She gave a small shrug, neither denying nor encouraging him.
“You’re in control tonight, Clara.” He spoke with calm reassurance, not the desperation of a man who longed to hold her close and pretend no one else existed. “We can take a tour, paddle our feet in a mineral pool. I could order supper from White’s and have it sent over with a bottle of burgundy.”
She met his gaze, the proud tilt of her chin making him smile. “You mean we don’t need to take off our clothes, kiss and frolic in the water?”
She spoke plainly, but never once mentioned love or marriage. She had called their earlier romp perfect. Did she not realise that’s what he saw when he looked at her?
“I don’t want you to do anything you’ll come to regret.” Some memories were hard to erase. One failure could eclipse a hundred triumphs. “I want you to be sure, not sorry.”
“Are you having doubts yourself?” she asked. “After all, you’ve always longed to be free of obligation. I don’t want to be another chain.”
He did laugh then. “I’m a slave to your wants and desires. I always have been. I thought you knew that.”
“Not always.” She glanced at the window as the first plump raindrop struck the pane. “Until a month ago, you had a mistress.”
“Until a month ago, you’d spent two years avoiding me.” He leaned forward. “Do you know why I ended that brief acquaintance, Clara?”
“Because you were supposed to marry Miss Woodall?”
“Because I walked into the study, saw you for the first time in two years, and realised everything but the joy I felt in that moment was a lie.”
Hell, he would sooner wound his mother than wound her. Sooner betray a friend than deny himself these precious hours alone.
He was in love, yet afraid to say the words aloud.
What they shared felt as fragile as it was beautiful.
“Tell me how to make you smile, Clara. Tell me what you need, and I’ll give it to you.”
She looked at him as though he’d asked her to recite Newton’s theories. “I don’t know what I need. Desire and need are not the same thing.”
And yet he felt both of those things when he looked at her. Perhaps she only saw him as the man who conjured new adventures. “Shall I take you home?”
“No!” Her breath caught, the raw plea a beacon in the darkness. “When I’m with you, everything feels less … broken.”
“Then if you can’t tell me what you need, Clara, tell me what you desire.”
She struggled to form a word, but when she did, it was worth the wait. “You. I desire you, Bentley. Kissing you tops every adventure. I’m just afraid because this no longer feels like a game.”
His chest tightened. God, she had no idea what she did to him. He wanted her lips, her trust, her surrender. He wanted everything she had to give.
“I’m not sure when it stopped being a game, either.” He reached for her hand, his thumb brushing the edge of hers. “Doyou want to make love in a private chamber at Porretta’s? Be honest with me.”
She shook her head. “I’ve never been inside, but I suspect it will feel too impersonal.” Giving his hand a reassuring squeeze, she added, “What do you want? Do you want to make love in a private bathing chamber?”
He laughed. “I’m afraid what I want will sound rather tame compared to the exploits on your list.”
“Tell me.”
He envisioned turning from his washstand to find her sprawled naked in his bed, candlelight tracing the curve of her bare shoulders and casting shadows on her bare breasts. “If I had my way, I’d take you home and make love to you in my grand four-poster.” Her scent would cling to his sheets for days. At night, it would be easy to believe she was still there, sleeping peacefully beside him.
“Why didn’t you say so?”
“Because this has always been about your dreams, Clara.”
“Then let’s make tonight about yours.” Strength returned to her voice, though her words were soft, warm, unguarded. “Take me home, Bentley.”
For a heartbeat, he forgot everything: the case, the danger, the promises weighing on his shoulders. There was only Clara, boldly offering to make his dreams her priority.