Courting Claudia (8 page)

“Come on, it will be fun.” Poppy stepped down from the carriage and began climbing the steps to the town home.

Claudia quickly followed Poppy up the stairs,
then handed their invitation to the butler who opened the door.

“The ballroom is on the second floor,” he said in a severely nasal tone. “That is where the majority of the paintings are hung.” He took their cloaks. “You will also find some hanging in the drawing room, the study, the library, and the billiard room.”

Claudia shivered from the lack of her cloak; the cap sleeves of her pale pink dress barely covered her shoulders. She and Poppy climbed the wide staircase. Poppy stopped in front of the marble statue on the landing. It was a man. A naked man—holding a lute or some sort of string instrument. Claudia felt her cheeks warm, so she quickly averted her eyes, only to find Derrick standing behind them.

“Ladies, I'm glad you could come,” he said.

Poppy turned and greeted him.

He kissed both their hands, lingering a little longer on Claudia's—which pleased her.

“Tell me, Mr. Middleton, who are these artists?” Poppy asked. “Claudia couldn't remember.”

“They call themselves the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. I've known one of them since he was a scrap of a kid. I went to school with his older brother.”

“Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood,” Poppy repeated. “That's quite a name.”

“Yes, well, they fancy themselves as anarchists against the Royal Academy. They've only just formed their group, and this is their first showing.”

He led them to the ballroom where they began their tour. A variety of paintings hung from the walls and sat upon easels for display. There were only a handful of people in the room. Claudia recognized a few, but wasn't certain of their names. A young man with wavy blond hair waved at Derrick, then walked toward them.

“Derrick, who are these two lovely ladies?” he asked.

“Alistair Lambeth, may I present to you Miss Claudia Prattley and Lady Penelope Livingston.”

“What a pleasure.” Alistair kindly bent over each of their hands, but his hazel eyes remained fixed on Poppy.

“Alistair here is one of the painters in the brotherhood,” Derrick said.

“Yes, well, we must do what we must for our art,” the young man replied. “Lady Penelope, might you allow me to escort you around the ballroom? I could give you some background details on the paintings.”

It was rare for a man, no matter how charming and attractive, to make Poppy blush. But there it was, just a hint of color blooming in her cheeks.

“I would like that very much,” she said.

“It is a pleasure meeting you, Miss Prattley.”

Claudia nodded and smiled at him as he led Poppy away. “He seems charming,” she said to Derrick once they were left alone.

Derrick merely shrugged. “Shall we look at the paintings? 'Tis why you are here, correct?”

“Of course.”

He stood too close to her. She could tell because she could feel his warm breath on the back of her neck. If she wanted, she could lean back and feel the strength of him against her. But leaning against him would be most improper, regardless of how few people were in the ballroom with them. She stood straighter and tried to study the paintings in front of them.

“These are quite lovely,” she said, trying to sound as if her entire focus was on the artwork.

“They seem to have an eye toward chivalry and the Arthurian legend,” Derrick commented.

She tilted her head. The painting in the center featured a round table with knights, their swords placed on the top of the table. The paintings on either side also depicted knights, one with a knight atop a horse holding a lady's ribbon, while the other painting portrayed a knight kneeling beside a grave.

“So they do,” she said.

They were well-done paintings, full of emotion,
with deep, rich hues of gold, purple, red, and green. But they were oh, so much more than that. Claudia's heart clenched with longing.

These paintings depicted men in love.

Men so in love, they wielded a sword to protect their ladies. Claudia certainly held no fantasy about a man using a sword in her honor, but she very much wanted to be that special lady who was loved so grandly.

Derrick's hand pressed into the small of her back to lead her forward. The heat in his touch was so intense, it was as if no material separated his hand from her skin. Her cheeks burned, and she wanted more than anything to lean into his touch, or to turn and lean in for a kiss.

He led her around the ballroom, stopping at each painting and allowing her time to look and study as long as she desired. All the images were beautifully crafted by true masters of their art.

Twenty years from now when she'd married and was living out her days in the country, she'd remember Derrick as the only person who'd ever seen her for the person she truly was.

“I want to show you one over here,” he said softly. He led her out of the ballroom and down the hallway, right past the statue of the unclothed man.

She tried not to look, but couldn't help herself.
And she couldn't help but wonder if Derrick looked like that without his clothes. Would his chest and arms be as chiseled, his abdomen as perfectly carved to outline each muscle? Would his legs be as sinuous? And what of that middle area? Well, obviously Derrick had one of those and presumably they all looked the same. Didn't they?

They stopped right outside the billiard room. “Tell me, what do you think of that statue?” he asked as if he read her mind. Which it often seemed he did. Were her thoughts that transparent?

“It's a lovely piece of art,” she said, trying to sound worldly and confident.

“Art?” He braced his hands on either side of her against the wall. They were alone in a poorly lit hallway. “Does art always make you blush like that?” His eyes trailed down the front of her.

“Am I blushing?” She released a weak giggle. “I do find it a little warm in here.”

“No, you're blushing. You blush often, and I must say you have me wondering.” His finger trailed up her bare arm and landed on her collarbone.

“Wondering what?” she asked, her voice sounding strange and breathy.

“Just how far down that blush goes.” His finger left her collarbone to snake its way to the edge of her bodice, where it slipped just a snippet inside
and tantalized her sensitive flesh. “And precisely what is on your mind that evoked such a blush.”

“Oh my.”

He leaned in and kissed her hotly on the neck, just below her left ear, then grabbed her hand and pulled her into a room.

“The painting I want you to see is in here.”

Painting. Right, that's why she was here. Not to be fondled in the hallway in front of everyone. Granted no one had been there, but someone could have been. They entered the room, and thankfully were no longer alone, else she feared he might take advantage of her on that billiard table. But what scared her even more was that she doubted she would stop him.

His hand was warm over hers, their fingers laced together like those of lovers, and something in her heart swelled. He was touching her in public. Aside from dancing, Richard never touched her in public. He'd held her hand once when they were sitting in her garden, but that had been a long time ago. Derrick seemed not to care whether something was appropriate. Despite how much she enjoyed it, she pulled her hand from his.

He didn't seem to mind, and instead put his hand at the small of her back again. “It's this one right here.”

She looked up at the painting, and her breath
caught. The size alone made it magnificent, but the portrait shocked her. It was a woman, fully nude and reclining on a chaise longue, her blond hair hanging loosely.

Most of the paintings she'd seen that evening had women in them, but all had been fully clothed, and all had been looking off to the side or with a downward gaze, but this woman faced the front boldly. She had looked straight at the artist while he painted her, proud of her body, daring him to look. Daring everyone to look.

Derrick's hand slid from her back around to her waist, and he pulled her so that she leaned against him. “I thought of you when I saw this portrait. Look at her body.” His words brushed against her cheek.

How could he see such a creature and think of her? She was physically perfect, the kind of woman all other women secretly wished to be. “There is nothing about her that resembles me.” Her mouth had gone dry and words seemed hard to form. “Except perhaps the color of her hair.”

“It's not her body. It's her passion. Look at her eyes. See the boldness there. I see that in you, simmering just below the surface.” He leaned in closer and nipped at her ear. “I long to release it.”

Shivers danced through her blood and pooled at the apex of her thighs. Oh, to be that bold.

“She's proud of her body, Claudia. Comfortable with it. That's what makes her beautiful, not the shape of her breasts or her narrow waist.”

She fought the urge to close her eyes.

“You would see your own beauty, if you saw yourself through my eyes.”

No words found their way to her brain or her tongue. She simply stood there staring at the painting and feeling Derrick's hands and his breath and his heartbeat. It would be so easy to believe him, but wouldn't it also be foolish? As tempting as his words were, she knew that if she believed them she'd be gambling with her heart. She could not afford to lose her heart to Derrick Middleton, as she was certain she'd never recover.

She needed some distance before something happened they both regretted, because all she wanted was to find a secluded room and see if he really could unleash her simmering passion.

She closed her eyes and allowed herself a moment to relish his embrace. She inhaled his scent, willing it to brand itself on her senses. But too much more of him and she wouldn't be able to walk away.

“I think I should go,” she said.

“All right. We'll find Poppy, and I'll have a coach take you to your soiree.”

Very shortly, she found herself sitting next to
Poppy in the carriage. Poppy chatted nonstop about Alistair and his many wonderful and interesting attributes, but Claudia heard none of it.

Her mind wrestled with Derrick's words. Did he really think she was beautiful? How could he look at a painting of a woman like that, a woman who no doubt was not untouched, and think of her? The thought exhilarated and confused her.

If he was right, and she was beautiful and had that simmering passion, why was he the only man ever to see it? Why hadn't Richard taken the opportunity to release it? Didn't he see it too? If one man could see it, couldn't anyone?

Perhaps Derrick saw it because Derrick was looking.

I
t had been two days since the art exhibit. Two days since Derrick had kissed her. Two days in which Claudia had given the current situation a great deal of thought.

So she stood her ground and waited for the inevitable.

Claudia watched from the corner of the ballroom as Derrick crossed the floor toward her. She desperately wanted to turn and run the other direction. But she couldn't very well do that without making everyone around think something was going on between them.

He looked the very picture of the proper gentleman. Clean and crisp and dashing in his black suit. His smile made her catch her breath, and it took her a minute to remember to inhale again. She was certain that if the other women in the ballroom were watching, they must be positively jade with envy.

His determined swagger toward her said he was a man who knew what he wanted, and it very much looked as if he wanted her. Her heart wrestled to accept the possibility, while her mind struggled to comprehend it. Regardless of if he wanted her and regardless of if she wanted him in return, she had other people to consider.

Her entire relationship with Derrick hinged on impropriety. It had potentially damaged her future with Richard, and her father would never forgive her if Richard refused to marry her.

“You don't look happy to see me.” His voice smoothed over her skin.

She would not allow him to ruffle her tonight. Surely she could control herself and not fall prey to his flirtatious behavior.

“I have something I wish to discuss with you.”

“You sound serious.”

“I am. I'm concerned. But we cannot discuss it here. You'll have to meet me outside.” She turned
to go, but he followed. She stopped short. “You cannot simply follow me. We mustn't make this look as if we're planning a rendezvous.”

“But we are.”

“It's not a rendezvous. It's a serious discussion.”

“I see. If I cannot follow you, what then shall I do?”

“Allow me to go first. I'll wait for you on the balcony. You should walk to the refreshment table first and have a drink and then follow. That way it will not look as if you are going after me.”

“Quite a serious plan you've developed.”

“I'll meet you outside.” She left him standing there and slipped out the balcony doors. The moon was not particularly bright that evening, leaving the long balcony less lit than she would have preferred. She leaned against the railing and inhaled the sweet night air.

She'd never before waited for a man on a balcony, but knew ladies did so often. It was the polite way to steal kisses without their watchful mothers interrupting. These interludes never lasted long, at least from what she'd been told, but nonetheless it seemed quite risky. And she wouldn't admit it to anyone, but quite exciting as well.

“I'm fairly certain I snuck out unseen.”

She turned and found him smiling broadly. He
thought this was all a joke. He probably thought she was a joke.

“I don't find that amusing.”

He frowned. “I apologize. Now what did you want to discuss with me?”

She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “Our relationship. I find the current degree of familiarity and affection we've shared to be highly improper. And if we cannot change the direction, then we will no longer be able to spend time with one another. Which I'm certain won't be a problem considering your courting has all been a ruse.”

“That again. Claudia, we've had this conversation. I'm at a loss for other ways to convince you that I'm serious.”

She searched his face for a sign of humor, but found none. She'd never met an accomplished liar, but had heard people talk of them. It was said that Lord Moncriff was a liar of the worst sort, but she didn't know him. She shook her head to rattle her thoughts, hoping when they settled everything would make sense. It didn't work.

“Precisely what are you having a difficult time believing?”

“I am not the sort of woman that your sort of man courts.”

“What sort of woman are you?”

“I'm plain.”

That earned her a laugh. “You are anything but plain. Much to the contrary. Look at your dress. You have enough tassels and ribbons to decorate ten other dresses.”

“I wasn't speaking of my dress.” She frowned. “Do you think it's too much?” She fingered a ribbon at her sleeve. She'd always picked lavishly decorated patterns because she felt the more between her body and someone's eyes, the better.

“I don't believe they're necessary. You don't need all the extra adornments. You have a subtle beauty about you, one that sneaks up on you while you're not looking. And it has nothing to do with your silly dresses.”

“Men have never paid me much mind. So why does it matter how I dress?”

“I don't care if other men pay attention to you; on the contrary, I rather hope they do not. Less competition for me. If other men haven't noticed you, they're not paying attention. I find you most becoming. Surely you must have noticed.”

She looked around to ensure their privacy before whispering, “If you're speaking about the kisses, then that's precisely the reason why we must stop this charade. You know as well as I that you don't intend to marry me. Step aside and al
low me to fulfill my duty and marry Richard. You and I can maintain our business relationship until I'm married, and after that, we can be friendly acquaintances. I find you a most agreeable man and do not wish to be on unfriendly terms with you.”

“Men and women are not friends.”

“That's not true. Poppy has a dear gentleman friend she's known her entire life.”

“All right then. I am not friends with women. I'm not looking for an acquaintance either; I have plenty of those. I picked you because you fascinate me.” He took a step closer to her.

“There is nothing fascinating about me.”

“On the contrary. I find it absolutely annoying that I cannot simply walk away from you. You are the most fascinating woman I've ever met. Layers of contradiction. You live your life trapped in a web of propriety, yet I'm positive you have more passion in you than any other woman in that ballroom.

“You seemingly have no vanity, yet you garnish yourself in ruffles and bows.” He flicked the ruffle at her bodice, sending chills across her chest. “Not to mention you're an extraordinarily talented illustrator.”

“Now you're just appealing to my vanity.”

“Is it working?”

She smiled. “A little.”

“You have very kissable lips.” He ran his thumb along her bottom lip. “In fact they're so kissable, I'm not quite sure how I can resist them for much longer.”

“Indeed?” His eyes were mesmerizing. Like pools of water so deep, she'd never find the bottom.

“I need to know if Richard ever kisses you.”

His words brought back the humiliation of Richard's rejection. “Why?”

“If he's kissed you, then I'll know that he'll marry you, and I will agree to step aside.”

She tilted her head in confusion.

“No man who's kissed those lips could walk away from you. I don't think he has. Tell me, Claudia, I need to know.” His voice was low and gravelly.

She couldn't say the words, so instead she shook her head.

“Has he ever come close?” He moved so that he stood right before her. “Tried to sneak a kiss and ended up grazing your cheek?” His lips moved close to her mouth, then just as quickly brushed below her right eye.

She could feel the sting of tears against her eyes. Richard had never come close to trying to kiss anything of hers but her hand. And even then his lips barely brushed her skin. Why had
Richard rejected her advances? Would Derrick do the same if she tried to kiss him? She didn't think so.

There was only one way to find out.

She tilted her head so that she met his lips. Her hands ran up the length of his chest and grabbed the front of his coat, pulling him closer. Unlike Richard's reaction, Derrick kissed her back, slanting his mouth over hers.

Deepening the kiss, she darted her tongue out and ran it against his. She was being bold, brazen, and she loved it. Fireworks sparked through her blood, igniting shocks of pleasure throughout her body. A tingle started at the apex of her thighs and increased until she thought she would scream.

Derrick's tongue swirled through her mouth, and she heard herself moan. She tried to situate herself so that something, anything pressed against that ache between her thighs.

He broke off the kiss long enough to pull them farther into the shadows on the balcony. She knew this was wrong, but her body felt so alive that she couldn't stop. Didn't want to. Not yet.

He kissed her again, but this time he let his mouth trail down her neck to right behind her ear, where he placed tiny licks and bites until she thought she would melt into a puddle at his feet.
Across her collarbone, down to the swell of her breast.

Gracious.

She arched against him, giving him more access. His hand cupped her breast through her dress while he continued to lave kisses on her skin. She moaned again.

No one had ever touched her like this. She felt her breasts peak beneath his touch, and she nearly tore at her dress to give him access to her bare skin. Thankfully Derrick was more controlled and was able to appease her without ripping any material. His hand slipped beneath the neckline and brushed against her skin.

He found her lips just in time to muffle the moan that tore though her at his touch. His rough, warm hands moved against her breast, rubbing her hardened nipple. Moisture gathered between her legs, and she bucked against him.

Derrick removed his hand from her dress, but kept her close against him. His ragged breathing tickled her right ear. He gave her one last kiss on her neck, then took a small step back.

“I know what you want. But now isn't the time, Claudia. We'll be discovered. It's too public.” He took her hand and pressed it to the front of his trousers and the evidence of his arousal. “But know this. I want you just as badly.”

 

Claudia leaned into the seat cushion and allowed the events of the evening to swirl through her head. She needed to talk to Poppy, but that would have to wait until tomorrow. What was she supposed to do?

Derrick had successfully proved to her that he was indeed serious about pursuing her. And the irony was that Richard had supposedly been courting her for a year now and had never advanced past sending her poems. Poorly written poems at that.

Not only had she once again failed to end their relationship, she'd entangled herself with him in a most scandalous way. She was shameless and weak.

Her body wanted Derrick. Of that much she was certain. But her father would never allow her to marry a man like him. His station in life alone was enough to send her father into a fit. But the fact that Derrick was the man that her father seemed to hate the most, aside from the majority party leader, ensured he would never bless a union between them.

If he ever found out about the courting, his head would likely split in two. She'd found a man who wanted her, and not for her dowry, because everyone knew Derrick had more money than most of his so-called betters. He seemed to want her because of her.

She almost squealed with the thought of it. It was a heady feeling, almost addictive—knowing that a man wanted her. No wonder Poppy was usually in such a good mood.

The carriage pulled to a stop in front of her house. Her nerves and body were so alert, she probably wouldn't sleep at all. She took off her slippers to climb the stairs so she wouldn't wake her father. It was a silly precaution, because he always went to bed early.

“Claudia, I'd like to see you now.” Her father appeared behind her. “In my study.”

His voice was tight and controlled. He'd clearly been waiting up for her. That had never happened. Chills shivered up her spine to prickle the hairs at the nape of her neck. He knew something.

Then she realized the obvious. Someone must have seen her on the balcony. It had been very dark, but it wasn't an impossibility.

“Sit down.”

She complied and searched his face for any clue to what he wanted to discuss. She found nothing.

“I've heard a disturbing rumor, and I'm expecting you to dispel it.”

She nodded, not sure what to say.

“Are you familiar with a man by the name of Derrick Middleton?”

Her blood turned to ice. He knew. “Yes, sir. I've made his acquaintance recently.”

“And is it true he's been seeking you out at parties? Trying to…court you?” He spat the words out as if the thought made him physically ill. “Is this true?”

“We have danced a few times.” She'd been to his office, and to his estate to ride horses with him. All with no chaperone. But if she told her father all that, he'd send her straight to the country to live the remainder of her days.

“But what are his intentions?”

“It's my understanding, Father, that when a gentleman wants to court a lady, he must first consult with her parents. Has he met with you?”

“Of course not. And if he tried, I would refuse to see him. He is no gentleman, Claudia. Do not be fooled by his money. He is nothing more than a scoundrel who's made his riches off the lies he prints in that paper of his.”

Well, that answered her question. Not that she expected a different answer. But she'd held a tiny bit of hope that he would consider allowing Derrick to court her.

“I can't imagine what would prompt him to seek your attentions, but you must put a stop to his advances. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Father.”

“No more dances. I don't even want you speaking to him. Don't exchange pleasantries, don't even look at him. Pretend you do not know him.”

She would make that promise now and hope life handed her a way not to keep it. She loved her father, and he knew what was best for her, but sometimes she wished he was wrong.