Page 37 of A Duke's Temptation Poetess
Clarissa shook her head. “He has his charms, as do most men. However, I am quite sure that I do not love him. Most regrettably.”
Aunt Frances and her cousin Jane gave her sympathetic nods. Clarissa did not look at her mother for her reaction, but she did not have to. Her mother was, as always, frustrated with her desire to find a love match.
***
It was later that evening when Clarissa finally managed to have a moment alone. She stood in her room, having asked the maid to allow her privacy. Only once she was certain that the maid was gone had Clarissa removed her gown and pulled the paper from her stays. She unfolded it carefully, nearly reverently.
Dear Lady Clarissa,
Having read your poetry, I feel as though I must offer some advice. Take it as you will or not. I imagine that a woman does not write poetry the same way that a man does, simply because she does not perceive the world in the same way that a man does.
You have an obvious talent, which I am a little envious of. Regrettably, all my love for poetry could not make me a poet. The one thing which I feel you lack is the knowledge of the acts you are describing.
Your poetry reads as if you have never been kissed, never been besotted, never having experienced that passion which a woman might feel for a man. Of course, you do not have the opportunity to indulge in all those desires. There are no female rakes, and if there were, I imagine they would be treated even less kindly than male rakes. However, I have enclosed a list of my favourite poems and poets which you may find especially enlightening.
Yours, etc.,
Clarissa sighed happily and clutched the letter to her chest. He approved! His Grace thought that she was talented and liked her poetry! She smiled so brightly that her jaw hurt. If she had not worried about being overheard, she might have screamed with joy.
Beneath that small note was a long list of poems and poets, just as His Grace had promised. Clarissa read them with eager eyes. Some of these, she already knew intimately. She had read Shakespeare since her girlhood, even sneaking into her father’s library to seek out those of his works which were considered inappropriate for young ladies to read. John Donne was also a familiar name.
To her surprise, not all of the poems listed were about lust or love. Some were simply nature poems, others old romances or fairy tales. The Duke of Hartingdale seemed to have a scholar’s knowledge of all realms of literature. It was a pity that they had not made one another’s acquaintances much sooner! All the ton’s events would have been infinitely more enjoyable if His Grace had been there to share his thoughts on poetry with her.
Although given what I almost did with him, perhaps, it is for the best that he was not present, after all.
She continued reading through the list, and her breath caught on the very last name.Venus St. Clair.
Clarissa had never read St. Clair’s works, but she knew of them. They were said to be utterly scandalous, circulated in small pamphlets because the poet’s usual publisher allegedly argued that they were too scandalous to be printed. London had not been astonished by such a brazen publication sinceHarris’s List of Covent Garden Ladieswas in circulation.
St. Clair’s poems explicitly described intimate acts between a man and a woman, and Clarissa did not even know where she would find such material, much less how she would read it without dying from shame.
“But haveyouread those poems?” Clarissa murmured, staring at the letter.
He seemed to imply that he had not only read but alsoenjoyedSt. Clair’s poetry. His Grace would likely have a copy on hand if Clarissa really wanted it. Her face grew so hot at the thought of asking for those lurid poems that Clarissa felt as if she might burst into flames. Those poems would have mentions of kissing and touching and—
And otherthingswhich young ladies were neither supposed to know about nor speak of to anyone. Clarissa raised a shaking hand to her lips and imagined that it was His Grace’s mouth on hers instead of her own fingers. She pressed her lips against her thumb, gently applying pressure. Her throat grew tight. Would that be what a kiss felt like?
She closed her eyes and tried to imagine that it was him. Clarissa thought of his arms wrapped around her, enveloping her in the most pleasant rush of warmth. She thought of his cologne and the way his breath had felt on her cheek. “Oh, Your Grace,” she whispered.
A delightful tingle traced down the path of her spine to that forbidden place between her thighs. Clarissa’s eyes snapped open. Her own breath sounded more like gasps for air, her chest heaving beneath her stays. Clarissa stared at herself and pressed her thighs together, trying to find the words to describe the strange sensations which spread through her body. They were not entirely pleasant, but not terrible either.
She stopped herself from reaching beneath her dress and touching the one part of her that ached the most. Clarissa shivered and rubbed her forearms, unsure whether she wanted to bask in the feelings for just a little longer or force them away entirely. She stood there, thinking and feeling, until it all slowly faded.
“Well, then,” she said, taking a deep gulp of air. “That was…something.”
It was a new sensation that she had no words for. She folded up the paper with shaking hands and tucked it away inside her book of poems. Now, her two most precious possessions were together. Clarissa unlaced her stays and forced away all her thoughts of what His Grace’s hands might feel like as they undid her stays. Graceful and sure, she thought. After all, he had probably had a great deal of practice in removing a lady’s stays.
Once she was dressed in only her chemise, Clarissa collapsed onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. “What have you done to me?” she whispered in the darkness.
It might be tempting to blame him for it all, to think of him as a rake who had selfishly awakened such strange feelings within her. She did not have the name for all the sensations coursing through her, but Clarissa still recognized that they were tied to some idea of sexual desire.
And yet, she found that she could not honestly blame the Duke of Hartingdale. Perhaps he had inspired such feelings, brought them to the surface where she could no longer ignore them, but in truth, Clarissa had been so curious about lust and love for so very long.
Eventually, she had known that her resolve would break, and she would justhaveto know how such things felt. She was a lady and ought to resist those feelings, but deep down, she was not sure she wanted to.
Chapter 19
It was far too late to have dinner, but Deborah insisted that no guest would ever arrive at her home and not having something of substance to eat. Colin was secretly pleased with that. Travelling often gave him an insatiable hunger, and he did not think he would have been pleased with only a few morsels of food until breakfast the next morning. His aunt Matilda agreed.
