Miss Debenham's Secret (The Husband Hunters Club 5.50)

Being in each other’s company was enough.

He would miss her, Alistair admitted to himself. She had become an integral part of his life here in Lyme. Perhaps, if he were honest, that was the reason he was still here and not visiting London or his sister in Hampshire.

“Will you write to me? When you’re gone?”

She wasn’t looking at him when she spoke, but out to sea. He could see her profile and he thought there was a sobriety to her expression that made him think she would miss him too.

“Yes, of course I will.”

A smile curved her lips.

“And you must write to me,” he added, and saw her eyes widen as she turned to him.

“Must I? I mean, I would like to, but there is so little that happens here that . . . I mean, you will find anything I have to say all very tedious, Lieutenant McKay.”

“But I want tedium.” And when she laughed, he added, “Believe me, Clarissa, some days tedium would save my life.”

Her smile faded and she reached to touch his cheek with her trembling fingertips.

And suddenly Alistair was kissing her.

Just as he’d promised himself he would not.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Alistair’s lips on hers were firm and she found herself returning the caress without a second thought. It seemed so natural he should kiss her and that she should kiss him back. She could taste salt on his skin and the lemonade she had brought for their picnic; her arms went around his neck of their own accord and the kiss deepened.

She liked the way his tongue moistened her bottom lip and then dipped inside her mouth as if he were enjoying her taste. She allowed herself to copy him and an ache started in her chest, a tingle of warmth that made her suddenly languid and sensuous.

Was this what it meant to love a man? To give oneself to him?

He’d lain her down upon the sand now and she saw him silhouetted above her against the sunny blue sky. “Tell me to stop,” he said, but she didn’t think he expected her to do that and nor did she intend to. Alistair was the best thing that had ever happened to her and she wasn’t about to tell him to stop.

He was heavy, although she was sure he wasn’t pressing his entire weight onto her, but just enough for her to feel the hard muscles of his chest beneath his jacket and the silver buttons. His skin smelt of the sea and the spicy lotion he put on his skin when he shaved; there was a scar under his jaw when he lifted his head, just a little one, but she had so longed to touch it and now she did. She ran her tongue along it and kissed it.

He groaned as if she had hurt him but she knew she hadn’t. He kissed her face and then her throat and then his kisses moved down to the neckline of her dress, and the tingling inside her grew more pronounced.

She thought, rather wildly, that she might let him do whatever he wanted to, despite knowing it was foolish to allow such liberties to a man who was going to leave her, perhaps for a very long time. He buried his face in the softness of her breasts and groaned again and she stroked his dark hair.

And then he sat up with a heavy sigh. His dark eyes were gleaming and his tanned cheeks were flushed, and when he touched her lips with his fingers the caress was almost clumsy.

“Enough,” he said huskily.

“Why is it enough?” she asked, but she sat up and brushed the sand from her clothing, pretending that her hands weren’t trembling.

He looked annoyed. “You know why, Clarissa. I can make you no promises and I think anyway that you are destined for Mr. Marly.”

She felt hurt. As if he was making excuses to rid himself of her or so he wouldn’t feel guilty when he sailed away. “Mr. Marly is too busy with his own ambitions to worry about me,” she said quietly. “He wishes to teach at a larger and more prestigious school and my father is helping him.”

Alistair had stood up and now he looked down at her. “But isn’t that what you want too, Clarissa? A fuller life? What is there for you here in Lyme?”

She didn’t know how to answer him without giving herself away. Clearly his thoughts were not on the same plane as hers. Because she knew she loved him, and her dreams were of spending her life with him, of marrying him and having his children and every day waking to his smile.

“I enjoy teaching,” she said, just to say something. “I sometimes think I might have my own school one day. Nothing grand, just a small establishment. Mr. Marly is a good teacher, but some of his methods . . . It may be arrogant of me but I think my ideas are better. I think children respond to kindness and patience as well as order and discipline. I would like to put my ideas into practise so that others could see what I already know.”

“There you are then. You have a future in mind already. You want your own school; you want to teach in your own way.”

He held out his hand to help her up but she ignored it and stood up herself, quickly packing up the picnic. She felt her heart ache and tried to ignore it. The day was not over yet, she reminded herself. They had yet to sail back and that meant more time to be spent with Alistair.