Wicked Desires (Wicked Affairs, Book One) (13 page)

As she walked past Michael, she apologized but assured him he would still have his entertainment for the evening.

Simmering with rage, he approached. “
Chérie
, are you hurt?”

“
Mais non
. You arrived just in time.”

“If you would prefer to retire for the night, I will understand.”

“No, just…just hold me for a minute.”

She faced the bed, her arms spread wide. He reached for one of the bindings, but her shaking sob stopped him. Instead he wrapped his arms around her middle and lowered his chin to the top of her head. He still smelled the alcohol, but underneath that, he smelled her. Something like apples. Or a rainy day.

Her body shook in his arms. He reached for the bindings again, gently lowering her hands. “Lie on the bed,
chérie
.”

She obeyed and then curled into a ball. Michael removed his jacket and shoes before he slipped into the bed beside her. He wrapped one arm around her waist. Her silent sobs shook her body. “He’s gone,
chérie
. You’re safe.”

He’d wanted her bound. This distasteful episode was his responsibility. Michael had never given a thought to the idea that whores could be raped, but now that he’d seen it up close, he had more sympathy for their plight. While he wasn’t exactly a model citizen, he would not purposefully hurt the girl.

“Would you like me to leave?”

“I…I just want to go home.”

“You don’t live here?”

She shook her head, her hair brushing his skin.

“I can escort you. It’s not safe at night.”

“No. Madame will take care of me,
monsieur
.”

“In a minute. Just relax.” He stroked the smooth skin of her arm. He kissed her bare shoulder. “You are beautiful,
chérie
, and you give me such pleasure.” He played at her nipples until they were hard little points that required sucking. He rolled her to her back and bent over the plump feast. Fingers slid into his hair as she welcomed the diversion.

“Love me,” she said.

“Every day, as often as you like.”

He pulled his cock free of his trousers and moved over her, pushed her legs wider with his hips and slipped between them. Her body was small and delicate underneath him.

He sank into her, and at the same time, he tried to banish thoughts of his wife. Loving the whore slowly and thoroughly was what he did for Clarissa and what he wanted for this whore tonight.

Loving her? A whore? Treating her with the same tenderness he did his wife?

What was he doing?

The excitement that had built all but disappeared. His felt his cock diminish, then slide free of her luscious cunt.

Michael rolled off the whore wanting to curse the stars, his prick, his wife.

“
Monsieur?
”

“Go.”

She scrambled from the bed, hearing the command in his voice. Before she left, she stared at him a minute longer.

He was relieved when the door shut behind her.

He wasn’t happy being here. Yes, there was immense pleasure, but no long-term relief.

What he wanted was at home, he hoped. In her bed, he prayed. And still in love with him, not that he deserved it.

He missed the long minutes and hours before and after loving when they held each other. When they watched the fire and the only sound was their breathing and the crackle of the heat. Or talked about the children or their aspirations. Or failures.

If he had to live without one or the other, he knew he did not want to live without Clarissa.

With the decision made, he dressed and went home.

It was time he faced the truth.

* * * * *

Rain came down in drenching torrents as Clarissa made her way home in the dark of night. Her slippers and the bottom of her dress soaked through getting to the carriage, the rest of her doused as she entered the mansion. Chills raked her body.

She hoped Michael followed soon. His strong reaction and her subsequent dismissal sent a shard of worry right through her heart. They seemed another step away from her. Her shoulders jerked as a clearing shudder shook her body and refocused her senses.
She
wasn’t the one being rejected. Michael had his own desires and he’d refrained from exhibiting them tonight.

A bath waited and more water hung from a hook over the slow burning fire. Her maid assisted with the removal of her wet gown. Grateful, Clarissa sank into the warm water.

Once the water cooled, she slipped into the red gown she’d purchased, part of her futile campaign to win her husband. She heard him in his room but crawled into her own bed, hoping, ever hoping.

She’d spent too many nights listening for the same footsteps, praying
that
night would be the night he would come to her and remind her that she was desirable and that he still loved her. He still spoke the words, but his actions plainly conveyed another meaning. Shivers still rocked her body.

His footsteps stopped near her door.

Clarissa prayed.

After tonight, she didn’t care if they returned to York. She’d nearly been harmed at Madame DuPuis’. Accidents like that could be prevented, but it made her realize the dangerous depths of her charade. Tears trickled down her cheeks.

Her fire had died down and her body still hadn’t warmed. A chill swept her from head to toe.

She rolled from her bed and grabbed her robe, making the same decision she’d made on hundreds of cold nights prior to this past year’s separation.

It would be his decision whether to reject her.

Tugging at the door between their rooms, she slipped inside and padded toward his bed.

Michael lay on his side, but turned when he heard her. “Clarissa?”

“It’s me. I’m cold.”

Relief flooded her when he lifted back the covers and she slid in beside him. He scooted, turning so that her back was to his chest and his arm cradled her protectively. He’d given up the spot in the bed that he’d already warmed. Just like it should be.

She pushed her nose into his pillow and breathed deep.

“Better?”

“Much.” She wiggled, settling closer and then entwining her fingers with his. His breath tickled at her neck. She brought his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles, then kept his hand close to her chin.

“Is William ready to return home?” he asked. The warmth of his breath tickled at her neck.

“I think so. I wish we were going with him.”

“I thought you didn’t want to go.”

She sighed. “I don’t know. I feel homesick. Things aren’t the way they should be.”

He tightened his arm around her and she felt the press of his lips against the top of her head. “Sleep.”

She did. For a while.

* * * * *

A shard of stark, bright lightning lit the room, followed by a clap of thunder and a long, low rumble that caused the bric-a-brac on the fireplace mantel to rattle.

At some point, the fire had died down. Michael had rolled to his back and she was draped over him in her search for warmth, one of her thighs lying over his groin. A thick, hot erection burned against her leg.

He was awake, his muscles tense underneath her touch, his breath rasping in and out, but he made no move nor suggested that they make love.

She shifted quickly and with little disturbance, straddling him, lowering her chest to his. The silk of her new nightgown the only thing between them. Sliding backward, she caught the tip of his erection and in one swift push, had impaled herself fully.

Michael gasped. She felt his strong grip on her thighs. They didn’t kiss. Instead, Clarissa started a gentle rocking motion that moved her in a tender flow up and down his rigid erection.

Her excitement built quickly. Michael, full and hard between her legs. Missing him like she had and now, in their bed, doing what she’d craved and missed the last year.

And he was making love to
her
. Not a ten-penny whore from Madame DuPuis’.

The blinding rush came quickly and the spasms tore at her. With one final moan, she collapsed onto his chest.

Michael’s hips surged under her, and in one smooth turn, she was under him. He thrust hard, again and again. Deep plunges in and long slides out as he sought his own climax. Every muscle quivered. The push in brought an agonizing moan from deep in his chest, until every thrust brought out his pleasure in sound and effort.

She joined him again, arching and rocking up, his long erection filling her with heated pleasure, until they were both moving with hard, quick plunges. His hand left her stomach and sought her breast, filling his palm.

He squeezed hard, plunged into her harder, groaning with pleasure as if this would be the last time he’d ever make love. Clarissa seized, bucking up underneath him as another orgasm shot through her. Michael surged one final time with a gasp and then melted over her, his body covering but not crushing her.

Michael rolled again, cradling her to his chest. He stroked his hands down her leg and then up, underneath her lightweight garment.

She reclined on his warm body, breathing deeply.

Neither of them said anything. She felt his hand soothe down her back as she drifted off to sleep. Content. Confident that all would be well.

* * * * *

Clarissa listened to the sound of morning from the downy comfort of her husband’s bed where his scent still lingered. Hawkers on the street yelled out their wares. A horse and carriage passed by. The house servants bustled about. And her heart was about to burst with happiness.

Michael had disappeared from the room, but she knew he rarely left the house before noon. Clarissa rushed to her bedroom, selected a light blue muslin gown and succumbed to her maid’s dictates as she helped her dress. Her maid tugged at the strings of her corset and wanted to fuss with Clarissa’s hair. She wanted none of that, instead tying it back with a matching blue ribbon.

She nearly skipped down the steps. The breakfast room was empty except for two footmen waiting to serve her. William would still be abed.

A quick rap on the library door was followed by an approval to enter. She pressed her hand to her chest and gulped a deep breath.

As she waltzed in, his gaze bore into her and her heart tripped over the warm look.

“I’m not bothering you, am I?”

“No bother at all.”

Her words lodged in her throat. “You slept well.”

“Tolerably.”

He reached for her hand and pulled her into his lap. He smiled and Clarissa knew all was well. His hand touched her neck, his fingers sliding into her hair as he guided her mouth toward his. “What would I do without you?” he asked. His lips caressed hers for a moment before he leaned back in the chair and stared at her. “I…I’ve been a complete ass.”

She placed a finger against his lips. “Don’t. Whatever it is…
was
. It’s in the past. Over.”

He kissed the pad of her finger and then her lips. He grasped her hand in his as he toyed with her fingers and stared into her eyes. “Soon, I want to tell you everything, but I’m not ready to do that yet. I need to know right now that you’ll forgive me, not because I deserve it, but because you love me in spite of it.”

Tears filled her eyes. “Michael, you have my heart.”

They kissed and whispered and kissed some more. The ice that had coated her heart thawed and melted, knowing he was home to stay and hers forever.

Michael kissed across her knuckles and then gripped her hand firmly, examining closely.

“Clarissa, where is your wedding band?”

By the time the question registered in her head and she stared down at her own hand, Michael had asked again, “Clarissa?”

“I… Well, I… It must be upstairs in my room.” She struggled to extricate herself from his lap. “I’d better find it.”

He let her go, the prominent frown he wore when perturbed sketched across his brow before he forced a smile again. “As you say, it’s probably in your room. You best fetch it.”

Patience had never been Michael’s strong suit.

He heard Clarissa’s feet patter against the stairs and then the distant echo of her door as it shut behind her.

At his question, fear had permeated every pore of her body. She’d tensed for those few seconds while she contemplated his question. She didn’t know the location of her ring. Ugly suspicion once again clouded his brain.

Her reaction was out of proportion to the offense and Michael wanted to know why.

Now.

He braced himself as he stood and headed toward the library door, cracking open the portal, waiting to hear what happened next. If she found the blasted thing, he’d no doubt she’d be down in a moment to tell him. If not…

Well, if not, he wanted to know why and where she thought she’d left the gold band. Would she tear the house apart looking? Would she enlist the servants? If she didn’t, it would be another telltale sign that something was amiss. If she had nothing to hide, she’d round up any available servant to assist in the search.