Page 56 of A Duke's Temptation Poetess
He lifted her onto the garden bench. “Oh!” Clarissa gasped.
They tore apart, and His Grace’s mouth found her throat. Clarissa moaned. She tilted her head back, exposing her throat, and grasped the fabric over his shoulders. He trailed kisses down her neck and to her collarbone, deftly pushing aside the fabric of her shawl.
He ran his hands up her legs, his fingers bunching up the fabric of her skirts. Clarissa gasped as his hands brushed against her thighs. She squeezed her legs together, as a heated ache built in that forbidden place. Clarissa felt as if she were on fire, every part of her body begging to be touched by the Duke of Hartingdale.
“Colin,” she murmured. “Please.”
He pulled back suddenly. Clarissa gasped and curled her fingers around the metal frame of the bench. Her breath came in heavy pants for air, and her chest heaved, straining against the fabric of her nightdress. A sudden urge rose within her to have him touch her breasts.
He took a step back, and Clarissa stared at him. Her lips tingled and felt swollen from kissing. His Grace took another step back and ran his hand through his hair. “Oh no,” he murmured. “Oh no.”
Clarissa’s eyes widened. She pressed her legs together, longing to lessen the ache between her thighs. His Grace had been doing that, had he not? He had been going to smooth away that ache, and then he had stopped so abruptly.
“I should not do this,” the Duke of Hartingdale said. “I am taking advantage of you.”
“You are not,” Clarissa rasped.
She stood and reached for him, but the Duke of Hartingdale only moved further away. He shook his head. “No, you deserve better than this. You should…you should return to your room and forget that this encounter even happened.”
“But I thought—” Clarissa cut off abruptly, unable to do anything more than stare at him.
“You need to return to your room,” His Grace repeated.
Clarissa felt as if she had fallen into an icy lake and all her senses frozen with her. Surely, he could not mean it.
“We should not be here together, at night, unchaperoned,” the Duke of Hartingdale said. “This is the result of not having someone chaperone. I assure you that this will not happen in the future. I will…I will make sure that there is always someone with us.”
“But what if I do not want that?” Clarissa asked softly.
“It is how things must be.”
Clarissa’s eyes burned, and she turned her head away, hoping to hide the tears that were gathering. He did not want her. She was having a difficult time putting her thoughts in order. A knot tightened in her chest. Slowly, Clarissa stood. She felt His Grace’s eyes upon her face, even as she turned away. Clarissa kept her shawl wrapped tightly around her. She was hot, burning from the inside out.
What have I done?Clarissa thought.
She felt as though she could not reach her room quickly enough. Tears fell and left searing paths down her cheeks. Clarissa blinked quickly and rubbed her hands across her eyes. His Grace had rejected her.
Clarissa reached her room and collapsed into her bed. She buried her face into the pillow and sobbed until her eyes were sore and her throat was raw. Slowly, she raised her head and inhaled.
“W—well, you did it,” she said. “You did it, Clarissa. You did precisely what your mother asked you to do.”
Clarissa made no effort to wipe away the tears which rolled down her cheeks. Not only had she done precisely what her mother had wanted, but Clarissa had enjoyed it. She had felt so warm and wanton when he kissed her and touched her. If he had not pulled away like he had, she would have let him do even more to her. She would have let him do as much as he wanted.
“Arakehas more restraint than me,” she whispered.
She did not feel quite fair calling His Grace that. He had proven time and time again that he was no mere rake. He had proven that when he refused to give her precisely what she wanted in the garden.
Clarissa’s head hurt, and she rolled onto her back, gazing blankly at the ceiling. She should not have allowed His Grace so many liberties. She should not have had such treacherous thoughts! Was her own mind not the cause of this?
“And now, what?” Clarissa asked the empty room. “What do I do?”
She could not tell anyone about the encounter. If she did, they might mention it to someone else. And worse, someone might insist on her and His Grace marrying one another. He would detest her if that happened. Clarissa forced down the lump that rose in her throat. She could think of nothing worse than His Grace finding her repulsive.
She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, more tears fell. Had he returned to his room? Was he laying in his own bed and thinking of her and wondering what had happened between them?
“I am so sorry,” she said.
Clarissa could not have said who precisely she was apologising to, though. Perhaps it was him or herself or her mother. Worse, she was now forced to spend the weekend on the Roswood Estate and throughout Lady Roswood’s ball. His Grace would be so near her that he would be impossible to ignore.
