Sweet Awakening (3 page)

Giles did his best not to monopolize Clare, for he really did want her to have a chance to meet a wide range of young men. When she finally accepted him, which he fully expected she would, he wanted it to be out of choice, not familiarity.

But it was hard to keep away. The stirring of desire he had felt on that first night had quickened into something much stronger, and Giles found himself looking for opportunities to brush Clare’s arm or keep a hand on her waist a little longer than was necessary in a dance. He went gently and slowly, however. She never pulled away from physical contact, but he was never sure whether she felt a matching desire. But her seeming innocence regarding his growing attraction only made him feel more protective, and he enjoyed fantasizing how he would be her teacher in the art of making love.

Clare was delighted by Giles’s attentions. She had wondered all year about this Season. She knew that both families assumed an eventual engagement. It was certainly what she wanted. What could be more ideal than to have her good friend Giles as her husband?

And her first few weeks in London did nothing to change her mind. Despite the fact that she was meeting handsomer young men and more sophisticated older ones, there was no one to compare with her memories of Giles. She had worried that he might have changed. After all, she was not anything so very special. What if he arrived in town and immediately fell in love with someone like Lucy Kirkman? She could hardly blame him, for Lucy and the other young women were much more attractive and confident than she.

But Giles made it clear that nothing had changed, and within a week, their relationship was as easy and close as it had ever been. And perhaps a little more interesting, for Clare
was
aware of Giles’s touch when they brushed hands over a glass of punch, or when he pulled her a little closer than was necessary during a dance. She found it very pleasant, this new dimension to their friendship.

Clare was sure that Giles would propose before the end of the Season, and she would, of course, accept. She began to let herself indulge in daydreams of their life together as husband and wife. They would read to each other at night in front of a cozy fire and then retire early. Giles would kiss her gently and hold her close. Eventually they would have children. Perhaps twins, for didn’t that run in families? And grow old together. Clare would have tears in her eyes when she pictured them gray-haired, walking slowly around the garden at Whitton, and hearing the sounds from the lawn where their grandchildren would be playing.

* * * *

“When
are
you going to offer for Clare?” asked Sabrina. She and Giles usually breakfasted early, before their parents got up, and so they were alone.

Giles groaned. “Is it that obvious? I have been trying not to be, or to crowd her too much.”

“Perhaps it would not be to anyone who didn’t know you well. Or the situation. But we’ve all taken it for granted for years, haven’t we?”

“That’s exactly why I haven’t wanted to presume too much. I wanted to make sure that Clare feels free when she says ‘yes.’" he answered.

“Aha! So you do assume success!”

“I am reasonably confident, Brina,” said her brother, with a smile. “After all, we have loved each other as friends for a long time. That is a very strong foundation for a marriage.”

“What of passion, Giles? Do you feel that for Clare?”

Giles felt his face grow warm. “Really, Sabrina,
you
should be the one blushing after asking such a question,” he answered.

“But it is an important one, don’t you agree?”

Giles cleared his throat. “Speaking for myself, I can say that I feel a growing, mm, physical attraction to Clare.”

“And Clare?”

Really, his sister was incorrigible, thought Giles. “She is clearly not repelled by physical contact.”

“But has she responded?”

“Sabrina, this is really none of your business.”

“Oh, Giles, don’t get prim and proper on me. Of course it is. I love you and want you to be happy. Mama and Papa have always had a strong response to one another. We have both had that as a model, and speaking for myself, I will not settle for anything less.”

“And is that why you are still looking?”

“Don’t try to change the subject, Giles.”

“I have been proceeding slowly because of Clare’s innocence, Sabrina.”

“Then she hasn’t maneuvered you outside for a kiss?”

“Of course not.”

Sabrina laughed. “Well, Lucy Kirkman would have by now.”

“Lucy Kirkman? Whatever has she got to do with this?” Giles responded, completely baffled.

“Oh, just that I have thought she’s had her eye on you for years. I wondered whether you might finally have noticed it. In fact, I worried a little about Clare ...”

“There is not, nor ever could be anyone but Clare for me, Sabrina,” her brother replied seriously. “I think I probably started to love her the day she arrived at Whitton, looking so lost and lonely.”

Sabrina sighed.

“I have just declared my passion, and you are still not satisfied?” teased Giles.

“Oh, don’t mock me, Giles. I am sure my fantasy of the perfect marriage is just that, a fantasy. It is only that I would not want a man to be too much my protector. I have always believed that true passion can only exist when a man and a woman feel that they give to each other equally. And I am being very stupid, you are right,” she confessed. “It was clear from the first that you and Clare were made for each other. I am sure that passion needn’t spring up overnight, but may also grow slowly. Indeed, I’ll probably be warming my cold, spinsterly hands in front of your fire for years to come.”

Giles reassured his sister that there was no possible chance of her remaining a spinster. After she left, he sat by himself a few minutes, over a cold cup of coffee. He adored his sister, and in some ways was closer to her than he was to Clare. And yet he knew he would never have chosen to marry a woman like Sabrina. He disagreed with her. He believed that passion between a man and a woman was sparked partially, if not wholly, by the fact that a woman depended on a man. Clare was the perfect wife for him. However, he thought it would do no harm to maneuver Clare onto a balcony for a kiss, just to test his theory.

* * * *

Accordingly, after a vigorous country-dance with her at Lady Bellingham’s rout the next night, Giles asked Clare if she would like to step out into the garden. When she smiled shyly and agreed, Giles led her out and they spent five minutes walking up and down the path admiring the flowers and chatting comfortably about nothing in particular. There were a few other couples outside also, but Giles purposely guided them down a path that led to a small garden bench.

“Come, sit down next to me, Clare,” he said.

Clare sat gingerly near the edge of the bench. She might be inexperienced, but she was not stupid. She knew she was about to receive a kiss, and although she was nervous, she would not act coyly reluctant, not when she had been wondering about the possibility of another kiss for the last four years.

When he put both hands on her shoulders to turn her toward him, she closed her eyes and lifted her face. Giles smiled down at the sight: she was all expectant naiveté, and he leaned down and brushed her lips lightly at first. Clare’s eyes flew open, and as he gazed down into them, he slipped his hands around her waist and neck and bringing her up to him, close enough to feel her breasts brush his chest, leaned down to kiss her again, this time less gently and more insistently.

He could feel her shiver and slowly tried to tease her mouth open. She didn’t resist him. Indeed, she tentatively began to kiss him back. But she was afraid of the strength of her own feelings, and so her lips never parted. Giles pulled away after a moment, and assuming that Clare was overcome with shyness, grasped her hand and led her back down the path, chatting about this and that until she began to relax. When they reached the ballroom, she looked up at him and said softly: “Thank you, Giles,” and then hurried off to join Sabrina and a group of her friends.

Giles watched her go and thought that all in all, even though it was not quite the kiss he had wanted, it had been a successful attempt. Clare was obviously one of those women who would be slow to discover the passionate side of her nature, but he felt they had made a good beginning tonight, and he intended to get her alone again soon.

* * * *

When Clare crawled under the covers that night, she replayed the scene in the garden. She had never forgotten that first kiss. And this second had not been disappointing. She had felt the same rush of longing, the same shakiness in her legs, the same desire for the kiss to go on forever.

Yet she had been a little frightened of her feelings. Had Giles also wished that the garden, the flowers, the people inside the ballroom would fall away so that all that existed was the two of them? Did he even remember their first kiss? He had no doubt kissed many women since then. What made her special? Perhaps he had only kissed her because it was expected of two people whose betrothal was practically assured?

The intensity of her response and her inability to communicate it to him thrust her back into the childish insecurity she had never quite left behind. Her love and affection felt locked inside her. She needed Giles to open the door, to show that he loved and needed her, to meet her newly awakening passion with his own.

But they would have another opportunity, she reassured herself. Perhaps even tomorrow night at the Carstairs’s ball.

An invitation to the Carstairs’s ball was a sign that one was part of the crème de la crème, and so there was quite a ripple of conversation when Lord Justin Rainsborough was announced. At first, no one recognized his name, but then one old dowager remembered that he was a distant cousin of Lady Carstairs who had spent the last five years in the West Indies and had just returned upon inheriting the title from the recently deceased Earl Rainsborough.

Miss Lucy Kirkman, who had caught this last tidbit, hurried over to the edge of the ballroom where Clare and Sabrina were standing with a few other young ladies.

“That is the new Earl Rainsborough,” she announced. “Isn’t he the most devastatingly handsome man you have ever seen?” she whispered. Sabrina smiled to herself as she watched Lucy subtly adjust her gown so that the bodice was lower by a half an inch.

Clare looked across the floor to where Lord Rainsborough stood surveying the crowd. His gaze met hers in that instant, and she turned away, embarrassed to be caught staring. But Lucy was right. He was the most striking man she had ever seen. He was tall, well built, and dressed all in black, which together with his black hair and tanned face made his gray eyes quite startling.

What would it be like, she wondered, as she listened to the conversation around her, to be held in his arms. She was immediately horrified to be fantasizing about him, for wasn’t she almost a betrothed woman? Not to mention the fact that she was hardly the sort of young lady who would attract such a man’s attention. Lucy Kirkman was much more his type.

* * * *

It was therefore no surprise when Lord Rainsborough, accompanied by his hostess, was introduced to Lucy and the cluster of young men and women around her. The young men included him in their discussion of the current derby favorites, but since Lord Rainsborough was but newly arrived in England, he could hardly contribute his opinion.

Clare had never before been so awake to a man’s presence, even Giles. She could feel him with every cell in her body, and every cell seemed to be quivering like blancmange. When he turned toward the ladies, she found herself fussing with her bracelet, snapping and unsnapping the clasp. In a moment, he would ask Lucy to dance and she could relax.

When she heard him address her instead, she was so flustered that she left her bracelet undone and it slipped off her wrist and fell right at the earl’s feet. Without thinking, Clare reached down to pick it up at the same time as Rainsborough and their hands met. His touch made all the hairs on her arm stand up.

“Here is your bracelet, Lady Clare,” said the earl, smiling down at her.

Clare was crimson with embarrassment. “Thank you, my lord.”

“Here, let me fasten it for you,” he added as she fumbled with the clasp. Clare extended her arm and shivered as he gently closed it over her wrist.

“This is a lovely piece. I see it matches your eyes perfectly.”

It was a pretty compliment, though hardly original. But somehow, Lord Rainsborough’s tone made Clare feel that no one had ever really seen her eyes before. A thrill went through her, but she recovered enough presence of mind to thank him for his help.

“I was wondering ... although I hardly think it would be likely ... would you have a dance free this evening?” Rainsborough asked.

In fact, Clare did not have a dance free. But she couldn’t bear the thought of letting Rainsborough go, for he would never ask her again. She glanced over her card. Captain Barton was down for the next cotillion. Did she have the courage to lie? To insult a perfectly nice young man? She looked up and saw Lord Rainsborough’s pleading look and threw caution and courtesy to the winds.

“Why, as a matter of fact, it seems like my next dance is free.”

Clare was very grateful that the dance was struck almost immediately and that Captain Barton was across the room. She and the earl moved off before her promised partner could reach her.

It was as thrilling to have Rainsborough lead her through the dance as she thought it would be. He never drew her too close, but just the feel of his hand around her waist as they came together in the figures of the dance was enough to make her feel as though she had no bones.

They did not speak, but let themselves be lost in the music. It was surprising, but despite the differences in their heights and the fact that it was his first time partnering her, it felt to Clare that they had been dancing together for years, so easily did they move together.

When Rainsborough returned her to her companions and bowed his thanks and walked away, she watched him go with her heart in her heels. That was that: the first and last time Clare Dysart would dance with the most handsome, charming man in London. But he
had
danced with her and not Lucy Kirkman or the Honorable Susan Maxwell, so that was something.