Page 27 of A Duke's Temptation Poetess
Clarissa turned around suddenly, a gasp tearing from her throat. She locked eyes with the Duke of Hartingdale, who stood directly behind her. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Clarissa was suddenly aware that they were alone, and while she ought to demand that His Grace leave her be, she found herself suddenly unable to speak. His presence was not unwelcome, and it really ought to be.
His Grace smiled, the gesture genuine. “I have always appreciated the countryside more than I have the city. I find it far preferable to being confined in London, don’t you? It feels freeing in a way that the city does not.”
Clarissa stared at him for a long moment, contemplating his words. She had not anticipated His Grace appreciating the beauty of nature. Rakes were known for prowling about London, after all, and she had no reason to believe that he would be any different from the others. His gaze was sincere, though, and she could find no signs of any devious motives in his eyes.
I should take advantage of his sincerity and ask for my book back. If he really means me no harm, I am sure that he would be willing to keep my secrets,Clarissa thought.And it is not as if I wrote anything in that book which he will not have already been exposed to before.
He was a rake, after all. Surely, he would not be overly scandalised to learn that women sometimes thought about love in rather heated terms, just as men did. His Grace tilted his head a little, as if he were trying to puzzle out something. Then he took a step nearer. Clarissa’s heart raced, beating so loudly that she heard its echo reverberating through her head.
“Is something the matter?” His Grace asked.
Clarissa took a deep breath in a vain attempt to steady her nerves. “Where did you find that book? The one you were reading in the carriage?”
The Duke of Hartingdale’s gaze seemed to grow more intense. “What is it to you, my Lady?”
Clarissa’s cheeks blazed, and a small distant part of her noted that shekeptflushing in his presence. It was utterly humiliating that this kept happening to her. “That book is mine,” she said. “It means everything to me.”
“Am I to assume that you are the mysterious lady-poet who is an expert on love, then?” he asked.
“I would not attest to any particular expertise. It would be immodest of me.”
“Of course.”
“But I am the poet.”
A change seemed to come over him. It was difficult to point to, but the sincerity in his eyes seemed suddenly gone, replaced with something more intense, He gazed at her as if he found her endlessly enchanting, as if he had no need for any other person or thing in the world.
Clarissa swallowed. She was certain that she did not look especially lovely at the moment; her blushes were horrid things which broke out in uneven spots of colour and not the beautiful, subtle ones which ladies of the ton were supposed to have.
But he gazed at her with what could only be described as unadulterated passion. Clarissa was innocent, but she had witnessed the way rakish men behaved towards women at social events. His Grace pinned her in place with his intense stare while closing the distance between them until he had her alone and away from the others.
Clarissa’s eyes darted from his eyes to his lips, and her toes curled with half-formed ideas of what he might do with her here.
Unbidden, her mother’s schemes for Clarissa to arrange a meeting alone with His Grace came to the forefront of her mind. Clarissa took a step back, so caught in an unexpected flutter of desire and thoughts of her mother’s cunning, that she lost her footing. It was abrupt and startling. One moment, she stood, and the next, His Grace had swept her into his arms before she could fall upon the ground.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice low and deep. “You nearly fell.”
Was she all right? Clarissa stared at him with wide eyes, and she kept staring, trying to sort through the tangled maelstrom of her own mind. His Grace held her, and his arms were warm and strong. He stared at her and leaned his head forward just a little, his breath coming in a warm, gentle puff against her cheek.
The scent of his Bay Rum cologne filled her senses with its fresh, earthy scent. “My Lady, are you well?” he asked, his brow furrowing in concern.
She nodded wordlessly. He no longer seemed to stare at his eyes, but a little lower. Her lips, she realised. The epiphany sent a tingling, anxious energy through her body and to those forbidden places which ladies were not meant to think or speak of.
“I—I am well,” she stammered hoarsely.
His Grace tilted his head a little, still eyeing her with that deep intensity which betrayed his feelings far more obviously than any words ever could. The Duke of Hartingdale leaned forward. He was going to kiss her. Clarissa’s head spun. She could not allow this to happen. With a sudden surge of awareness, she pulled from his arms and stormed away.
Chapter 14
Clarissa tried not to show any sign that something was wrong, as she hurried to the inn. She felt that she was failing. While only her face had been warm before, now every part of her felt hot and flustered. She had allowed the Duke of Hartingdale to be alone with her, had allowed him to hold her, and she hadalmostallowed him to kiss her. Even now, her body ached in some deep and profound way. She should not have allowed him such liberties.
Clarissa hurried into her room, pulling the door behind her. She curled and uncurled her fingers and let out a shuddering breath of air. All her thoughts came to a sudden and violent halt when she spied her mother seated before a mirror.
She had clearly awakened from her evening rest and had promptly ordered her lady’s maid to prepare her for dinner. Clarissa swallowed and silently willed her heart to stop beating so violently in her chest.
“There you are,” her mother said. “I was beginning to worry about your absence.”
“I went for a walk,” Clarissa replied.
