A Fine Passion (Bastion Club 4)

“So Conniston won’t mind?”

“Not about Alton per se, but he won’t stand for what Moira’s proposing. Well, what gentleman would?”

Clarice grimaced. “So we have to shut Moira up.”

“Can you?”

Claric

e wrinkled her nose. “Yes. But it’s reminiscent of descending to her level, not something I’m keen to do.”

Claire studied her. Clarice would have said that of all the ladies in the ton, Claire understood her the best.

Eventually, Claire nodded. “A word of advice then, if you’ll take it, from one who has remained within the ton while you escaped it.” She met Clarice’s eyes. “Ladies like us, we’re not the sort to let the river of life toss us where it will. We make our decisions and steer our own courses. You and I, we chose different tacks, but choose them we did. We made our own beds, and, once done, we have to lie in them. In this case, that means that whatever you need to do to stop Moira, you will indeed do, because that’s the sort of lady you are. However, while dealing with Moira and managing the outcome, don’t forget that you haven’t yet finished your bed.”

Clarice didn’t follow. She frowned, openly inviting elucidation.

Claire smiled lightly and rose to her feet. “Years ago, I chose to turn my back on love and accept Conniston’s marriage of convenience. For me, that was the right choice, and I don’t regret it in the least. You, on the other hand, chose to turn your back on society and leave the door open for what might come…you haven’t yet chosen finally, haven’t yet completed your bed.”

Frowning more deeply, Clarice rose, too. “You’re saying I still have…but no. In that respect, I made all my decisions long ago.”

Mildly shaking her head, Claire turned to the door. “No, you didn’t. You made the first part of a two-part decision. Now you’re back in the ton, trust me, you won’t be allowed to let that second decision remain unresolved, as you patently have for all these years.”

Hand on the doorknob, Claire looked at Clarice, and grinned. “You know, I’m quite looking forward to seeing what your bed looks like when you finally tuck in the last sheet.”

Clarice made a disbelieving, dismissive sound, and followed Claire out of the room.

Clarice found Jack and the other two waiting where she’d left them; after confirming that Claire was on their side, she warned them that they had to tread warily. Until they decided how to spike Moira’s guns, then needed to lie low. In pursuit of that aim, Clarice and Jack left.

“Well!” She blew out a breath and settled back against the carriage seat. “I must say, I’m amazed that Alton, Roger, and Nigel have all chosen so wisely. Sarah, Alice, and Emily all seem lovely but capable, with the requisite backbone to manage in our circles.”

Through the shadows intermittently lit by the streetlights outside, Jack studied her face, read her satisfaction. “The males of your family seem to have a penchant for choosing strong women. Your father married your mother, after all.”

Clarice looked struck, then grimanced. “Even Moira. One can hardly describe her as weak.”

Jack nodded, his face hardening. “Unprincipled, but not weak.”

They said little else as they clattered through the streets. When the carriage, Alton’s town carriage borrowed for the evening, halted, Jack descended, handed Clarice down, and let the carriage go on without him. He escorted Clarice into Benedict’s foyer, kissed her hand, caught her eye, then bowed and left her.

Fifteen minutes later, after dismissing the maid who’d been waiting for her, Clarice opened the door of her suite to him. He wasn’t surprised when, without a word, she led him to the bedroom. But when she turned to him, and paused, studying his face, he reached for her, drew her to him, and kissed her.

Ravenously. Making no secret of his need for her.

She responded, ardent and willful, demanding and commanding in her own right. Yet tonight he wasn’t in any mood to let her distract and deflect him; she was still wearing her green satin gown.

In the instant he’d seen it on her, he’d been visited by a fiery fantasy to strip it from her, inch by slow inch. To reveal each creamy curve, each ivory limb, ultimately to let it fall away, leaving her clad only in the shimmering gauze of her chemise.

When, at length, the green gown did indeed swoosh to the floor, to his infinite satisfaction, she was heated and urgent. Wrapping her arms about his neck, she pressed herself to him in flagrant entreaty, meeting his lips, his tongue with a bold challenge of her own, taunting and daring, wanting him to take her.

Lips locked with hers, he shrugged out of his coat and waistcoat, let them fall unheeded to the floor, then he lifted her. To his surprise, she raised her long legs and wound them about his hips.

Temptation didn’t whisper, it roared.

Far too loudly to ignore. His arms circling her hips, holding her to him, he walked the few paces to the bed; without breaking from the kiss, without releasing her, he clambered onto the silk coverlet on his knees. Juggling her, he reached beneath her and opened the placket of his trousers, releasing his already aching erection; guiding the head immediately to the slick, swollen flesh of her entrance, he pressed in.

Then he shifted his hold to her hips, and drew her down. Sank slowly down to sit on his ankles as he did, pulling her down over him, impaling her fully upon him, feeling her squirm, adjust, then gasp as he thrust the last inch and filled her completely.

Eyes closed, she drew back from the kiss, panting, breasts rising and falling dramatically before his face. He grinned, focused and intent; with one hand, he trapped the fine fabric of her chemise and drew it up, over her head. She had to let go of his shoulders to untangle her arms, to draw them free and let the chemise fall. While she did, he bent his head to her breast, with his mouth traced a path to one tightly furled nipple, then drew it deep.