The rays of the warm summer’s day were already heating their backs, and by eleven, surely it would be the most perfect wedding day.
“I have no doubt.” Jasper’s eyes moved to the dress. “But then again, I think you would look lovely in what you’re wearing now.”
“My nightdress is hardly suitable,” Clara said.
“I would deem it most appropriate for anything I would wish to do with you.” He looked back at her and kissed her again until Clara felt quite breathless. Her body warm and eager for him—they had promised since they had gotten engaged to wait to be together until they were married, and never had this arrangement seemed sillier than in this moment, despite in just a few short hours, they would be wed.
“Regretting it too?” Jasper asked, seemingly able to read her thoughts. When she did not immediately answer, Jasper placed his lips against an especially sensitive point at the base of her neck that had Clara gasping.
A sound outside the room had them both freezing, and then reluctantly, Jasper released her and got to his feet. From his pocket, he drew out a piece of paper. It was a picture. Clara leant closer and saw it was a childish rendering of three people.
“This was done by Beau,” Jasper said. “It is meant to be us.”
Touched, Clara smiled up at him. “It’s lovely. His sense of proportion…” She pointed to the figures, as the ones in the drawing were all the same size.
“I know,” Jasper said, tucking it back into his jacket. “But he wants us both to know that he plans to be as tall as me in the next year or two, so it will be true soon.”
Clara followed Jasper towards the door. She knew he had not simply sought her out to show her the picture. That there was the tiniest cloud of worry still within him. She reached for him and held his hand before he could leave her bedroom. “If this is about Harriet, I can come with you.”
“No, this is something I must do on my own. But after that, I don’t think there is anything I will have to do on my own again.”
In response to this, Clara launched herself at him. Her hands grabbed his head and pulled him down to her lips, kissing Jasper hungrily. Their tongues rubbed against one another, and his fingers moved from her waist down to clasp her bottom as he held her.
