Page 82 of Passions of a Wicked Earl
“I would be unwise to do so. He is young enough to be my son, and one day he will decide I have one wrinkle too many and off he will go to firmer pastures. But until then, I do intend to enjoy the devil out of his company. Besides, he makes me laugh.”
He watched as she strolled through the throng as though she were a queen, granting an audience with one person, then another. He wondered how different she might have been if his father had made her laugh instead of cry.
He was distracted from his musings as a servant discreetly handed him a note.
“One of the guests asked that I deliver this to you, my lord.”
Westcliffe waited until the man had walked off, then unfolded the paper.
The conservatory. Now.
No signature, but none was needed. They’d discussed the possibility of meeting there. He glanced around the room and spied Lynnford dancing with his countess, Angela. When had one dance ended and the next begun? He realized the music was different now than what had been playing when Claire was on the floor. How many songs had passed? How many rounds of dance?
He studied the note again. Oh, she was a wicked girl his wife. It was part of the reason he loved her.
The realization nearly doubled him over. His mother had spoken correctly. He had always loved Claire, but it had been a quiet fluttering in his heart, an untried man feeling a need to protect, to harbor. What he felt now was a deep need, an acknowledgment that she had become the center of his world. What he was experiencing terrified him, and yet at the same time it brought him an immense satisfaction and sense of well-being.
She’d wanted, needed, to come here tonight because he’d failed to reveal to her the true extent of his feelings. He attempted to show her with his body, with his gifts, but she needed the words. And those were so terribly difficult for him to give to her.
But she deserved them and so much more.
Tonight, now, in the conservatory was the perfect time for him to offer the last part of himself to her. He would wash away all her doubts, make her understand that the past hurts were completely forgiven and behind them.
Across the room, Anne, speaking with the Duchess of Greystone, caught his gaze, a brief flicker of farewell. No tantrums from her this evening. She’d welcomed them into her home and made them feel at ease. He would send her a gift tomorrow, to wish her happiness. All was over between them. They could each move on.
But for now, this night, this moment, belonged to his wife.
The conservatory was not at all difficult to find. Claire saw it in the corner away from the gaslights that lined the garden path. It was all glass but difficult to see into because of the abundance of plants, leaves, and fronds that filled it.
She wasn’t exactly sure where he was going to meet her. The servant had simply said that her husband would be there, waiting. Coming to this ball had been the right thing to do. She and Westcliffe had danced four times, gone for refreshments, smiled, laughed, and conversed about nothing at all. Lady Anne had been warm, generous, and solicitous. And Westcliffe’s attentions had been all Claire could have hoped for from a husband, friend, lover.
Their relationship had progressed to the point that she felt nothing could tear it asunder. They’d grown stronger over the summer, individually and as a couple. They’d shared intimacies and sorrow. They were learning to rebuild.
Glancing quickly around, seeing no sign of anyone, she slipped into the conservatory. It smelled lovely inside. Rich dirt and scented blossoms. She’d like to see it during the day, see all the varieties that were being grown. No doubt the reason the ballroom was overflowing with flowers.
Carefully, she walked through to the back of the building. She was alone it seemed. She’d arrived first.
Small tremors of anticipation rippled through her. She wondered if such assignations happened often, if they were part of the Season. Briefly she wondered if she needed to keep a closer eye on Beth, to ensure that she didn’t engage in any of these midnight trysts.
She heard the door open, close softly, and her heart began to gallop. She didn’t turn to greet him, instead she looked out through the glass into the night. She could imagine him coming up behind her—
She heard his footsteps. Such large feet. The tread softer than usual, cautious, as though he wasn’t exactly certain what he’d find. She imagined him lifting her skirts, envisioned her unbuttoning his trousers. She’d become so comfortable with the intimacy between them.
She barely moved as his arms came around her, and he pressed his hot mouth to her nape. She tilted her head to the side, granting him easier access to the slope of her neck. He found the sensitive spot behind her right ear and swirled his tongue along it. Hunching a shoulder, she released a small laugh.
“Mmm. I’ve wanted this for so long.”
Her insides froze, and she felt as though ice filled her veins. That voice—
He turned her around and planted his mouth on hers. The taste … no … it wasn’t that of the man she craved. She pushed on his chest but his hold was like a vise, and the best she could manage was to bend her back like a bow to put as much distance between his mouth and hers. Although he was indistinct in the shadows, there was such a familiarity to him—
“Stephen?”
She felt his surprise in the jumping of his muscles. “Claire?”
She didn’t know what possessed her to reach up and touch his cheek. She’d been so worried about him, and here he was. However had this come about? Before she could ask anything else of him, another familiar voice reverberated off the glass surrounding them.
“Well, now, isn’t this cozy?”
