Page 58 of A Devil in Silk
When Clara wasn’t feeling the pulse of passion in the air, she could feel the depth of his despair. “Shutting you out?”
“I’m not Marcus. It’s such a terrible inconvenience, you see.”
She resisted the urge to lay a comforting hand on his knee. “I’m not sure what’s worse. Having everyone stare or not being seen at all.”
A heavy silence settled between them.
Her thoughts always turned dark when her mood was low. She didn’t want to think about her father, and so said the only thing certain to keep the ghosts at bay.
“I want to be your mistress. It tops my list of daring adventures. I’ll fill the role temporarily until I’m forced to leave town.” She coughed to loosen her vocal cords. “I’m afraid I lack a widow’s expertise, but you taught me to play piquet when I was nineteen. I’m sure you can teach me how to give and receive pleasure.”
He stared at her dumbfounded, his mouth opening and closing like a fish desperate for air.
“Well? Do you accept my proposal?”
He dragged a hand down his face and shook his head. “By God, you’re a devil in silk, come to drive me to the depths of insanity.”
“Don’t you want to make love to me?” she pressed. He could keep on his stockings; she’d wear her eye patch. She’d heard everyone had their quirks and foibles.
He laughed, the sound half wild. “You know damn well I do. But I won’t take your virginity, Clara, not unless?—”
“I’m not marrying you, Bentley. I’m not marrying anyone.”
When the flames of desire died, there’d be nothing left but bitterness. She would rather guard her freedom than risk making vows that might turn into regret. The poets claimed no wound hurt more than unrequited love. She’d rather not suffer the pain of Bentley’s indifference every morning during breakfast.
He pressed his fingers to his eyes and groaned.
“You must have listed lovemaking in your catalogue ofWicked Things to Do to Clara Dalton. At least have the courage of your convictions.”
He leaned forward, heat blazing in his gaze. “Do you really want to know what I think about, Clara?”
“Yes.” Desperately so.
“I think about putting my mouth in places I shouldn’t. Slipping my fingers inside you until you shatter. Grinding against you until I’m close to losing my mind. There. Plain enough for you, Miss Dalton?”
Desire coiled through her like a lit fuse, but she arched a brow as though discussing nothing more scandalous than her favourite scone. “Excellent. When do we begin?”
“How about now?” He nodded towards the valise on the floor. “I bought gentlemen’s clothes. Thought we’d get drunk in a dockside tavern. It was fourth on your list, or have you swapped it with a romp in a Turkish bathhouse?”
She smiled. “No, but a romp in a bathhouse sounds better than dipping my feet in the Serpentine. We can do that tomorrow.”
“During a respite from hunting a murderer?”
“Indeed.” Her heart felt lighter than it had in days, years, even. All her fears and doubts disappeared when she frolicked with Bentley Sommersby. “When compiling my list, I never expected life could be this thrilling.”
“I must admit, until now, mine has been rather mundane.” He reached for the blinds and yanked them down, plunging them into darkness. “Allow me to help you out of those clothes.”
The firmness of his tone warmed her blood. Perhaps she should have asked if he’d found anything useful in Miss Nightshade’s book, but he captured her ankle and slipped off her silk slipper.
“Should I seek permission before removing your stockings? Or are you determined to grant me every liberty?”
“Why bother asking when you already have my permission?”
No other man had ever looked at her calves, let alone smoothed his hands over her thighs and tugged on the ribbons holding her stockings. The soft glide of his fingers sparked every nerve to life.
“I’m so damned hard already,” he said, his voice strained as he drew down her stockings. Yet the devious glint in his eyes said he wasn’t finished. “That little pearl of yours is hard, too, I’ll wager.”
“Hard, hot, and pulsing,” she said frankly, deciding there was no place for coyness between them. “I’d touch myself if I were alone. Is that something you’d want your mistress to do?”
