A Little Bit Sinful (6 page)

“Clarissa,” he coaxed.

“Very well.” She spun back around, her eyes flashing with chagrin. “I’ve had only one serious suitor other than George. His name was Christopher and I was enchanted by him, thought for certain I would marry him. He did not turn out to be the man I thought him to be. Rebecca hadn’t liked him from the beginning, had warned me not to trust him, but I hadn’t listened. It was all very long ago. So do you see? Do you understand now why I am so worried George might have his head turned by Miss Cooper?”

Indeed he did. Then again, he had understood all along that George was not the sort of man for Clarissa. The man was not the gentleman she believed him to be. However, he couldn’t bring himself to disillusion her, not when she had come to him for help. Not when she was so clearly—and adorably—worried.

“Let’s discuss courtship. Perhaps if you are a bit more comfortable being wooed you will not worry so.”

Her eyes widened. “You intend to court me?”

He waited for her to have a more telling reaction. Would she be accepting of such a gesture from him? He doubted it. But if he could busy her, occupy her mind enough that perhaps George did decide to propose to Franny Cooper, then Justin would feel as if he’d done his duty to Clarissa. And done it without devouring her body. “No, I meant only that we could set up scenarios.”

“Oh, like in a play?”

“Precisely.” He took her hand and pulled her over to the settee near the fireplace. “What do men do these days to court women?”

“A myriad of things. Picnics, walk in the park, rides in the park, poetry—”

“Poetry. Yes, that is somewhere to start. Now would this be poems that the gentleman himself wrote? For instance, I could compare your fair hair to that of freshly pulled wheat. Then I could liken your lovely complexion to the finest quality alabaster. Your eyes, though, those would be far more difficult. The color is so very unique, not quite the color of the sky on a bright spring day, nor the color of the ocean off of Plymouth’s coast. It is rather like a color that only an artist could create by blending and mixing the most beautiful shades of blue.”

The expression on Clarissa’s face filled with surprise and something sharply akin to awe. He simultaneously wanted to embrace her and chuckle. “Or perhaps it’s more that they quote other famous poets.

‘Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove:

O no! it is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.

Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle’s compass come:

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error and upon me proved,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved.’

“Shakespeare,” she whispered. “Sonnet 116. It’s one of my favorites.”

“Has George ever recited poetry for you?”

“Heaven’s no.” She waved her hand dismissively. “I’m not even certain George knows any poetry. Well, I mean obviously he would have been educated in the verse as you were, but he seems to favor other types of entertainment.”

“Were I to court you, I would recite such verses, though I would have to insist you not relay my secret to anyone. A man has to keep up his reputation, you see, and a gaming hell owner who recites Shakespeare is unacceptable at best.”

Her lips twitched in a smile. “Your secret is safe with me. That is,
if
you were courting me.”

“Which I am not.”

“Of course not.” She was quiet for a moment. “But if you were, what else, besides poetry, how else would you woo me?”

“Riding in the park is nice, but I’d prefer someplace a little more intimate, more private.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Is that so?”

“Indeed. For instance, people would be shocked and scandalized if I kissed you in the middle of Hyde Park, or say in the middle of a waltz at Lord Abernathy’s estate.”

“Oh my goodness.” She leaned in a little closer, and it was all the encouragement he needed.

With one arm, he pulled her closer then dropped his mouth to hers. It was a kiss meant to show her what she could have outside of a marriage with George. A kiss meant to show her she was desirable just as she was, not some enhanced version of herself. But the instant his lips touched hers, he forgot all about his intentions.

Her lips were soft and pliant beneath his. With only a tiny amount of coaxing, he was able to open her mouth and explore inside. Her warm breath mingled with his.

God, she felt so good, tasted so sweet. He deepened the kiss and felt her fingers lace through his hair. Her tongue moved against his, fueling his arousal. Damnation, but he wanted her. Right here, right now on the floor of his billiard room. Or better yet, up against the billiards table.

He fought the urge to groan and forced himself to end the kiss.

Her eyes remained closed, and her breath came in shallow puffs. Then she opened her eyes and smiled at him. “I suspect your manner of courtship would be quite effective.”

…

In the carriage back to her townhome Clarissa replayed the two kisses she’d received that evening. The one with George, she’d instigated, but then somehow had lost control of and it had been an utter disaster. A rather unpleasant disaster at that. There was nothing particularly wrong with George’s kiss; his technique had been different than Justin’s, but still a passionate kiss. And yet she’d felt nothing. Well, nothing save panic to end it quickly.

Contrast to the one she’d received from Justin, which had affected her in both body and soul, it seemed. Of course it hadn’t hurt that he’d quoted her favorite poem. If she could only read one author and listen to one composer, it would be Shakespeare and Beethoven. They’d been her favorites since she’d been a girl. So to say she’d been ripe for the plucking, as it were, would be an understatement. She only wished she could contribute her entire reaction to Shakespeare. Unfortunately, she had begun to sink beneath Justin’s spell long before he’d brought out the poetry. She did not think of herself as a vain woman, but his compliments had turned her head and warmed her to the very core. No man had ever said such things to her. And even if one had, she doubted she would have believed him. However, it was different with Justin. He had a way of looking at a woman that made her believe he could see right to her very soul. And that what he saw there entranced him. It was heady stuff, being wooed by Justin Rodale.

Why was her reaction so very different from one man’s kiss to the other’s? It truly made no sense. Since she had romantic feelings for George, had planned to be his wife for the majority of her adult life, shouldn’t his kisses be the ones making her knees wobble? Shouldn’t his kiss be the one that caused such delicious sensations to coil through her body, teasing at her breasts, and ending up at the apex of her thighs?

Yet, it was Justin’s kiss that made her feel so alive, so full of lust and desire.

Chapter Six

Clarissa and Aunt Maureen stepped into the ballroom that glowed with gold and green fabrics and hundreds of candles.

It was lovely and the air smelled of spiced punch. The musicians had already begun playing and a handful of people scattered about the dance floor moving to the country dance.

Clarissa was nervous. She wasn’t certain why. She’d been to countless balls. But tonight her insides jittered like she’d had too much champagne. Justin had been invited, she’d been told. Evidently when Vivian had seen that he be invited to a handful of functions a few months ago, people had grown accustomed to his presence. Of course it probably didn’t hurt that Justin’s half-brother was the Duke of Chanceworth. But other people being used to his presence did not make it easier for her.

She never felt uneasy around him per se, especially when they were alone, but it was the fact that they’d spent so much alone time together that concerned her. Would people be able to tell? Would others be able to see the intimacy they’d shared? Her cheeks flamed in response.

She was a perfect lady, she reminded herself, or rather she knew how to behave like a perfect lady. A lady Rebecca would have been proud to know, despite Clarissa’s recent actions. Kissing not one but two different men.

She took a deep breath. She loved balls. Loved dancing and seeing her friends. She loved looking at all the dresses and she used to love gobbling up whatever gossip was out for the night. Tonight she was less eager for that bit considering she had so recently been the main dish.

Almost immediately one of Maureen’s friends stepped up and whisked Maureen away to go and hear about so-and-so’s outrageous new hat. Clarissa stepped through crowds of people searching for Ella.

She wanted to see George. She wanted the reassurance that things were still well between them since their kiss. Perhaps she should apologize for being so brazen. No, she wanted him to know she was available, that she would be a good wife to him in every way. She searched the room for his handsome face, but as she looked, he was not the man that caught her attention. Instead of George’s golden good looks, she was struck by a tall man with the more olive complexion and eyes as dark as sin. She sucked in a breath. Her heart quivered and flipped and she tried her best to swallow the sensations so that they did not reveal themselves on her face.

Justin Rodale stood across the room. He nodded to her, allowing his gaze to take in the length of her. He took a step toward her, then came the rest of the way.

“Good evening,” he said, but he never took his eyes off hers. “I would very much enjoy a dance.”

His gaze seared into her, making her warm all over. If she continued to find him so irritating, she would have a long list of things for which she needed to apologize. And truly what was so grating about him? His handsomeness, she decided. Yes, that was it, he was simply too handsome. Practically speaking no one needed to be
that
attractive. Well, and it wasn’t so much that she was irritated with him as it was the fact that he made her want things she had no right to want. Namely, him. “Do you know how?” she asked.

His gaze darkened. “I know you believe I must have been raised in the forest with wolves, but try to remind yourself that I attended the same school as your brother. I can assure you I’m a rather accomplished dancer.”

Clarissa swallowed. How was it he could be so unfazed by such a nasty question when mere glances of his sent her heart into acrobatics? “That’s not what I meant to ask. I was merely surprised you’d be interested in dancing, that’s all. But since you’ve so eloquently reminded me that you were raised properly, I should like to see you prove such a thing,” she countered, hoping that he wouldn’t notice her hands were shaking. Clarissa held out her dance card and allowed him to write down his name. Once he was done, she smiled slightly. “If you will excuse me, I believe I see my friend Ella over there.” She turned and walked away. She did her best not to run to her friend.

“Did he just ask you to dance?” Ella asked once Clarissa reached her side.

“He did.”

Ella grabbed her dance card to look at it. “A waltz too. Oh how positively scandalous. I think I might swoon.”

“You will do no such thing.”

Clarissa looked down and Justin had most certainly signed his name by a waltz. “He should know better.”

“I suspect he knows precisely what he’s doing,” Ella said. “He is no stranger to Society. Wasn’t he raised in the Duke of Chanceworth’s home?”

“He was, but I know he was not treated as a son.” She remembered hearing him saying such things when he’d come over as a young man. He had confided in Marcus, and she’d overheard their discussions.

Ella started to clap. “Oh, look at Mr. Rodale now, he is positively charming Lady Primrose right out of her knickers.”

“Ella, honestly,” Clarissa said. But she followed her friend’s gaze across the ballroom and there was Justin talking to Lady Primrose, her plump figure bobbed as she laughed at something he said. She placed her fan on his forearm, he said something, and then she laughed again.

“What is he doing?” Clarissa asked.

“Talking to her. Blending in quite well, I might add,” Ella said.

“What do we have here, Lady Ella and Lady Clarissa,” a woman said as she walked up. “What are you two gossiping about?”

Clarissa eyed the woman. Lady Benchly was a notorious gossip and had a reputation for being rather mean-spirited as well. Clarissa had never cared for her.

“Lady Benchly,” Clarissa and Ella said in unison.

“No gossip here,” Ella said.

Lady Benchly smiled. “I suppose that is for the best. Clarissa here certainly knows how damaging gossip can be, don’t you dear?”

“I don’t believe I do,” Clarissa said, deliberately being obtuse.

“Oh, don’t be daft girl, certainly you must know that tongues are wagging about a clandestine meeting between you and the owner of that gambling establishment. Positively scandalous. And to think he’s been invited here, among us.” Lady Benchly clicked her tongue and shook her head.

“I hadn’t realized that coordinating with a family friend about a brother’s return to London was scandalous. If so, I suppose I am rather guilty,” Clarissa said with a smile. “Seems if I were planning a clandestine meeting, I would have been more discreet than speaking to a gentleman on the street. Then again perhaps it is only the people who have intimate knowledge of clandestine meetings who imagine the worst. I admit to being naïve about such matters.”

Lady Benchly pursed her lips. “I don’t know what you’re insinuating, Lady Clarissa, but I do not appreciate your attitude.”

“You know I hadn’t realized that particular shade of yellow had returned to fashion, Lady Benchly,” Ella said. “But you always have been above reproach,” she said brightly.

Lady Benchly’s expression pinched her features. “Good evening to you ladies,” she said, then strolled away.

“Ella, you shouldn’t have insulted her like that.”

“She deserved it.” Ella crossed her arms over her chest. “She was positively horrible to you. And she does look really ugly in that color.”

“That color would be ugly on anyone.” Clarissa said. Just then George and Ella’s brother, Victor, stepped over to them.

“I believe I’d like some lemonade. Refreshment table?”

“Sounds delightful,” Ella said. “Of course, anything would be delightful after conversing with that old bag.”

“Ella!”

“It’s true.” She smiled. “You know you can’t even argue with me on that.”

“Good evening ladies,” George said. “Clarissa, would you dance with me?”

She handed him her dance card. “Of course.”

He shook his head. “No, right now, this dance.”

“Yes, certainly.”

Ella frowned, but Clarissa left her standing there with her brother. The music began and Clarissa realized it was a quadrille, not one of her favorites because you had to keep switching partners, but it was lively. She began standing across from George, moved forward, they touched hands, she tried to think of something to say, something clever or engaging, but nothing came to mind.

“Clarissa, you look quite lovely this evening,” George said.

“Thank you,” she said and then was whisked off to another partner, and another. She wanted to ask George about Franny, demand he tell her the truth about his intentions, but she didn’t dare do such a thing. She wasn’t even supposed to know about the wager.

“Are you having a pleasant evening?” he asked again once they were back together.

“Indeed and yourself?” Oh these pleasantries were enough to drive her to madness. She wanted to have a real conversation with him, talk about something that mattered. But even if she could do such a thing, this particular dance was not conducive to such a discussion.

“Who was that gentleman you were speaking to earlier?” George asked.

Clarissa ignored the heat that surged through her. “That was Mr. Rodale. He is a dear friend of the family.”

“I see.”

“What is it, George, do you have something to say about Mr. Rodale?”

He eyed her for a moment, then nodded slightly. “I am concerned for your welfare. I’d hate to see a man such as he tarnish your impeccable reputation.”

The words shocked her, so much so that she nearly missed the fact that the music had ended and their dance was over. “Thank you for your concern. I can assure you that my reputation is quite all right.” She realized with alarming clarity that she was angry with George. He was the one who had lied to her, who had treated their relationship, or whatever it was, so casually. And yet he had the nerve to feign concern. The fact that the concern was warranted did not escape her mind. Her reputation should be in tatters now as many times as she’d been alone with Justin, kissed Justin.

George escorted Clarissa back to Ella, then he bent over Clarissa’s hand and walked away.

“What was that?” Ella asked.

“I believe George and I just had our first fight, only he doesn’t know it and I didn’t say anything.”

“I’m not certain I followed that. Still want something to drink?”

“Most definitely.” Perhaps she should have had Justin teach her how to sip some scotch. She could use something a little strong at the moment.

They reached the refreshment table and instead of selecting lemonade, which Clarissa had intended, she chose a glass of champagne. The bubbles teased her lips as she took a hearty sip.

Ella eyed her, surprise etched in her features. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly.” Clarissa scanned the room, the couples twirling around the middle of the ballroom, and then she spotted George. He stood over near the French doors that led to the balcony and he was obviously speaking with someone, but his body blocked the person from Clarissa’s view. And then George shifted, held his arm out and Franny Cooper took it and then he escorted her outside. “Look at that.” She nodded with her head.

Ella followed Clarissa’s gaze to the couple as they left the ballroom. “A dance with you, a walk with her.” Ella sighed. “He’s certainly keeping up appearances as far as not letting on to which one of you he’s going to pick.”

Clarissa considered that a moment, wondered if right now he was kissing Franny in the gardens and if Franny would enjoy it more than Clarissa had. If only Rebecca were still alive to give her guidance. What if she didn’t want to marry George, then what? It wasn’t as if there were other prospects. She’d set her sights on George so early on, after the incident with Christopher, that she hadn’t really encouraged any other would-be suitors.

Ella stilled, then nudged Clarissa in the ribs. “Listen,” she whispered.

Clarissa’s hand gripped her champagne glass and she focused on the people behind them.

“Well, that is not what I heard about him,” one woman said. “No, I had heard that Mr. Rodale blackmailed someone to invite him to this very ball. Can you imagine?”

“It is not as if he’d have to resort to such extreme measures,” another woman said. “His brother is a duke, for heaven’s sake. Certainly if the man wanted to be a part of polite society, his brother could garner him invites.”

“Lois, you always do give everyone the benefit of the doubt. That man is a bastard and he has no place in this ballroom with the rest of us,” the first woman said. “I don’t care if his father was a duke and his mother was nearly French royalty, it doesn’t make it right.”

Clarissa grit her teeth, feeling quite indignant on his behalf. Yes, she’d thought those very things about him, but she’d never say them in public. And now that she’d actually heard them out of someone’s mouth, she could see how truly ugly the sentiment was.

“It is not his fault, the choices his parents made,” the other woman argued.

Precisely. Clarissa tugged on Ella’s sleeve. “I don’t need to hear any more of that,” she said once they were out of earshot. She didn’t want a reason to feel defensive for him. It wasn’t as if she could actually say anything on his behalf. That would really start the gossip flying.

“Do you know who his mother was?” Ella asked. “Do you believe she was a French princess or some such thing?”

“No, of course not.” But the truth was Clarissa had no idea who his mother was. Other than knowing she was French, Clarissa had never given it a single thought.

Until now.

…

I
t was not difficult for Justin to locate Clarissa when it was time for their dance. His eyes had followed her all evening. He’d known where she’d been, to whom she’d spoken with, and which fellows brought her to dance. He’d seen her dance with George and then seen the man take Miss Cooper outside for a walk. Clarissa had not been pleased.

For most of the evening she stood next to her friend Ella. As he walked up to the two of them, Ella’s eyes widened.

“I believe this is our dance, Chrissy,” he said.

He brought Ella’s gloved hand to his lips and nodded. “Lady Ella, a pleasure as usual.”

She giggled. “Mr. Rodale. You two are going to miss your dance, go.”

Once Clarissa and Justin were on the dance floor, she blurted out, “I am quite sorry for my rudeness.”