Thunder and Roses (24 page)

He was a rake and an adulterer, a man of avowed selfishness who had no desire to use his wealth and power for anything but gratifying his own desires. Yet he moved her deeply in ways she had never known. And strangely, even though their values were wholly antagonistic, he understood her as no one else ever had.

The gusty spring wind ruffled her skirts and teased at her hair. It was bitingly cold in this shaded corner of the parapets, but Nicholas was an island of warmth and comfort. She sighed, her hand tightening on his solid upper arm. Against all morals and sense, she felt safe with him.

He said softly, “Roses in the cheeks—a cliché used by every
lovestruck
swain who ever wrote bad poetry to his sweetheart. Yet nothing better describes the lovely color in your face. Welsh roses blooming on flawless Celtic skin.” He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “Don’t leave, Clare.”

Even if she had made up her mind to return to Penreith, her resolve would have crumbled under the tenderness in his voice. Amazingly, it seemed that Nicholas truly wanted her with him; she was something more than an idle whim. Though she had been too disabled by passion to appreciate that fact when they were locked in each other’s arms, now she recalled his hunger, the way he had trembled at her response.

Yet the fact that she could affect him didn’t guarantee her safety; it was more likely that they would simply go up in flames together. Thinking out loud, she said sadly, “If I leave now, I should be able to mend my tattered reputation. To stay is to forfeit the only life I have known. To be ruined.”

“I cannot agree that passion always brings ruin. If physical intimacy creates joy and no one is hurt, how can it be wrong?”

“I suspect that men have been saying that to innocent maidens ever since the Fall,” she said dryly. “And women who are fool enough to believe it are left to bear their babes in a lane and raise them in the workhouse. Who says that no one is hurt?”

“Making babies casually is wrong, a crime against the child as well as the mother,” he agreed. “But pregnancy is not an inevitable result of passion. There are reasonably effective methods of prevention.”

“Interesting if true,” she said, “but even where there is no risk of pregnancy, casual coupling would be wrong.”

He shook his head. “I think that if methods of preventing babies were widely known, ideas of right and wrong would change. Our current sexual morality exists to protect women, children, and society from the dangerous consequences of careless passion. If there were no consequences—if men and women could freely decide whether or not to share their bodies based on desire, not morality— our world would be very different.”
            

“But would it be a better place? Perhaps for men, who could satisfy their lusts, then leave with a light heart and a clear conscience. I don’t know if women can be so heedless.”

“Some can, Clare,” he said, an edge to his voice. “Believe me, there are women as reckless and heartless as any man.”

“I’m sure that you’ve known any number of females of that sort.” She sighed ruefully. “What a pagan you are, Nicholas. An amoral, silver-tongued devil who can make sin look sweet. You think that if I am forced to be in your company, eventually I will succumb to your heathen charms.”

He kissed her forehead lightly. “It’s my fondest hope.”

Her laughter was tinged with exasperation, and a little anger. He was making this very difficult for her.

It was time to determine her course. She toyed with one of his buttons as she gathered her thoughts.

First, she had to stay for the sake of the people who would benefit from the earl’s aid; her sense of duty would allow nothing else. That being the case, she must strive to get through the next three months with as little damage as possible. Grimly she accepted the knowledge that staying meant she would be guilty of numerous minor offenses against morality. She would have to pray that refraining from worse sins would count for something.

A sudden, tantalizing thought struck her. Nicholas was a man of the world, used to gratifying his desires. Surely he would soon weary of mere kisses. If he became frustrated enough with her refusal to allow the ultimate intimacy, he might ask her to leave, yet feel honorbound to fulfill his end of the bargain.

Intrigued, she played with the idea, turning it around in her mind. To have any chance of success, she would have to learn to inflame his desire, while herself maintaining enough willpower to keep saying no. Sensuality was a dangerous game and he was far more skilled in it than she. But perhaps that advantage would be countered by the fact that men’s passions were greater than women’s. Her mind made up, she said slowly, “My conscience will not allow me to leave when staying will do so much good. But I warn you—your goal is seduction, and mine is to make you decide that I’m not worth the trouble.”

He exhaled with relief, then smiled at her with breathtaking sweetness. “I’m very glad you’re staying. It will be interesting to see what you do to vex me, but I don’t think you’ll succeed.”

“We’ll see about that, my lord.” As she looked into his dark eyes, she felt a wicked stir of anticipation. She was no longer a helpless victim of his superior experience and strength. Her power over him was limited, but by God, she would wield it to the best of her ability.

   
13

 
Clare peered out the window of the traveling coach, wide-eyed at the sight of London in the dusk. “I never imagined that there were so many people in the world,” she breathed.

Nicholas chuckled. He was seated beside her, lounging casually against the upholstery with his arms folded across his chest. “Country mouse comes to city.”

She scowled with mock irritation. “The first time you came to London, I’m sure you were utterly nonchalant.”

“Not in the least,” he said cheerfully. “I was seventeen and so enthralled that I nearly fell out the carriage window. One may love London or hate it, but one is never indifferent. I intend to see that you experience some of the city’s variety while you’re here.”

The carriage swerved and the driver of a passing cart hurled a stream of filthy abuse at their own coachman. Clare listened, her brow furrowed. “Is that carter speaking a foreign language? I can’t understand what he’s saying.”

“He’s speaking a particularly dreadful form of cockney, the East London dialect, as well as using words that a
wellbred
young lady should not recognize,” Nicholas said repressively.

She gave him a mischievous glance. “Can you explain his remarks to me?”

His brows arched. “Though I have every desire to corrupt you, foul language is not the way in which I wish to do it.”

She smiled and looked out the window again. The long journey from Wales to London had been fast-paced and tiring, but she had enjoyed it. Since the painful scene at the castle had forced her to come to terms with her situation, she had become more relaxed with Nicholas, and their relationship was now marked by considerable teasing.

Better yet, she had learned that it was possible to enjoy his caresses without being overwhelmed. The single daily kiss had developed into a delightful session that lasted until Nicholas’s hands started wandering dangerously. When that happened, Clare would call a halt. He always obeyed promptly. She sensed that, like her, he was holding back a little, enjoying the kisses without allowing himself to be swept away by desire.

The situation couldn’t last; sooner or later Nicholas would unleash the full power of his sensuality in a really determined effort to seduce her. When that day came, she thought she would have the strength to resist, for every day she felt stronger, more his equal, at least within the narrow confines of their odd relationship. Meanwhile, she would enjoy London.

The streets gradually became cleaner and quieter, and eventually the carriage lurched to a halt. The coachman opened the door and lowered the steps and Nicholas helped Clare down. It was almost dark, and all she could see of Aberdare

House was the broad classical facade. “Is this place also in dire need of a housekeeper?” she asked.

“Several days ago I informed my London agent that I would be coming, so the house should be clean and have a temporary staff.” He offered his arm. “Of course, as mistress of the household, you may make changes as you see fit.”

Wryly she realized that this was another, subtler, form of seduction. It was intoxicating to be treated like a lady, to have her opinions respected. Knowing that the situation was temporary helped her keep it in perspective.

As they climbed the marble steps, her sense of well-being began to erode. Until now, it had amused Nicholas to have Clare for a companion. But London would hold many other, more exciting amusements. In fact, he might become bored with her and send her home before the week was out.

Then she would have won, wouldn’t she?

The grand rooms and lavish furnishings of Aberdare House proved to be in good condition, though years of emptiness had given it the impersonal air of a hotel. Nicholas blandly introduced Clare to the small staff as his cousin, as he had when booking separate rooms at inns on the trip to London.

At first, the servants didn’t know quite what to make of Clare. She guessed that she seemed too dowdy to be an aristocratic relation, but she was an even more unlikely candidate to be a mistress. However, the servants were Londoners and hard to shock, so they shrugged their collective shoulders and obeyed her orders in return for their generous pay. She found that she was indifferent to their private opinions of her; there was much to be said for living among strangers rather than with people whom she had known her whole life.

Clare awoke to her first day in the city bubbling with excitement. When she came downstairs, Nicholas was already in the breakfast parlor, drinking coffee and reading the Morning Post. He rose politely when she came in. “Good morning, my dear. Did you sleep well?”

“Not really—Mayfair is almost as noisy as the Penreith mine. But I expect I’ll get used to it.” Clare glanced at the Morning Post. “Imagine, being able to read a newspaper the very day it’s published rather than weeks later! Such luxury.”

Smiling, he poured her a steaming cup of tea. “London is the center of the world, Clare. Much of the news is made here.”

After she had selected a breakfast from the heated dishes on the sideboards, they both took seats. Nicholas said, “I’ve been looking at the society notes. No mention of Lord Michael Kenyon or the Earl of Strathmore, but the Duke of Candover is in town.”

Clare felt a touch of alarm. “A duke?”

Accurately interpreting her expression, he said, “That’s Rafe. Don’t worry, he may be a duke and richer than Croesus, but he never allows it to make him insufferable. He’s a great believer in restrained gentlemanly behavior.”

“I’ve always been curious about what makes a man a gentleman, apart from money and the right ancestors.”

He grinned and folded the newspaper. “According to Rafe, an English gentleman is never rude except on purpose.”

“I don’t find that a comforting definition,” she said with a smile. “I suppose the Earl of Strathmore is your friend Lucien.”

“Precisely. Don’t worry, exalted though they might be, my friends are a tolerant lot—they have to be, to put up with me.” He smiled reminiscently. “I met Lucien at Eton when four boys decided that anyone as dark and foreign-looking as I should be beaten. Lucien thought the odds were unsporting, so he came into the fray on my side. It cost us both black eyes, but we managed to drive the others off and have been friends ever since.”

“I think I approve of the Earl of Strathmore.” Clare finished her eggs and sausage. Not as good as Mrs. Howell’s, but quite acceptable. “Are any of the Fallen Angels married, or is that against the Code of the Rakes?”

“As far as I know they’re all single, though I’ve been away so long that anything could have happened.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out several banknotes, then handed them to Clare. “Take this. London is an expensive place, and you’ll need some pin money.”

Clare gave him a bemused smile and fingered the notes. “Twenty pounds. The same as my salary for a year’s teaching.”