An Affair Most Wicked (4 page)
Warning bells rang and clanged inside Clara’s head, but a more willful part of her nature—a part that wanted to experience what this man offered—somehow managed to silence them.
The man backed up against the wall, pulled her toward him so that her breasts were pressed firmly,
thrillingly against his chest, and with a smile, he leaned closer for a kiss.
It was one of those life-altering moments, when all that a person believed about one’s self was about to be tested, delusions revealed and insight gained.
Clara should have stopped him then. She should have stepped away or placed her hand on his chest and pushed him back, but alas, she did not. She did nothing to stop the snowball from rolling, did not even try to overcome her teeming desires, for here in the dark, she and this gentleman were hidden from view.
He was the most exciting man she had ever encountered. After two long years of self-inflicted emotional repression to try and fit into a strict, upper-class society, she couldn’t resist the opportunity to taste freedom. She wanted to burst forth like a white-water flash flood, breaking through a dam.
She gazed into the man’s eyes and felt her proper convictions break.
His lips were still parted with a smile when he kissed her. His tongue swept in and touched hers with the confident skill of an experienced lover, heating her blood and igniting a blazing fire that roared like a monster in her ears. She swayed into the kiss and into his body, relying on his strong hands around her waist to keep her steady through her knees, which incidentally, in the last few seconds, had turned to pudding.
Sweet Jesus
, she thought, as his huge hand came up to gently stroke her neck, sending waves of tingling, wicked delight down her spine.
She had to stop this now. Her brain was screaming for attention, but lusty curiosity wouldn’t allow her conscience to gain a foothold.
The delicious rush of desire mounting inside her was more exciting than anything she’d ever known. She’d never imagined a London ball would be quite like this. It felt like she was dreaming. Or drowning.
“Ah.” He sighed against her cheek. “That was the most enchanting kiss I’ve had in… I don’t know how long. You are extraordinary.”
He pressed his lips to hers again, deepening the kiss, closing in on her with his whole body, and sending a sweet pounding arousal straight to her core. She wrapped her arms around his neck and reveled in the pleasure of his hot, moist mouth, while she tried to ignore her conscience, scrambling helter-skelter to dig in its heels.
Groping for self-restraint, Clara managed to drag her lips away for a moment. “Sir, I must ask you to—”
“Come with me upstairs,” he whispered in her ear. “Then you can ask me to do whatever you like.”
“Upstairs?” she blurted out. She took a step away from him, but he still held her hand.
“Yes,” he replied, sounding amused. “It’s still early, love. I doubt all the rooms would be taken yet.”
“All the rooms? Taken?”
Panic pooled suddenly in her belly.
“If we’re going to go, we should go now. The hall is getting crowded. All the corners have been taken up.”
He stepped away from the wall to collect Clara, as if he fully expected her to follow him. As if this little tryst they were having were perfectly acceptable.
Clara had had a feeling earlier that something wasn’t quite right about this ball, but she hadn’t been sure what to do about it. She had hoped Sophia and James would arrive and make sense of it for her. Now, the need for action was weighing down on top of her like a piano on her head.
“Sir, I believe you must have me confused with someone else. I can’t possibly—”
“Why ever not, love? You’re
here
, aren’t you? And we seem to have developed a rather intoxicating rapport.”
She realized with stark regret that she should have listened to her instincts sooner. Something was very wrong.
“Here? Where is
here
, exactly?”
He gazed at her for a long moment, then the set of his jaw changed. His expression darkened.
“You don’t know where you are?”
“I’m afraid I don’t. I would appreciate it if you would enlighten me.”
All the warmth and seduction from only seconds ago vanished from his voice like a drop of water on a hot stove. Clara’s stomach lurched.
“This is a private ball, madam. Only those with an invitation are permitted to enter.”
Clara backed away from him and moved out of the shadows and into the open hall. A sick feeling crept into her belly as she watched him follow her.
“I did have an invitation,” she told him.
“Was it yours? How did you get it?”
“It was my sister’s.”
He stopped following and closed his eyes. “Please, tell me you’re married.”
Clara’s brows flew up under the half-mask, which suddenly felt very tight on her face. “Married!” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “No! And if I were, I would certainly
not
be here having this indecent conversation with you!”
He glanced this way and that, as if he weren’t sure what to do with her. After some brief contemplation, he took her by the elbow and began to escort her back to the ballroom. “You need to leave.”
“But what is this place?”
“Not the kind of place you should know about.” He quickened his pace, and Clara had to struggle to keep up with him.
“Don’t run,” he said. “You’ll attract attention.”
“How can I help it? You’re practically dragging me on my knees!”
“Don’t speak to anyone else. Get out of here now, and for God’s sake, don’t tell anyone where you were. Do you understand?”
“What I understand is that I should never have danced with you.”
He stopped and looked down at her, his eyes fierce and dark. “I must correct you on that point. You were, in fact, very
fortunate
to have danced with me. You are a tempting little flower, and another man might not have been so understanding, or so apt to let you go.”
He marched her back to Mrs. Gunther and gave a polite bow.
He lingered a moment, staring at Clara as if he weren’t quite ready to leave. Then his shoulders heaved with a deep intake of breath.
He redirected his gaze toward Mrs. Gunther. “Good evening, madam. It is my understanding that you are in the wrong house this evening. I implore you to take your charge and leave here. Immediately.”
With that, he turned and walked off.
With trembling hands and a throbbing pulse, Clara walked into the Witherington Ball only moments after their footman informed them that the Prince of Wales was not at Livingston House. He had arrived not long ago at the house two doors down.
Clara was breathing hard, partly from her hasty escape, but mostly from the memory of following a handsome, seductive stranger into the dark shadows beneath a staircase, and feeling the shocking, sizzling lure of temptation.
She had thought she was stronger than that.
Groping for some semblance of normalcy, she glanced around the room in search of her sister, Sophia, the Duchess of Wentworth, and spotted her near the orchestra, conversing with her husband, James.
“There she is,” Clara said to Mrs. Gunther, who was still unaware of what had happened to Clara while she had supposedly been sipping punch, and was now pressing Clara for answers. “Let’s go and tell her we’re here.”
Mrs. Gunther led the way around the perimeter of the room. Sophia’s face lit up with a radiant smile when she noticed them. Wearing a spectacular Worth gown with gold lace and jewel trimmings, topped off by a sparkling tiara—a requisite among married ladies when royalty was present—Sophia came to meet them halfway, leaving her husband to socialize with a group of older gentlemen.
“Where were you?” Sophia asked, meeting Clara and taking both her hands. “You were supposed to be here an hour ago.”
Clara labored to keep her voice steady as she explained. “We went to the wrong ball.”
“The wrong ball? Which one? And why do you look so pale, Clara? Are you feeling unwell?”
Mrs. Gunther leaned forward to speak softly to Sophia. “It was a disgraceful ball.”
Clara gazed imploringly at her sister, who knew her well enough to guess that she wished to speak privately. Sophia smiled gratefully at Mrs. Gunther. “Thank you so much, Eva. Perhaps Clara and I need a moment alone. Would you excuse us?”
Mrs. Gunther’s brow furrowed, but she nodded in agreement and snapped open her plumed fan. “I shall wait by the fountain.”
As soon as Mrs. Gunther left them, Sophia took Clara by the arm and led her to a private corner behind some leafy potted plants.
“What happened, Clara? You look as white as pastry dough, and you’re perspiring.” She reached into her jeweled purse for an embroidered handkerchief and used it to dab at Clara’s forehead. “Perhaps we should go and find somewhere to sit down.”
“I don’t need to sit, I’m fine. I just need to know where I was.”
Sophia paused. “How can I possibly—”
“We had to wear masks, and there were no dance cards. Everyone was drinking a tart punch that kicked like a mule, and no one wished to be introduced.”
Sophia covered her mouth with her gloved hand, her expression coloring as what Clara described to her sank in.
“What was it?” Clara asked. “Please, tell me.”
“Heavens above. Don’t tell me you went to Livingston House.”
“Yes, I did, and what do you mean, ‘Heavens above’? Tell me, Sophia, before I lose my mind!”
“You went to a Cakras Ball, but how in the world did you get in?”
“We had an invitation.”
“From where?”
“Mrs. Gunther picked it up from your desk. She couldn’t remember the address of where we were supposed to meet you, so she went through your invitations and thought that Livingston House was the place.”
Sophia shook her head. “Do you still have the invitation with you?”
“Yes, here.” Clara pulled the tattered card out of her purse.
Sophia examined it and touched the small medallion in the corner. “Oh, Clara, I can’t believe you went
there. Did anyone see you?”
“Yes, but we were wearing masks.”
“Did you talk to anyone?”
The panic in Sophia’s voice was making Clara more and more nauseous with every passing second. “Yes, I danced with a couple of gentlemen.”