A Little Bit Sinful (9 page)

His hand cupped her face, pulling her closer to him and he deepened the kiss. Boldly, she moved her tongue against his and he groaned in response. Lust poured through her body, threatening to shut off every coherent thought, yet still she did not push him away. Finally he ended the kiss, but he only moved back from her enough so that she could see his face.

“Your kisses are intoxicating,” he said. “I was right in my estimation of you.”

“About the passion?” she asked dumbly.

“Yes. Chrissy, you are indeed a passionate woman. Do not waste such a thing on a man who hides the truth from you.”

Be passionate with me, she seemed to hear, though he hadn’t uttered those words. His eyes were so earnest, his words so blunt that she was taken aback. If she didn’t know better she would have thought that Justin did care for her. But that couldn’t be the truth.

She thought back to the young man he’d been those years ago. She’d been younger and she’d always thought him to be quite handsome, but he’d been so angry and caustic, and she’d been nervous around him all the time. He seemed less of all of that now. Oh, she still saw flashes of the anger heat his eyes, but he was able to temper it quickly. He had made peace with his father, with who Justin was. She envied him that, for she felt she was always trying to make peace with the person she was. And always falling short of the mark.

She thought suddenly of Rebecca, who would not have approved of her playing the piano with such transparent passion, let alone of her climbing into the carriage of a man on a moonlit night or allowing him to take such liberties with her. Again and again. She sighed. Why was it so very difficult for her to get things right?

“We are here now,” he said.

It was the first time she realized the carriage had stopped. Voices, laughing and talking surrounded them.

“Go ahead, look,” he motioned to the window of the carriage.

She gently pushed back the curtain to reveal the sight outside. There at the edge of the Thames was a large warehouse of a building, a worn-out sign read
Rafferty’s
. People were all around, women, clearly prostitutes judging by their shockingly low bodices and heavily kohled eyes, and men, gentlemen and lower classes all together. The women shamelessly rubbed against men as they walked to and from the gaming establishment.

To the right, against the far side of the building one man pressed a woman up against the wall, rocking back and forth into her while the woman clung to his shoulders. Clarissa’s breath caught and heat surged into her cheeks.

When the man was done, he merely backed up away from the woman, adjusted his pants and walked away. The woman lowered her skirts and fluffed her hair, then moved back into the crowd to tempt another man. It was shocking, more than shocking. Clarissa had heard of such things, but she’d never really believed they were out there, just beyond her clean and tidy parts of London. And there in the midst of the crowd, an arm slung around one of the scantily dressed women, was George.

Her George.

He was dressed as he normally did, his clothes impeccably tailored, himself well-groomed. But his shirt had been opened and he wore no cravat and that woman rubbed her hand on the swath of his exposed chest.

Clarissa’s own chest tightened and tears stung at her eyes. How could she have been so wrong about him? He’d been the perfect gentleman. For years they had been friends. For years he had treated her with respect. He had been charming, the perfect companion in every way. She would have sworn she knew him as well as she knew anyone.

“He has a penchant for fighting.”

She heard Justin say, but she couldn’t turn to face him yet, so she continued staring out the window. George gave the woman a big open-mouthed kiss and the thought that his lips had been on her own made Clarissa’s stomach churn.

“Boxing is not all that scandalous,” Justin continued, “but it would seem that he enjoys fighting outside of the ring as much, if not more, often goading men into fights. He’s violent, Chrissy. I wanted you to see the truth for yourself.”

If she’d been wrong in her estimation of George, then what did that mean for the rest of her life? More importantly, if Rebecca had been wrong about George, maybe she’d been wrong about everything. Maybe she’d been wrong in her estimation of Clarissa. Maybe the reason Clarissa struggled so much being a proper lady was because she simply didn’t have it in her. Suddenly, everything felt upside down and backwards.

She swiped angrily at her tears, then moved back into her seat, pressing her back into the cushion. “Please take me back home.”

“Chrissy, I’m sorry,” he said.

“No, you’re not.” She felt a sudden burst of anger. Anger directed not at George, but at Justin.
He
had done this to her. He had revealed the horrible truth about George. And, she realized with a start, not just the truth about George, but about her as well. Time and again, he had stirred her passions. He had revealed her own true nature. Why had he done that? “This is precisely what you wanted me to see.”

“Yes, I wanted you to see it, because I wanted you to know the man he really is. He is a man who has hidden his true nature from you. Do you think a man like that could ever be the husband you deserve?”

Her breath caught as a shocking idea occurred to her. Why had he done that? Did he have an ulterior motive she hadn’t seen until now? She waited for him to say something else, for him to offer to be that husband she deserved, but he fell quiet. Finally, she let out a breath. “Take me back. Now.”

…

They had not spoken at all the rest of the way back to her home. Clarissa had kept her eyes averted and concentrated on keeping herself from crying. Right now that was the only thing that mattered. She didn’t want Justin to see her cry. Not for that. She felt like an utter fool.

He helped her back into the townhome and she found her way to the bedchamber. She called for her maid, made a silly excuse about falling asleep fully dressed and wanting to be more comfortable. The maid assisted her out of her dress and finally Clarissa was left alone. She went and stood at the window, looking out at the darkness.

It would be morning soon and she’d have to pretend as if nothing had happened tonight. As if she hadn’t shared yet another passionate kiss with Justin Rodale. Pretend as if she hadn’t spent time alone in a carriage with a dashing man. But most of all, she’d have to pretend that she hadn’t seen the man she thought she wanted to marry carousing with a woman of ill repute, something he supposedly did on a regular basis. Justin had said George liked to fight. He’d never appeared violent to her; quite the contrary, he seemed rather docile.

Hot tears slid down her cheeks and she ignored them, allowing them to come freely now. Is that what marriage to George would be like? She’d be at home waiting for him and he’d be out all night gambling and sleeping with other women? Certainly not. This was
her
George. She knew him, didn’t she? And Rebecca had approved of him. Obviously, other maternal types did as well or there wouldn’t be such a long list of women vying for his proposal. More than likely he was attempting to sow his wild oats until they married.

But what if?

What about all of those times she’d given him hints that she wouldn’t mind holding his hand or having a longer than was proper embrace? And the kiss they’d shared? She’d initiated it, but then she’d pulled away when things had heated up too much. Because unlike Justin’s heated kiss that slid desire through her body, once her kiss with George had intensified, she’d felt something alarmingly like fear.

It couldn’t be fear of George himself, though. More than likely it was fearing what he’d think if he saw the real her. What would George think of the Clarissa that didn’t always say the right thing, that felt the music too much when she played?

What if the entire reason George hadn’t proposed to her was her? Had she worked too hard trying to be the perfect lady, behaved too properly? Had she been too buttoned-up and cold for him to find attractive? Rebecca had died before she’d been able to explain all that there was between a man and a woman. Perhaps she hadn’t been wrong about George, but merely hadn’t yet detailed to Clarissa everything there was about a man’s needs.

When they’d dance, he’d told her on more than one occasion that she was the most beautiful woman in the room. But perhaps he was merely being polite, charming. Yet Justin was always able to elicit a passionate response from her. His kisses didn’t make her feel nervous in the least. Perhaps he was right and it all simmered just beneath the surface and she merely needed a reason to let it out. She seemed to have little trouble with that in Justin’s company. She knew George would never sneak into her house and find her bedchamber in the middle of the night. Perhaps there was a reason for that. If he didn’t think his advances were welcomed, if he didn’t think he’d find a passionate and willing lover on the other side of her door, there would be no reason for him to visit her.

But what if she kissed George again and allowed him whatever liberty he chose to take? What would he do? Perhaps it would change the course of everything. If she could share a kiss with George, as sensual a kiss as the ones she’d shared with Justin that might change George’s mind. There was no reason to believe a kiss with one man over the other couldn’t be just as passionate. Even more so because of her feelings for George. Then perhaps it would persuade George that she was a desirable woman. Then he wouldn’t need to go and find and pay another woman for things that Clarissa could certainly learn to do.

She felt a momentary pang at the thought of Justin and the intimacy they’d shared in the carriage. There had been that instant when she had thought he might offer some sign of affection himself, but he hadn’t. No, Justin was not for her. George was still the man for her.

She needed lessons in seduction and knew precisely who to ask to teach them to her.

Chapter Nine

Justin and his brother met for luncheon fairly regularly, and he was not certain today he’d be much company. His mind was otherwise engaged. Thinking about George Wilbanks, Rafferty’s, and Clarissa.

All of Justin’s other inquiries about the man had come up empty. Whatever else George did with his time, besides patronize Rafferty’s, he was discreet about it. That was one thing in his favor. Justin had to wonder what the hell the man was doing courting her if he had no intention of marrying her. Perhaps their visit to Rafferty’s last night had changed her mind about George.

Justin had hurt her, he knew that and he hated it. But he didn’t regret taking her, revealing the truth to her. Were she to marry George she should at least go into such a union not being completely ignorant of her husband’s behavior.

Roe was late, as was his custom. “People expect me to be late,” he’d say. “I’m a duke.” There wasn’t much, other than cards, that Roe took seriously and he seemed to enjoy watering-down the title their father had so desperately loved. Roe knew he wasn’t any different than any other man, any better than them. But he did enjoy toying with people.

Finally he arrived looking better than he had the other day, but still somewhat disheveled.

“You know, Rodale,” he said as he removed his hat and sat at the table. “If someone coming into this club didn’t know either one of us and was told that one of us was the Duke of Chanceworth, they would probably assume it was you. Why must you insist on showing me up?”

Justin glanced at his brother over his newspaper, then folded it and set it on the table. “I bathe regularly and have my clothes pressed. I hardly see how that is my showing you up. In any case, you’re late.”

It was understood that Roe would always be late and that Justin would always comment on it.

“Yes, shoot me. There was wretched traffic. Poor Lady Gramble lost a wheel on her new curricle and tied up all of Bond Street.” Roe sighed dramatically.

The footman came and brought them today’s fare, an earthy and aromatic lamb stew with hot buttered bread on the side.

“I’m not certain when I ate last, but this smells delicious,” Roe said. He took a bite then swore loudly. “That’s bloody hot.”

Justin chuckled. “You should wait and let it cool.”

Roe swore, but pushed the bowl aside for a moment. He crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair. “So tell me, what news do you have to tell me today?”

Justin stirred his stew, trying to cool the hot soup. “Nothing. I am courting that girl and I suspect my attention is working to some degree. I’m told she danced with two other gentlemen the other night. And that a third asked if she would be attending the theatre later this week.”

“Ah yes, how are you enjoying your latest foray into polite society?”

“It’s entertaining,” Justin said. They ate in silence for a few moments before Justin spoke again. “In particular the rumors about my lineage.”

Roe looked up over the table. “Oh, now that sounds interesting.” He tried another bite, and this one went down much easier.

“Yes, evidently my mother was French royalty. I overheard as much at a ball the other night.”

“It could be true.” Roe shrugged. “Don’t suppose we know.”

“It seems highly unlikely.” Justin took a bite of his own stew and chewed thoughtfully. “And well, all the pertinent players are already dead.”

“Unless
she’s
still alive.”

“My mother?” Justin certainly lived as if that were true. He’d been looking for her for years and until he uncovered her identity and found out for certain that she was dead, he would believe her alive. But he would not tell Roe that. “It’s doubtful.”

They ate in silence for a few moments before Justin spoke again. “I discovered that George Wilbanks frequents Rafferty’s.”

Roe whistled. “Are you still investigating him?” He held up a hand. “I won’t ask, but I suspect it involves a certain fair-haired chit.”

Justin grinned in spite of himself. “Rafferty’s is not a place for genteel women.”

“Did he take said genteel woman there?”

“No.” But Justin had. Guilt knotted in his stomach. What the devil had he been thinking to take Chrissy to such a place? Even safely ensconced in a carriage, what if she had been seen? He was the worst sort of ass. Still he hadn’t known another way to show her George’s true nature.

“Why don’t you simply court the girl yourself and be done with it? Marry her and have little blonde, blue-eyed devils.”

If only it were that simple. “You know I cannot do that. Clarissa deserves more than to be the wife of someone the likes of me.”

“She could do a lot worse too, as you’ve discovered with the Wilbanks fellow. He might inherit a title, but with you she’d never want for anything. You have more money than God,” Roe said.

“True.” But he could never marry Clarissa, as appealing as that notion sounded. “How is the playing going?”

“Excellent,” Roe said, allowing him to change the subject. He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. “I’ve heard a rumor though. About a new player at Rodale’s. Any truth to it?”

Justin nodded. “Ah yes, a young man. But he plays in the back room rather than the main floor.”

“Is he any good?”

Justin nodded. “He hasn’t lost yet.” Ever since Clipps had brought the young man to Justin’s attention, they’d been watching him carefully. So far he’d shown no signs of cheating. “Scrawny fellow, but he seems to be on the up and up.”

“I want to play him,” Roe said.

Justin shook his head. “You know that isn’t going to happen. There are men on the main floor that would be none too pleased if I allowed someone from the back room to play among them. They are not interested in mixing with the servants and commoners.”

Roe pointed his spoon at his brother. “You could make it happen. What is the use of having a brother who owns a gaming hell if he can’t break the rules for me? It would be by special invitation from the Duke of Chanceworth.”

“I’ll consider it. But not now.” Now his thoughts were filled of Chrissy and her lovely blue eyes brimming with tears as she’d begged him to drive her away from that filthy place.

…

I
t was nearly midnight when Justin heard the knock at his front door. He never required his staff to work late in the evening so he walked to the door himself. Besides any late night visitors he got were either women or men wanting to make a deal regarding their debts, neither of which his servants could manage.

He opened the door and there stood a woman, though her face was covered by a darkened cloak.

“Can I help you?”

She looked up then and he could see her eyes peeking through the darkness of her hood. Blue eyes.

“Chrissy?” He jerked her inside. “What the devil are you doing here? Are you deliberately trying to get me to ruin your reputation?”

“Of course not. I made certain no one saw me and in this no one can see who I am.” She flipped the hood off her face. Pink stained her cheeks from the cool night air. God she looked so beautiful.

He swallowed. “Come, we can talk in my study,” he said. He turned and walked to the room, not bothering to see if she followed. Part of him hoped she’d come to her senses and returned to her carriage. He’d done his level best to resist her one too many times, tonight he could make no such promises. But when he turned around in his study, she stood near one of the chairs. “What do you want, Clarissa?”

She looked up, her lips parted. “You don’t usually use my given name.” She chewed at her lip, then slid out from under her heavy cloak. Beneath she wore a dressing gown.

He swore.

“Don’t make this harder for me than it already is,” she said, her voice shaky and unsure. “I need your help.”

The nearly sheer fabric left little to his imagination. He couldn’t see anything directly, but the outline of her every curve had lust pounding to his groin. Her shapely hips and narrow waist, the fullness of her breasts, damn but he wanted her. “Help is not what I have in mind when I look at you in that.”

She smiled. “That is good news.” Again she chewed at her lip, the motion both innocent and seductive, and the mixture was nothing short of intoxicating. He remembered the night in her bedchamber, his mouth on her breast, her unabashed response to him. His trousers became increasingly uncomfortable.

“I want you to teach me to be a seductress.”

Justin sat in the chair to keep himself from either throttling her or teaching her how dangerous that request was. “You’re going to have to give me an explanation.”

“The other night, when you took me to Rafferty’s, and I saw George, I realized something. He does not look upon me that way because he believes me to be too pure, too much of a lady. It is my understanding that most men want their women to behave the lady in public, but when it comes to the bedroom, they prefer, how shall I say this.” She paused. “Harlots?”

He nearly laughed, but he couldn’t manage a response of anything. She was still intent on marrying George. The realization of that was like a knife in Justin’s chest, but he ignored the discomfort. If Wilbanks could not see the passion inside Clarissa, he was not only a cad, he was also a fool. “Who told you that?”

“It seems to be the general consensus.” She came and sat in one of the chairs near his.

“How do you suggest that I instruct you to be a seductress?” It was a dangerous question. Would that he behave the perfect gentleman, he’d load her back into her carriage and send her straight home, as he’d promised her brother he’d do if she dared show up at his gaming hell again. Of course this was not Rodale’s nor was it the first of her late night visits. And damned if Justin’s own curiosity hadn’t gotten the better of him.

“If I knew the specifics, I would not need your assistance,” she said. “Rebecca died before she could explain much to be about the goings on between and man and his wife, the duties of the marital bed, as it were.” She came to her feet and walked over to stand in front of him, her arms crossed over her body. She stood for a moment, then dropped her hands. “If I were a woman that you desired, one you planned an affair with, how would you proceed now?”

“First of all, this isn’t about desirability. That, you already possess. Nor is this about duty, at least it shouldn’t be. There should be enough attraction between husband and wife that the marital bed, as you called it, is pleasurable for both of them.”

“What do you mean I already possess desirability? If that were true, then why did you walk away from me the other night? You said that it couldn’t be me. That most certainly implies something is wrong with me.”

He came to stand in front of her, gripped her arms. “Chrissy, take a breath. You thought I left because I did not want you?”

She nodded, exhaled slowly.

“Silly woman.”

“Why then?”

“I’m not certain the truth is something I want to share with you.”

She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“It isn’t right for me to tell you how much I want you when you are so intent to be another man’s wife.”

She opened her mouth and then closed it.

“I can, of course, explain matters of the flesh to you though. You said you want to be the seductress. In order to be that, you must be the one to take the action. If you want a man to kiss you, then kiss him first. If you want a man to touch you, touch him first,” he said. “It is as simple as that.”

She was treading on very dangerous territory and she didn’t seem to see that. She might claim to be here because of some misguided attempt to seduce George, but the truth was sheand sedue marital bed, as it were.” She came to her feet and walked over to stand in front of him, her arms crossed over her body. She stood for a moment, then dropped her hands. “If I were a woman that you desired, one you planned an affair with, how would you proceed now?”

“First of all, this isn’t about desirability. That, you already possess. Nor is this about duty, at least it shouldn’t be. There should be enough attraction between husband and wife that the marital bed, as you called it, is pleasurable for both of them.”

“What do you mean I already possess desirability? If that were true, then why did you walk away from me the other night? You said that it couldn’t be me. That most certainly implies something is wrong with me.”

He came to stand in front of her, gripped her arms. “Chrissy, take a breath. You thought I left because I did not want you?”

She nodded, exhaled slowly.

“Silly woman.”

“Why then?”

“I’m not certain the truth is something I want to share with you.”

She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“It isn’t right for me to tell you how much I want you when you are so intent to be another man’s wife.”

She opened her mouth and then closed it.

“I can, of course, explain matters of the flesh to you though. You said you want to be the seductress. In order to be that, you must be the one to take the action. If you want a man to kiss you, then kiss him first. If you want a man to touch you, touch him first,” he said. “It is as simple as that.”

She was treading on very dangerous territory and she didn’t seem to see that. She might claim to be here because of some misguided attempt to seduce George, but the truth was sheand sedue marital bed, as it were.” She came to her feet and walked over to stand in front of him, her arms crossed over her body. She stood for a moment, then dropped her hands. “If I were a woman that you desired, one you planned an affair with, how would you proceed now?”

“First of all, this isn’t about desirability. That, you already possess. Nor is this about duty, at least it shouldn’t be. There should be enough attraction between husband and wife that the marital bed, as you called it, is pleasurable for both of them.”

“What do you mean I already possess desirability? If that were true, then why did you walk away from me the other night? You said that it couldn’t be me. That most certainly implies something is wrong with me.”

He came to stand in front of her, gripped her arms. “Chrissy, take a breath. You thought I left because I did not want you?”

She nodded, exhaled slowly.