Page 55 of A Duke's Temptation Poetess
“This is a lovely estate to have a ball on,” Lady Bentley said.
“Thank you,” Deborah said.
The ball would be even better if Lord Creshire did not make an appearance. His eyes drifted towards Lady Clarissa, lovely as always. Her beautiful face was lowered as she ate, her beautiful hazel eyes averted. This was the woman who Aunt Matilda thought he ought to marry.
Colin wanted to be horrified at the idea, but after his conversation with his aunt, he felt himself soften with the thought. He could be Lady Clarissa’s husband. He swallowed hard, his pulse quickening. If he wed Lady Clarissa, he would not be rakish if he desired her. It was so deceptively simple.
“I trust that your rooms were satisfactory?” Deborah asked.
“They were,” Lady Bentley said. “I am most grateful to you, Lady Roswood, for your unprecedented hospitality.”
Lady Clarissa would be so near him. Colin took a steadying breath of air, not missing the way that the young lady’s eyes darted towards him. Was she thinking the same thing that he was?
Chapter 26
Clarissa lay in bed, her arms outstretched and her fingers kneading the fine fabric of the bedclothes. Moonlight streamed through the window of her luxurious bedchamber. Her mother had been correct about the rooms. They were beautiful.
She let out a low breath of air. Everyone in the house was already in bed and likely fast asleep, lost in their dreams. Clarissa found herself awake, though, her thoughts consumed with Colin. Colin at the bathhouse in a state of undress, Colin at dinner gazing into the distance, Colin looking intently at her, Colin smiling, and Colin’s eyes and face alight as he spoke of poetry.
“I cannot bear it,” Clarissa whispered to the dark, empty room.
Although the air outside was cooled by the sea and pleasant, Clarissa was hot. She felt as if her body were boiling, desire threatening to spill from her. Clarissa groaned and threw an arm over her forehead, frustrated in a way that she could not put in words.
Perhaps some air would aid her efforts to calm her racing heart. She left her bed and retrieved her shawl, wrapping the delicate material around her shoulders. Clarissa put on her slippers and quietly stepped across the floor, making her way to the gardens. The gazebo was a dark edifice in the distance, sharp and bold. The fragrance of the flowers danced in the air, and when Clarissa inhaled, she felt the cool, fresh air fill her lungs.
“Lady Clarissa?” A deep, masculine voice cut through the darkness, seemingly sinking all the way down to her bones. It was the voice of the Duke of Hartingdale.
He rose from the darkness. It took Clarissa a moment to realise that he had been seated on a nearby garden bench. As he drew nearer to her, she wrapped her shawl more tightly about her shoulders. Clarissa was too aware that she wore only her shawl and a nightdress. Her heart thudded fiercely in her chest. She felt as if all the dreams which she dared not speak of, which she scarcely allowed herself to acknowledge, had bloomed before her very eyes. “Your Grace,” she whispered.
The Duke of Hartingdale approached her and halted, scarcely a few feet away from her; his raised his hand. Clarissa scarcely dared to breathe as he caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. She closed her eyes, too aware of her own breathing, and leaned into his touch. Fire ran through her veins, filling her with warmth.
“Beautiful,” His Grace said. “I am so pleased to see you tonight. All I can think about is what it must be like to kiss you.”
Clarissa’s inner voice screamed at her to run far away from the Duke of Hartingdale. They should not be alone together, but she found her feet frozen to the ground. She could not bring herself to flee, especially when his proposition was so promising. The Duke of Hartingdale wished to kiss her! Clarissa had never been kissed in her life, but she had written about it—fantasising over soft lips and gentle caresses.
Her lips trembled as she tried to form the proper words. “I would like nothing more than for you to kiss me.”
She curled her fingers into the fabric of her skirts. She opened her eyes, aware of his face so near her own. His Grace’s breath came in warm pants of air against her cheek. He touched her with a respectful sort of caution, drawing his hand down her jaw. The Duke of Hartingdale’s hand curled in her hair, which fell loosely over her shoulders. She was aware at once of her vulnerability.
“As the lady wishes,” His Grace said.
The Duke of Hartingdale leaned forward and tilted his head. Clarissa’s heart raced. When their lips met, Clarissa’s breath hitched. It was the strangest sensation, and her mind whirled as she tried to find the words to describe the kiss. His mouth pressed gently against her own. Time seemed to halt around them, while Clarissa drank in the feel of His Grace.
He smelled of orange blossoms and bay leaves, and Clarissa’s toes curled. She hesitantly raised her arms until her fingers found his hair. Clarissa pressed herself more insistently against him. She pressed insistently against his mouth, her fingers curling into His Grace’s hair. Clarissa wanted more of him. Feelings stirred inside her, tightening in her stomach. The ache between her legs intensified.
She moaned deep in her throat. “Colin.”
“Colin?” he asked.
His Grace pressed his forehead against hers, a low laugh rumbling from his lips.
“Your Grace,” Clarissa corrected.
“No, I like it,” the Duke of Hartingdale said. “But if you must call me that, I must call you Clarissa.”
Her face warmed, and she answered his suggestion by pressing her lips against his once more. They explored one another’s mouths, Clarissa returning His Grace’s kisses with an eagerness that even she did not know she was capable of feeling, much less expressing.
The Duke of Hartingdale’s hands moved from her hair. He caressed her shoulders and down her arms. At last, his hands lighted on her hips. His every touch filled her with sparks, like flint being struck against steel. And all the while, His Grace kissed her mouth. Clarissa was heady with his scent and the feel of him. The Duke of Hartingdale lifted her up, drawing a shuddering gasp from Clarissa.
