Thunder and Roses (38 page)

But he really must find the right way to seduce the stubborn wench. The trouble was that Clare was unlike any female he’d ever known. Most women melted if given rich clothing and jewels; Clare consented to wear them mostly to uphold her part of their bargain. Most women became soft and dewy-eyed when men courted them with poetry or love songs; though Clare was not unaffected, it wasn’t enough to make her forget her tiresome morality.
                         

If she had been genuinely devout, he could have better understood her resistance, but he was convinced that her piety was skin-deep. Underneath, she had a streak of purely pagan sensuality; he had seen occasional flashes of it. He suspected that what really kept her virtuous was sheer stubbornness. She had sworn he would not seduce her, and she would uphold that vow if it killed both of them. Pig-headed wench.

But great though her obstinacy was, it couldn’t match his.

 
The day after the
kissless
day, Clare appeared for dinner looking particularly fetching. Nicholas watched admiringly as she crossed the drawing room toward him. She wore a rose-colored gown that managed the neat trick of being both demure and provocative. Her hair was also styled a new way, and he yearned to run his fingers through the soft confection of waves and ringlets. She didn’t look like a rustic schoolmistress; she looked like a sophisticated lady with a bit of the devil in her.

“You look especially lovely tonight.” He offered her his arm. “Is your maid willing to return to Wales with us?”

“Polly is excellent, but I don’t need a maid,” Clare said with mild surprise. “I’ve done without one all my life.”

“Most of your fashionable new clothing requires assistance for dressing. Also, she is very good at styling hair.”

“Very well,” Clare said agreeably. “I’ll ask Polly if she is willing to spend two months in Wales, until I go home.”

He hated it when she talked about leaving him, but he didn’t comment; hearing his long-term plans for her would merely aggravate her stubbornness. As he pulled out her dinner chair, he said, “I’ve taken care of my most pressing business, so we can return to Aberdare day after tomorrow.”

Her face lit up. “I’ll be ready.”

“Before I start work on the slate quarry, I’d like to visit
Penrhyn
to see how a large-scale quarry is run.” He took his own seat. “If we rode up through central Wales, it would take two or three days each way. Do you think you could ride that far?”

“As long as the pace isn’t too fast,” she said. “I would enjoy a spring ride through the uplands.”

“Good. Plan on going a week or so after we return to Aberdare.”

The meal was a lengthy one, for conversation flowed freely. It was so late when they finally finished their coffee that Nicholas wouldn’t have been surprised if Clare had excused herself to go to bed. Instead, she looked at him with such innocence that he was immediately suspicious.

“Are you in the mood for billiards?” she asked. “I’ve been practicing, and I’d like to play against an opponent.”

He was agreeable, so they adjourned to the billiard room. Clare lifted her cue stick and slid it idly through her fingers. “Shall we play for some kind of stakes?”

“You must have been practicing in earnest,” he said, amused. As he lowered the chandelier that hung over the table, he asked, “What did you have in mind?”

A gleam came into her eyes. “If I win, you aren’t allowed to kiss me anymore.”

“Not acceptable,” he said promptly, “unless the opposing stake is that tonight you aren’t allowed to say no if I win.”

“Not acceptable,” she replied. “Any other suggestions?”

While he lit the wax candles, he considered alternatives. “We can play strip billiards, with the loser of each game having to remove an item of clothing.”

“Surely that isn’t a standard game!”

“No, but I’ve played cards based on the same principle, and there’s no reason why we can’t do it with billiards. The loser is whoever is stripped down to the skin first.” He grinned as he raised the chandelier and secured the rope. “Are you game?”

She thought about it. “All right, though if I get down to my shift, I’ll forfeit rather than take it off.”

“Fair enough. We should start with the same number of garments.” He mentally counted. “If I take off my coat, I’ll be wearing ten items, which should match what you have, unless you’re wearing extra petticoats under that charming gown.”

Blushing a little, she did her own mental inventory, then nodded. “Ten it is. Shall we begin?”

“Ladies first.”
                  

After he set up the balls, Clare bent over for her first stroke. Her levity dropped away and she lined up the shot with flinty concentration.

A female playing billiards offered a myriad of delights: trim ankles, an irresistibly rounded derriere, an enticing amount of
decolletage
. And while Nicholas was admiring the view, the little hussy proceeded to pot all six of her blue balls one after an other, winning the game before he had a chance to shoot.

Laughing, he said, “You have been practicing.” He pulled off a polished Hessian boot and set it by the wall, then started another game. After potting four of his reds, he missed the fifth when the ball hit a soft spot in a cushion and caromed badly.

It was Clare’s turn again, and once again she sank all six of her balls. After Nicholas pulled off his other boot and set it by the first, he said, “Let me see your cue stick.”

She handed it over and he inspected the tip. “This button is made of leather?” When she nodded, he asked, “May I try a couple of shots with it?”

After she granted permission, he experimented with the cue, with startling results. When he returned the stick, he said, “Clarissima, you may have just revolutionized the ancient art of billiards. I’ve never seen a cue that allowed such control.”

“I’ve been amazed at the results myself.” She bit her lip. “Since I have a superior cue, it isn’t fair for you to have the handicap of having to make difficult carom shots when I don’t. We should be playing equally.” She smiled roguishly. “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“You can take advantage of me anytime you want,” he said with a cheerful leer.

He expected a withering glance in answer to his suggestive remark, but instead she said, “Later, perhaps.” Her remark was accompanied by a sweep of long dark lashes. “But for the moment, let’s play billiards. I’ll do carom shots, too.”

“That should make us roughly equal.” While she started another game, he lounged against the table and tried to define what made her seem different tonight.

Much as he would like to believe that she had decided to stop resisting and enjoy the inevitable,
 
he couldn’t. The little witch probably wanted to put him in his place by crushing him at billiards. And with her improved cue and undeniable skill, she would have succeeded if her innate fairness hadn’t made her choose to equalize the odds by matching his handicap.

He found it hard to take his eyes off her, for a subtle eroticism marked all her movements. As she potted her second ball, he realized that Clare had the air of a successful courtesan —the kind of woman who was absolutely sure of her femaleness, and of her power over men. Though he didn’t believe that she had been practicing a courtesan’s arts along with her billiard game, she was certainly revealing her innate sensuality as never before.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts she had to raise her voice and repeat, “Nicholas, it’s your turn,” before he heard.

He bent over the table and lined up his shot. Because he played billiards very well and lacked a killer competitive instinct, he had become casual over the years, but Clare’s new skill put him on his mettle. He efficiently cleared the table of his balls, and it was her turn to take something off.

Obligingly she kicked off one of her kidskin slippers, revealing a flash of ankles. As she put her
stockinged
foot down, she said, “
Mmm
, this carpet feels wonderful.” Her toes curled sensuously into the lush pile.

Nicholas was tempted to lie down so she could walk on him and do the same. Instead he set up the balls again with a mental vow to play his best so he could see more of her.

Conversation dwindled and tension rose as they applied themselves like a pair of hardened billiard sharps. Since their abilities were well matched, irregular patches on the surface and bad ricochets off the cushions decided most games.

Nicholas’s cravat came off and joined his boots, then Clare gave up her other slipper. When she lost the next game as well, she sat down and lifted her skirt to her knee.

He watched, mesmerized, as she extended a shapely leg in the air and removed her left stocking. She rolled the pale silk over her calf and ankle with the demure explanation, “A garter will stay up without a stocking but not the reverse, so I thought the stocking should come off first.”

“Very logical,” he agreed, his mouth dry. Though she primly covered her ankles again, he missed his next shot. Smiling mischievously, Clare potted her balls with six strokes.

After taking off his gray velvet waistcoat, he knelt and built up the fire, since it was a cool night and they were both losing clothing at a rapid rate. He smiled to himself as he added more coal; the one advantage he had left was that being naked would bother him a lot less than it would Clare.

Her next stocking came off with just as much ceremony as the first. He watched appreciatively, but managed to keep his head and shoot well. Unfortunately the cushions didn’t cooperate on his fourth stroke. Clare took over and won the game.

He removed his first stocking, and a few minutes later lost the second as well. The carpet did feel good under bare feet.

Anticipation about what Clare would do next sharpened his focus and he won the next game. Up came her skirt again, this time far enough to reveal the ribbon garter tied above her knee. To his delight, it was decorated with a dainty pink satin rose. She took her time untying the ribbon. After putting her foot down, she regarded the garter thoughtfully. Then she glanced up with a wicked smile and tossed it to him.

He caught the garter with one hand and discovered that the satin still retained the warmth of her body, as well as a faint trace of the fragrance she was wearing. As she started the next game, he twined the ribbon around his fingers until it cooled to room temperature and he could no longer detect her scent.

He tied the garter around his wrist, then bent over the table and neatly potted four balls. The fifth caromed wildly and it was Clare’s turn again. She came and took her stance next to him, so close that her skirts fluttered around his bare feet when she leaned over. He could have moved, of course, but he didn’t.

As she lined up her shot, he admired her trim backside. But when his hand began reaching out to pat, he hastily moved away before he could commit a disastrous faux pas; a gentleman never interfered with an opponent’s stroke.

She potted the ball, then shifted to a new position. Though all her attention seemed to be on the table, her bare toes brushed his as she moved. His gaze became riveted on her feet. The left one lifted in the air, leaving her balanced on the right when she shot. He’d never noticed how elegant her feet were.

“Nicholas,” she said. He blinked and glanced up.

“Time for you to take something off,” she purred.

Deciding that two could play at both games, he undid the buttons at his throat with elaborate casualness. After tugging his shirttails loose, he pulled his shirt over his head, making sure that his muscles flexed impressively. He emerged from the linen folds to find Clare watching him, eyes wide. Though he wore an undershirt, it was a sleeveless singlet and cut well below collar level so it showed a great deal of his bronze skin.

She swallowed hard and wrenched her gaze back to the table, but she was off her game and didn’t manage to pot even one ball.