Page 41 of A Duke's Temptation Poetess
His Grace’s eyes were fixed firmly upon Clarissa’s face, which sent a jolt of pleasure coursing through her. She dropped her gaze only to exit the carriage. When their eyes met again, she offered the Duke of Hartingdale a slow, sly smile.
“I believe introductions may be in order,” His Grace said smoothly.
Had his voice always had that low, rumbling quality to it?Clarissa thought as she noticed her pulse quicken. Her mind screamed at her to say something intelligent, but no words came to mind.
“Indeed,” her mother said.
Introductions were made among the crowd, and aside from a couple of polite, fleeting glances towards Lord and Lady Roswood, Clarissa kept her gaze on His Grace the entire time. She burned with the need to ask him about Venus St. Clair and for something else which she could not put into words.
All at once, Clarissa became aware of a pressure on her arm. Her head snapped to see her cousin Jane had suddenly grabbed her arm and held it in an iron grasp.
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Spencer,” Lord Watford said.
Jane smiled and laughed, the sound clearly edged with something awkward and anxious. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my Lord,” she said, curtseying.
Clarissa barely managed to remain upright, as her cousin had yet to release her arm. She looked at Jane again, who had begun to fan herself, and back to Lord Watford. In an instant, everything in the world shifted into clarity. Jane was attracted to this young Lord, and from the way he gazed at her, Clarissa was not entirely sure that the feeling remained unreciprocated.
“How do you all feel about a walk about the gardens before tea?” Lady Matilda asked. “It is not good for young people to sit as much as us older ladies.”
Clarissa saw her mother cast Lady Matilda a nearly imperceptible glare, likely irritated by being referred to asolder. Aunt Frances only laughed. “I agree,” she said. “Jane, you are familiar with the gardens, too. Perhaps you can show the others your favourite trail.”
“That sounds agreeable,” Lord Watford said, offering his arm. “I should like a guide about the gardens, Miss Spencer.”
Jane took his arm, Clarissa hoped with a less firm grip than she had received. The Lord and Lady Roswood linked arms, which left only one suitable escort for Clarissa. She was too aware of how warm her face was once more, as His Grace gazed at her with that sharp intensity that he had when they were alone together in Bath.
“Shall we?” he asked cordially, his voice betraying no hint of anything remotely improper.
“We shall,” Clarissa said, carefully placing her hand at the crook of his elbow.
Touching him filled her with that same indescribable sensation. Everything inside her went taunt and tight, and she could not have even said why. It was pleasant still. But strange. Clarissa recognised it vaguely as attraction, even if that made no sense.
Why would she be attracted to a man who she had been repulsed by until very recently? Well, perhaps repulsed was too strong of a word. She had always found him handsome and understood why women might find him desirable, but his behaviour had been detestable to her.
Even his recent behaviour should have given her few reasons to desire him. He had behaved rather like a rake; holding her, attempting to kiss her, and advising her to read a poet no proper lady should. So surely, her revulsion toward him should have only grown, but instead, it softened. It was as if she could no longer be repelled by him, now that he presented this entire new world to her.
They began walking, Jane and Lord Watford going first. Lord and Lady Roswood followed. Clarissa noticed that His Grace seemed to be moving deliberately slowly, seemingly trying to create some distance between himself and his sister. “So,” he said at last.
“So,” Clarissa echoed.
“I am dreadfully curious to know if you read my letter,” he said.
“I did. I am pleased that you liked my poetry,” Clarissa replied, “even if you think there are some areas which still need improvement. I suppose I ought to be offended by that, but I am not. Every artist has the potential for improvement.”
“I hope I did not offend you.”
His Grace halted, and they stood very near to one another, surrounded by the gardens. Lord and Lady Roswood remained in sight, but they were far away. Clarissa’s pulse quickened. She was all but alone in the gardens with the Duke of Hartingdale.
“How could I possibly be offended?” she whispered. “Especially by a poet whom I have never read?”
***
Colin leaned nearer to Lady Clarissa, inhaling the sweet lavender oil in her hair. Although he was surrounded by fragrant flowers, she seemed to be lovelier than them all. The scent of her filled all his senses to the brim. It was an intoxicating aroma, like a spell bubbling from a cauldron, and it conjured forth the most intoxicating image of Lady Clarissa.
He imagined what she must look like with all those layers of clothing stripped away. Her body would be perfect and as white as a swan, all soft curves. He imagined her cheeks and slender neck blooming pink beneath his kisses and attentions. And her hair was held back in dark brown ringlets, half concealed by her straw hat. He imagined her hair loose and cascading over her shoulders.
“I appreciate your advice,” Lady Clarissa said, her voice snapping Colin abruptly back to the present. “I am undecided as to if I will heed it or not.”
“Undecided?” he asked blankly, his mind still half-caught in that vision of Lady Clarissa.
