Claudia had argued fiercely with him, then cajoled him, then flatly begged him not to send her back. But the earl was insufferably determined in this—he would not allow her to leave her husband like some baseborn wench. However, if Kettering decided she was no longer wanted, then he would have no option but to send her to Redbourne Abbey until such time her husband could see his way clear to put her away at Kettering Hall. One way or another, he shouted, she would be dealt with. As if she was some distasteful object to be placed out of sight.
Claudia's degradation, then, was complete on the afternoon she was delivered to the Kettering House on St. James Square like a piece of old furniture that did not belong in her father's house. And while the earl thought it necessary to assure himself she actually boarded the coach as he had decreed, he did not think it necessary to actually deliver her to Kettering House, and therefore sent her on alone, in the company of a footman.
She arrived like a pauper, with nothing but the small bag she had left with. Much to her great relief, Tinley did not seem surprised to see her, and taking advantage of his faulty memory, she escaped to her rooms where she paced like a caged animal. Never in her life had she felt so insignificant, so contemptibly useless.
And never had she felt more alone.
Disheartened, Claudia was not as presumptuous as her father—she had no hope that Julian would allow her to stay. Even if he were feeling particularly generous, he would undoubtedly send her off somewhere so that he would not have to look at her. He would, at last, banish her from his sight.
Had he found Sophie? Where would he take her?
Her rooms were dark and cold, but Claudia made no move to call for a servant. She had no energy, no will. She collapsed into an overstuffed chair, tightened her cloak about her, and curled her feet under her gown for warmth. It occurred to her as she lay there in that enormous chair that she had lit a hearth fire only once in all her life. There had always been someone to do that for her, someone to tend to her every need. Someone to make her and keep her completely useless to the world. She could not even light a fire.
She dropped her forehead to her palm and closed her eyes, but there were no tears—the well was bone dry, used up. It didn't matter. She was far past tears—just . . . desolate. For the first time in her life, she had no idea which way to turn, no notion of how to cope, what to do. Helpless, vulnerable, and wretched, she had come to the realization that, in spite of all her efforts to improve her lot, it had all come down to the mercy of a man in the end, a man she loved with all her heart. A man who abhorred her.
The sound of someone entering the little vestibule of her suite filtered into her room and Claudia sighed wearily, trying to summon her strength for Brenda or Tinley—whoever had come to see after her. She listened to the muted footfall, felt it tread upon her heart. The bright flare of the match startled her, and she abruptly looked up, blinking.
"Claudia."
Oh, God. Julian.
Ashamed, she turned away and unsteadily brushed the back of her hand across her cheek, unable to look at him. "Tinley said you were here." He walked into the room, and Claudia glanced at him from the corner of her eye. His was an intimidating figure; he stared at her, his expression inscrutable. It was like a knife to her heart, shredding the last bit of her hope, and she was suddenly desperate to at least have her dignity.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, choking back dry tears. "Papa
. . .
he brought me back. H-he believes my place is here until you say otherwise. I'm really very sorry, Julian—I tried my best to dissuade him—"
"You must be freezing," he said softly.
Freezing. Not the response she had expected. She shook her head and slowly rose to her feet. "I'm not cold," she said dispassionately. "I can't really feel myself anymore."
"I am very sorry to hear that."
So was she. Looking at him now, at the sharp angles of his jaw, the thick hair that was still too long, black eyes boring into her, she was struck by just how sorry she was that she could not feel him any longer. There was a time she could feel his eyes on her from across a crowded room or his breath on the back of her neck when he wasn't even nearby. And now . . . now she couldn't feel a bloody thing. She was numb, deadened, her soul extinguished. God, how she regretted it all!
"Everything—this is all my fault, and I'm so very sorry," she suddenly blurted, and covered her face with her hands, mortified that he should see her like this, like a beggar. "I was so stupid about so many things! From the beginning, even, and you are quite right, you know, for I've known you near forever . . . but I_. . ._ I just loved you so desperately that I wasn't thinking clearly all that time, and when the ladies would remark on your hands and your lips, and your beauty, I hated you for wanting them and not me—"
"Ah, Claudia," he murmured, and took a cautious step toward her.
She was aware that she was on the verge of blathering hysterically, but she couldn't stop herself, compelled by an unseen force to let the words tumble from her heart and into the open. She plunged on. "And then . . . then you were always with Phillip, always cavorting about, and it was no secret what the Rogues did, especially Phillip, and the night of Harrison Green's there was Lady Prather, you know. So when I came here, and you and Arthur went out, I assumed it was all the same again, and I should never have listened to Tinley, but women are supposed to accept it, and I wasn't supposed to mind terribly—but oh, God, I did!" she cried, covering her eyes with her hands again.
"Claudia—"
"I loved you so much that I couldn't bear for you to touch me, because when you touched me, I felt as if I was the only woman in the world to you, but I wasn't! There was always another whom you touched in the very same way—"
"I never touched another woman, Claudia—don't say more!" he begged her, taking another step toward her.
But she stumbled backward, out of his reach, unable to stop now until every last dark secret was out. "And I lied to you! Not just about Sophie, not only that, but about Phillip, too," she sobbed, lifting her head to look at him. "I lied to myself. I never loved Phillip, not like I have loved you, not like I love you now, and I am quite thankful I did not marry him, because I know what my life would have been, and it wouldn't have been this," she said, gesturing wildly about her. "It wouldn't have been you, and I would have been so sorry, so very sorry all my life! Yet I lied because I was hurt. I thought_. . ._ I thought you didn't like me very much, that you thought something was infinitely wrong with me, and that you wished you had never known me, and perhaps you do, and I surely would understand if you were to go to my father right away and demand that he take me back—"
"I will never let you go again," he said hoarsely, moving forward until he was within arm's reach of her.
His nearness made her panic, as if she was standing too close to the edge—if he touched her, she would fall. She jerked her arm up, holding it straight in front of her. "This is
. . .
so humiliating," she muttered miserably. "To be sent back to someone who doesn't want you—"
"_I_ want you—"
"Forced to grovel at your feet like some beggar—"
"It is I who am at your feet." He carefully reached for
her, his fingers fluttering to her hand and closing around it.
With a violent shake of her head, Claudia said, "I can't bear this—I've ruined your life, I know it—"
"You have enriched it beyond measure—"
"I committed a crime when I took Sophie, with no thought to the consequence, and therefore, my crime is your crime—"
Julian suddenly jerked her toward him, grabbing her arms. "Claudia, listen to me," he said roughly, stooping down so that they were at eye level. "I love you! I have loved you hopelessly for far too long. There is not a single hour of the day that goes by that I do not think of you, not a moment I don't look for you or strain to hear your voice! All I want—" He stooped lower, forcing her to look at him. "All I want on this earth is for you to love me in return, if even just a little."
Her heart caught, suspended somewhere between heaven and earth. "Oh, no," she moaned, and her legs buckled under the weight of those words. She went down on her knees, Julian with her, still holding her in a fierce grip. "I love you," he said again, his fingers curling deeper into her arms.
Inconceivable. After what she had done? "Don't say that," she begged him, squeezing her eyes shut against the poignant look in his eye. "Don't say it to me because I will fall to pieces—"
"No you won't," he said, shaking her once. "You will love me in return. You will love me as you tried to love me when I wouldn't let you. You will show me how to live, Claudia; you will show me how to give myself to everyone around me, never fearing the propriety or the consequences. You will show me how to care so deeply for others less fortunate than myself. You will show me how to love you, because God knows I haven't done it very well—"
"No.'" she cried. "I'm afraid, Julian! You can't know how very much it hurts—"
"The hell I don't," he muttered angrily. "Don't give up on me, Claudia! It feels as if I have waited my whole life for you! I need you—can't you see just how desperately I do? I can't live without you. I can't breathe without you! I ache when you are away, I ache when you are near, I am consumed with longing for you! Lord God, I am sorry; from the depths of my pathetic soul, I am sorry that I didn't understand it all sooner. But I do now, and I swear to you, I swear I will do better, I will do whatever it takes . . . just love me."
The fragile shell of what was left of her heart shattered, and with a strangled cry, Claudia surged into his arms, groping for him, needing to anchor herself to him and the comforting warmth of his body.
With a moan, Julian pressed his mouth hard to hers, delving deeply, seeking refuge. With his hands, he cradled her jaw, holding her as if she was fragile . . . and God, she was fragile, on the verge of shattering with remorse, relief, and a euphoria that was sweeping her along on a tide, melding her against him.
He dragged his mouth across her cheek to her hair, his breath heavy in her ear as he pulled the pins from her hair. "Love me, Claudia."
The hint of desperation in his voice made her heart flail wildly. He didn't have to ask—she loved him, fiercely, deeply and still it was not enough. It could not be enough, she thought, and buried her face in his collar, breathing his scent, intoxicated by it as his hands pushed her cloak from her shoulders. She felt him shift, felt his arm behind her, and she instinctively threw her arms around his neck. He suddenly lifted her in his arms, carried her as he kissed her eyes, her forehead, her mouth, and laid her on the bed, coming over her, surrounding her in darkness and warmth. "Never leave me," he whispered, and descended hungrily to her mouth. Claudia eagerly sought the warmth of his body, clawing at the confining neckcloth, the waistcoat, and finally thrusting her hands deep inside his shirt to feel his hard chest and nipples.
Shuddering with her touch, his lips trailed down her neck to the top of her breasts, avidly tasting her until he could free her breast and bring it fully into his mouth. Instinctively, she arched into him, shamelessly indulging in the sweet sensation seeping through her skin to the fire burning in the pit of her stomach. With his mouth and hands he loved her, reverently caressed her and tasted her. Claudia returned his caress with one that grew more frantic, more insistent as a growing sense of elation and freedom overwhelmed her. With the one extraordinary exception of their wedding night, she had never allowed herself to feel him, to submerge herself entirely in the pleasure he gave her.
What had gone between them the last few weeks was seemingly forgotten, leaving nothing to inhibit their animal instincts. It was as if they were wild—her body felt feverish, the burning in the pit of her stomach now flaming, scorched every place he touched her, bewitched by unimaginable desire, obsessed with the need to feel all of him, to know love in its noblest and basest form.
Eagerly, anxiously, she pressed against him, her hands and mouth trailing across his hot flesh. With a guttural groan, Julian pressed his knee hard against the apex of her thighs. Claudia's hand drifted down his chest, along the wool of his trousers, stroking the hardness between his thighs.
When she cupped him, Julian tensed, arched his neck. "You will kill me yet," he rasped, and lowered his head, kissing her as she stroked him and felt him lengthen against her palm. Her fingers brushed against the buttons; she freed one, then another, and another, until his member sprang free, filling her hand with the heat of satin skin sliding over a marble core.
Suddenly, he jerked away from her, rearing back to discard his coat, and shirt. As he clawed at the pearl buttons on his shirt, he gazed down at her with dark intensity. "I can't wait. I have wanted you like this, just like this for so long that I can no longer remember a time I did not." Shoving out of his shirt, he caught her arm and yanked her up as one hand slipped behind her back, carelessly unfastening her gown so that he could pull it from her body.
When she wore nothing but a chemise and undergarments, Julian lowered her down, then lifted one ankle, flipping her shoe out into the dark room. His hand drifted up her calf, then to her ankle again, and slowly, carefully, he reached for the top of her stocking.
"If you had known how badly I wanted you like this," he murmured as he slowly rolled the stocking down, pausing to kiss the bare skin of her thigh, "you might very well have summoned the authorities." He tossed her stocking aside and kissed her toes, her ankle, her knee.
"If I had known you wanted me like this," she responded raggedly, "I would have summoned the authorities to bring you to me."
Julian chuckled against the soft inside of her knee, then bent her leg at the knee, pushing it aside so that he could skim his hand along her inner thigh and leave a path of white-hot sparks tingling in her skin. "From the moment I saw you in the Wilmington ballroom, I wanted to give you pleasure," he said, and leaned down, his breath brushing the springy curls between her legs.