Page 35 of A Duke's Temptation Poetess
Of course, remembering that conversation conjured forth the feeling of his arms wrapped around her. It was like a phantom embrace, something which she could not—or did not—wish to ever forget. He had almost kissed her, and somehow, they had moved past it. They had not spoken of it, instead telling one another about poetry and literature.
Clarissa took a small, steadying breath. She needed to stop thinking about kisses when she had no desire to wed His Grace. It was only that she was so curious, and she felt like he knew she was. That was why he had given her that folded up paper, only meant to be read in private. He wanted to twist her up and increase her anticipation of its contents.
She was going to be rather vexed if the note was entirely innocuous.
***
Colin inwardly sighed in relief when his aunt and Lady Bentley turned the conversation towards reminiscing over old friends and acquaintances, most of whom he had never met therefore, could not be expected to discuss. It meant his thoughts could return to a more pleasant place, namely the enchanting young lady who sat in the seat across from him.
She kept her right hand tucked in the folds of her skirts, and Colin knew that Lady Clarissa was thinking about the paper. It was probably driving her mad, wondering what its contents held. Colin truly had not intended for the list of poems to do that, but he found himself pleased that he could make herthinkabout him, that he could fill her with such anticipation.
I probably should not be pleased that she is thinking about me as often as I am thinking about her.
No, it was really for the best that they part ways soon. Colin needed to have some distance from Lady Clarissa, so he could remind himself why getting involved with a lady was a bad idea. She was not a common woman who would accept a conjugal visit and not feel betrayed when he left. No, she had expectations and a reputation that was too easily ruined. He needed to stay away from her.
Silently, he scolded himself for even suggesting that she read Venus St. Clair’s poetry. What had he been thinking, exposing an innocent woman like her to something like that?
“Feel free to call on us,” his aunt Matilda said, oblivious to Colin’s inner dilemma. “I am sure that Deborah would like to see you both.”
“Especially since you have invited them to my sister’s birthday ball,” Colin pointed out.
Admittedly, he knew that Deborah would not care. She and her husband were the most generous people Colin had ever met in his life. Their willingness to give so extravagantly might have even been a flaw if Vincent Russell, the Marquess of Roswood, was not such a wealthy man.
He lived in Bath primarily because he enjoyed the town, not because he could not afford somewhere more extravagant. Russell was a man people generously calledeccentric. Colin had not met him until Deborah’s Season when Russell came to London on business relating to abolitionism. Russell only came to London when it was for a cause.
He had arrived loud, bold, and passionate, and Colin developed an immediate liking for him. Surrounded by the ton, who seemed to make a sport of being as politely dishonest as possible, Russell’s appearance had been like taking a breath of fresh mountain air. He never lied or omitted any details. A man always knew where he stood with Russell, and Colin appreciated that blunt demeanour.
“The invitation was very much appreciated,” Lady Bentley said. “Clarissa and I will be delighted to join you.”
Hopefully, the time between their parting ways and the ball would be sufficient enough for him to forget about Lady Clarissa. Or at the very least, dredge up some measure of self-control over his lustful thoughts.
He swallowed when he remembered seeing Lady Clarissa at his aunt’s ball, though. Lady Clarissa was always beautiful, but she had looked especially nice that night in her gown. She would likely look that lovely again. Or perhaps, she would not. Lady Clarissa had not known that she would be attending a ball in Bath. She likely did not have a proper dress for the occasion. The thought cheered Colin more than it probably should have.
At least Watford would be at this ball, too. Colin felt like he would not be so easily distracted if he had a friend to occupy his time with. Surely, that was why he had developed such a sudden attraction to Lady Clarissa. It was not that he was growing especially fond of her; it was that there was no one else to occupy his attention, and so she had all of it.
“Ah, here it is now,” Lady Matilda said.
Colin glanced out the window. It was a modest estate, but the gardens were possibly the most striking he had ever seen in his life. There was an impossible variety of flowers.
The carriage rolled up the paved path and halted. The door to the carriage opened, and Colin alighted from it. He helped Lady Bentley from the carriage first, earning a winning smile from her. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
“You are most welcome,” he replied.
That was not who he waited for, however, and he felt warmth surge through him as Lady Clarissa placed her hand in his. He was unsure if the lady’s descent was purposefully slow or if his longing to touch her was so great that he imagined that it was. Colin desperately wished to slow the frantic beating of his heart. He wished that instead of offering her the name of a scandalous poet; he had been able to introduce her to such delights of the flesh himself.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Lady Clarissa said, gazing at him from beneath her eyelashes.
It was best that they were parting ways. Perhaps he should even make preparations to hide from Lady Clarissa at his sister’s ball. The less he saw of her, the better. But he felt that his deliberate absence might genuinely upset her, and he could think of little worse than hurting this enchanting, young woman.
“Until next time,” Colin said, his throat raw.
“Until then,” she agreed. “Your Grace.”
He shivered at the promise in her words. Colin did not think he could wait that long. Heneededto wait that long. Forcing a cordial smile and a bow, he retreated to the carriage as soon as it was possible to do so without being seen as impolite. Colin dug his nails into the palms of his hands, trying to keep his breathing steady. The carriage jolted into motion. Across from him, his aunt gazed out the carriage window with a fond smile on her face, utterly oblivious to his internal torment.
Chapter 18
“Viola! Clarissa!” exclaimed Mrs. Frances Spencer.
