Caprice: The Masqueraders Series - Book One (24 page)

By the time the last of notes of the third waltz died away, Clarissa was thoroughly out of sorts. She bowed automatically to her imperial partner and would have left his side, had he not continued to hold her hand.

“You are disturbed, my child. Did I resurrect unpleasant memories for you?”

“No, Your Majesty. It is only that I am fatigued.” She offered him her prettiest smile. “Your commanding prowess on the battlefield would seem to extend even to the dance floor. No mere lady could long be expected to keep up with you.”

The Tsar nodded but his brows lifted as he saw Lord Ramsbury and Lady Lieven moving toward them. “I wonder, madame, if your fatigue is not caused by an ailment of the heart.”

Startled, she looked up at the Tsar to find him gazing at Ramsbury. When he looked back at her, he gave her the slightest bow. “Do not lose heart, madame. Your wit and your charm are more than sufficient weapons for the battlefield of love.”

He left her to intercept Hadrian and his partner, relieving the earl of Lady Lieven’s company by taking her out onto the floor.

Hadrian had been watching Mrs. Willoughby with a singular intensity. He had not missed the intimate smile she bestowed upon the Tsar in parting and wondered if she was too ignorant of the ways of royalty to know that there was no such thing as an innocent flirtation. How beautifully she had moved in the Russian’s embrace, how carelessly she had allowed him to twirl her about until her skirts revealed glimpses of her slim calves for every man to see. Irrationally but intensely jealous, he had barely been able to maintain a civil dialogue with Lady Lieven.

Now he saw that she was frowning at him, which only piqued his ire. When he reached her side, he demanded without preamble, “What is wrong?”

“Wrong?” Clarissa echoed tensely, affronted that he would assume that something was amiss and, by inference, her fault. “What could be wrong? I have been singled out by your illustrious guest in a manner that will make my name familiar to every member of the
haut ton
by noon tomorrow. It is a heady experience for a widow, I assure you.”

The frost in her reply was enough to chill the entire remaining supply of champagne in the cellar, but Hadrian ignored it. He held out his hand. “Dance with me.”

It was an order, nothing less, and Clarissa very nearly cut him dead. But she did so want to be, if only for a moment, in his arms. “I may not, my lord, without insulting your royal guest, for I declined his continued attention on account of fatigue.”

He took her arm. “Then come with me. I will show you where you may rest.”

He steered her quickly out of the ballroom and into the hallway, which he crossed rapidly, and then opened a door on the opposite side. “Step inside, madam.”

Clarissa merely glared at him. “I do not think this is proper, my lord.”

“If you do not step inside, and quickly, you will learn just how improper I can be.”

Glowering at him, Clarissa stepped into the darkened room.

Hadrian followed her, slamming the door behind him, which made her turn with a start to see him turning the key in the lock. When he turned to her, a magnificent anger burned in his eyes.

“No doubt you find that improper behavior, also. Then you will likewise find this improper.” He stepped up to her and took her by the shoulders. “And this.” He drew her body to his with a power that would not be gainsaid. “And this.” He took her chin in his hand and turned her face up to meet his kiss.

The effect of that kiss was dizzily swift. The emotional seesaw upon which each of their feelings had been teetering took a sudden and definite shift toward passion. One moment Clarissa was certain she would resist him, even remain unmoved so that he would realize that she did not even care to struggle against his superior strength.

Aloof.
The word flitted quickly through her mind. The next, her hand crept up to touch his cheek while thoughts of pleasure, warmth, joy, elation, and desire replaced enmity as his mouth remained in singular persuasiveness on hers.

How warm and real he felt, and so perfectly right. Her hand moved, fingers scoring into the thick hair at his temple and then tightening to hold his mouth to hers.

She heard his grunt of pain but he did not pull away. She was conscious of him drawing her fiercely closer, the better to fit his body to hers. She waited for his hands to move from her shoulders to her hips, as waves of anticipation rushed over her. She knew the details of intimacy, but only with this man had she ever been eager to experience it.

A jumble of thoughts more emotional than reasonable recalled their embraces at Vauxhall, and she longed for the feel of his hands on her naked skin. She wanted him to arouse her, to soothe the sudden aching in her breasts and, lower down, the dull throb of her empty womanhood. She heard, as if wafting in on a breeze, the strains of a new waltz begin, and then even that bit of reality receded.

One of his hands moved to her hair to angle her head slightly to better receive his kiss, and then his tongue found the edge of her upper lip and licked it carefully … once … twice … three times. Tiny bolts, each a shiver of pleasure, darted through her as she gasped her response to the shocking pleasure of his touch.

She heard his chuckle, and then he was cradling her head in both hands, first dragging his lips back and forth across hers and then licking at her slowly and deliberately, drawing shivery sighs from her each time the velvet wale of his tongue moved slowly and wetly in and out between the silken surfaces of her parted lips. The more tender the touch, the deeper and more quaking her response. When he finally lifted his head, she saw in his smoky-green eyes the gleam of triumph and something more, the startled realization of a passion shared.

More, more, more
came the litany from her stimulated senses. He must not stop or she felt she would die. This man’s kisses were unlike any she had ever experienced. Her second hand joined the first in his hair as she arched on tiptoe, seeking more of his supremely gifted skill.

As their mouths melted into another kiss, his hands shifted, one moving to her back as the other reached down low to pull her hips in tight against his. Through the thin layers of her gown and his tight-fitting breeches she felt him, solidly male and pulsing, and her knees went strangely weak.

He caught her weight against him, murmuring incoherent promises and pleadings. As if by mutual consent they slid to the floor. The carpet was no sooner beneath her hips than she began tearing at his cravat, ruining the perfectly pleated garment that it had him taken a quarter of an hour to arrange. He helped her, wrenching open his waistcoat and then his shirt to allow her to get to the man beneath. Her hand dived eagerly behind the layers of cloth and found him, the firm warm skin and the hard turn of muscle enclosed by it. He was like fire, the heat of his body trapped inside his clothes, and her palm felt scorched.

She felt him cradle her in one arm as he settled them back on the rug, and then his free hand was reaching for her hem, skimming it slowly up her leg, pausing to cup and lightly massage her knee, then rising higher to graze the softer skin of her thigh. His hand moved to the cleft between, delving into the demarcation as she instinctively crossed her ankles.

“Please,” he begged against her lips. “I only want to touch you. Just that.”

Just that!
she thought wildly, her heart pounding in time to his. That would not be enough, not nearly enough. But it must do.

“Just that,” she echoed softly as her hand moved to his hip then down across his lower abdomen, to brush the turgid flesh inside his breeches. She heard him suck in a breath, his hand tensely still on her upper thigh.

As she started to draw away, he caught her wrist and brought her hand back to himself. Uncurling each finger of her fist, he then pressed her palm over his manhood. “Touch me,” he whispered, kissing her ear and then her cheek, “if it pleases you.”

He continued to kiss her softly, almost delicately at times, but with the underlying tension of an unrelenting and fierce passion in control. She understood then, he would keep his promise to only touch her as long as she welcomed it.

She closed her eyes, allowing him to stroke her thighs, even to gently part them. Her fingers were unsteady as they worked the placket of his breeches. She had never done this before, and then he was free, filling her hand with heat and strength and trembling life. He murmured deep in his throat, turning into her hand as he drew them closer, almost protectively so.

Under the exquisite friction of his fingers she grew ever restless until, suddenly, she was gasping soft womanly moans of ecstasy for a pulsating pleasure never before experienced.

He moved quickly over her, pillowing her head in one hand as he stroked her thighs apart and moved between them. “Please! Please say yes!” he whispered urgently against her hair.

She did not hesitate. “Yes! Yes!”

He came to her quickly, almost frantically. Trapped in the shuddering amazement of his power, she heard his coarse cry and felt his release become part of hers.

Hadrian came slowly back to reality from a fardistant place which had contained only the woman in his arms and an enormous confusion of feelings whose one surpassing emotion was joy. He frowned as the sound of voices and music drifted in over his bemused sense of serenity. And then he stiffened, remembering with a combination of horror and indignation where they were, and what was going on beyond the locked door. He had just made love on the library carpet while his mother and the Autocrat of All the Russias were within hailing distance!

He shuddered. How could he have lost all control, all thought of propriety—damn propriety!—of thought for the safety and protection of the lady in his arms? He did not need to glance at himself to know what a servant or guest would see if anyone peeked in now. His shirt hung open. His breeches did, as well. A fine tableau of debauchery they would appear to be, something right out of Hogarth. No one else would understand the surpassing need and ecstasy that had driven the last moments. Oh, but he did!

Tenderly he glanced down at the lady he held in his arms. To his astonishment, there was neither anger nor fear, nor even apprehension in her expression.

Her eyes were enormous, dark, and clear. “I did not know,” she said simply and touched his cheek.

Hadrian learned a great deal from that simple statement. He understood that though she might not be a virgin, she had given him something as precious, her first pleasure. And further, that because of it, she was no more sensible to their situation than he had been.

He gathered her close, tucking her head under his chin as he reached to drag her skirts from her waist down over her knees. He then kissed her crown, her temple, and then briefly her mouth. “Dearest, we must move from here.”

He was astounded to hear her chuckle. The familiarity of it caught at him unexpectedly, and reminded him, to his regret, of Soltana. He instantly scotched all thought of comparison as insulting to Clarissa and unworthy of his own feelings. She was speaking and he tried to focus his attention on her words.

“… rise before we are found out, my lord. No explanation could ever hope to erase the scandal.”

“You are right,” he answered, struck with wonder by her calm. “But first.” He lifted her face to meet his. “Say you will marry me, Clarissa.”

Clarissa stared at him, at the clear intensity of his silver-green gaze dissolved of the passion that minutes before had made it seem dark. Lord Ramsbury had known Clarissa Willoughby but five short days. Did it matter that her own feelings had been growing for more than two months? He needed time.

“I love you.” Her lashes drooped for an instant over her eyes and then she was looking up at him again. “ ’Tis quite extraordinary to say it. But believe that I would not have been here with you like this otherwise.” Her manner was composed, without any trace of embarrassment or doubt. “But this is no time to speak of our feelings.” She sat up and out of his embrace. “I cannot face your guests again. I must leave at once.”

“Of course.” With an economy of grace she had long admired, Hadrian came to his feet and helped her to hers. By mutual consent, they turned away from each other to rearrange their clothes, finishing at nearly the same moment.

“I will, of course, see you home,” he said when he had directed her into the stairwell beyond the library’s servant entrance.

“You most certainly will not!” she whispered indignantly. “Besides a bit of wrinkling, I am none the worse for wear. While you, my lord, must needs change every article before you can again appear in public.”

She was right. His cravat, shirt, waistcoat and breeches were impossible. He smiled in spite of his chagrin. “It was worth it, madam—Clarissa. I may call you Clarissa?”

“I should think so, … Hadrian,” she answered and started to touch him only to draw shyly back.

He caught at the hand she withdrew and brought it to his lips for a quick kiss. “We must talk, Clarissa. Tomorrow.”

She nodded. “Now let me go, please.”

He led her into a hallway at the back of the house and opened a door to another room. “This is the herbal room. Stay here until a servant comes for you. I will send word to my mother that you damaged your gown and did not wish to be seen so you went directly home.”

She smiled up at him. “What excuse will you give for your absence, my lord?”

He smiled at her, feeling suddenly lighthearted. “Why, madam, I will tell the truth. I was touched by fire and thoroughly scorched!” Before she could speak again, he pulled her quickly to him and kissed her so hard the feel of her remained with him even after he left her.

Clarissa did not fall asleep until dawn pinked the sky. Minute by minute she relived every second of their tryst in the library, marveling first at his ability to please her, to know just what she could not ask for, and for his own uninhibited joy in her response. For the first time in her life she understood what it was to be loved body and soul.

Looking back, she realized how ignorant she been. Where had Hadrian learned this different style of lovemaking?