Page 9 of A Duke's Temptation Poetess
Lady Bentley nodded slowly. “I suppose I do, now that I think about it. At the time, I had not thought of it as being especially peculiar.”
“Then I shall see you in the morning,” Colin said, bowing. “Good night. I hope you enjoy the rest of the ball, Lady Bentley. Lady Clarissa.”
The women both bid him a restful night, and Colin left as quickly as he could. He crossed the ballroom and entered the billiards room, closing the door behind him. His aunt would realise that was where he had gone and assume that he was not really preparing for bed.
She would understand, though. He had made his appearance and danced with a lady of her choosing. His aunt Matilda would be pleased with him, and in the morning, they would see Deborah.
Colin pressed himself against the closed door and sighed. It had not been as terrible as he had anticipated. Lady Clarissa’s soft face came to mind, her hazel-green eyes, and her pale skin.
Those delicate, rosy cheeks that tapered down to an adorably pointed and delicate chin. Her neck was slender and swan-like, and Colin found himself thinking about what was underneath. He had not once let his gaze become improper, and a small part of him wished that he had.
“It is a pity that you are a lady,” Colin whispered wryly, “or you might have been able to join me tonight.”
Chapter 5
For a heartbeat, Clarissa stared at the door through which the Duke of Hartingdale had vanished. Her mother grasped her wrist. “Come, Clarissa. I am in need of refreshments, and I am certain you are, too. It was wonderful speaking with you,” Lady Bentley said, offering Lady Matilda a warm smile.
Before Lady Matilda could even reply, Clarissa’s mother had hurried away, pulling Clarissa along with her. Clarissa frowned and stumbled over her slippers in an attempt to keep pace with her mother’s nearly feverish stride. “Mother—”
Lady Bentley halted at once, so suddenly that Clarissa nearly stumbled over the hem of her gown. “You must follow him,” she said lowly, her eyes fixed on the closed door with a hungry expression.
“He has gone to bed!” Clarissa exclaimed. “He did not even wish for a second dance. I am quite sure that he was entirely uninterested in me.”
The way that man had gazed at her wasnotthe actions of an uninterested man. Clarissa’s heart thundered against her rib cage when she recalled the brief moment when His Grace’s thumb had lingeredjustabove her wrist where her silk gloves ended.
If he had moved his hand just a little further, he could have caressed the delicate underside of her wrist. Remembering that moment sent a warm, pleasant current coursing through her. It was as if lightning had struck her and cast everything in a sort of clarity. He was a handsome man. He had looked at her with interest.
Shehadto remember that he was a rake. Clarissa had to focus on the more important task at hand, namely finding her book of poems. Their absence was like an ache in her chest, a phantom absence which gnawed at her, threatening to suffocate her like mistletoe wrapped about a tree trunk.
“It does not matter if he was uninterested in you,” her mother said sharply.
Clarissa stared at her mother in wide-eyed confusion. “What ever do you mean? It certainly matters that he is uninterested in me if you wish for me to become better acquainted with him.”
“This is a desperate situation, and you do not seem to understand what I am suggesting. I shall be clearer about it,” her mother said lowly. “We cannot allow an opportunity like this to slip from our grasp. You must follow him and seduce him.”
Heat rose to Clarissa’s face, and she pulled her wrist from her mother’s grasp. Icy horror and fiery anger warred inside of her, as the indignity of her mother’s request rushed through her.
“Excuse me?” Clarissa asked. “I cannot believe that you would ask me to engage in such reprehensible behaviour!”
Lady Bentley glanced nervously about her, as if she feared their conversation might have been overheard. “Lower your voice,” she hissed. “Do you not understand? This is the perfect opportunity. If you and he are caught in a compromising position together, he will have no choice but to marry you. Our problems will all be solved in a single night!”
Clarissa understood the situation all too clearly. She straightened her spine and stared at her mother, a woman who she had always respected and cared about even when they did not always agree. Clarissa felt a sudden ache in her chest, as if her mother’s betrayal were a physical wound.
“I cannot believe that you would ever suggest something like that. It is demeaning to both of us to even humour such a dreadful solution!”
“I do not imagine that you have a better solution!”
“Not to my lack of suitors,” Clarissa said, “but my dignity is worth more than a marriage. Yours, too.”
Especially a marriage built on deceit and desperation. Clarissa thought of her own parents’ long, loveless union. Her stomach lurched, and bile rose in her throat. Did her mother not realise that she was asking her daughter to make her some errors and to live as unhappily as she had?
“Is it?” her mother asked. “I think you will have more dignity as theDuchess of Hartingdalethan as an old, impoverished spinster! You are not going to be like Lady Matilda, beloved and wealthy. You are going to be impoverished and alone, doomed to a miserable existence. And you will condemn me, too.”
Clarissa shook her head. Her face felt as if it was on fire, and she knew that she must be blushing the most unsightly shade of red in her anger. “I have nothing more to say to you,” she said. “I shall not do it. That is all.”
Clarissa turned on her heel and stormed away. Another song began, and she took advantage of the sudden movement of people to dart into the crowd and vanish. She did not know if her mother pursued her. Clarissa hoped she had not, for she did not wish to cause a scene at the ball. Her mother would not wish to cause a scene either, but the woman was desperate. Often, people who were desperate did foolish and unexpected things.
She resolved to worry about it later. At the moment, the book of her poems was the most important thing. Clarissa returned to the place where she had sat earlier. It was vacant now. It seemed that the other wallflowers had found partners at last, or perhaps, they had simply left the ball already. Her mother had coaxed her from the corner and towards the dancers, but they had been careful not to disturb the dance. They had kept close to the wall.
