“Yes, she was exceptional.” The words were heavy on his tongue as he turned the page, ignoring the feeling of her gaze on him.
His chest swelled with pride for the woman who birthed him. St. Clara had forgotten how at ease he was with Pippa. Discussing his mother was always difficult, but with Pippa it had always been easy. Perhaps because she knew what it was like to lose someone. Although his mother had been alive when they were children, she was so far removed from his life that often it felt as if she were deceased.
He had been a lonely boy when Pippa had arrived in Town with his only friend, Bollingbrook, away in the country. His father was off with one of his mistresses. St. Clara’s only friends were his rocks until she came and saved him.
“I don’t believe I’ve seen this one before. Where did you get it?” Pippa asked.
St. Clara looked up. She held a smooth dark stone with hints of different colors that swirled in it as it caught the growing sunlight. “In Sicily, below Mt. Etna.” He cleared his throat several times, remembering how he’d felt when he found thestone. He couldn’t wait to show her, for them to mark it down in the sketchbook together. “When I first saw it, it reminded me of you.”
He reached out and took it in his hands. It was smooth, so much so that one could forget it was just a rock. “At first glance, it is rather pretty in its own way, but when touched by the light …” He held it up so that the rising sun could reflect directly on it, showing the array of colors that transformed the simple black rock into a thing of beauty. “It becomes simply enchanting, like you.”
He offered the rock to her, holding it with his fingers. She reached for it with shaking hands, and the sight of them caused his heart to speed up, knowing that she was affected as much as he.
“I-I’m not enchanting.” Her voice wavered as her hands wrapped around the cool dark stone.
“You are to me.” His eyes locked on hers, and without thinking, he let the sketchbook fall to the floor, wrapped his free hand around her waist and pulled her to him. The rock slipped free, the sound of it hitting the upholstered carpet nearly muted to his ears.
Hungry lips found hers, ready and willing. St. Clara relaxed at the first brush of his lips against hers, heat traveling through his body as he took her bottom lip into his waiting mouth. It had only been hours since their last kiss, but it felt like decades. Desperation urged him on as his insistent tongue begged for entry into her hot, waiting mouth.
She opened for him, and he plundered her mouth greedily. Pulling her onto his lap, he squeezed her tighter to him, her ample bosom pressing against his chest as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
He felt powerful, complete with her in his arms, in his rooms after all these years of nothing. It was like a new beginning forthem—what they could’ve become nine years earlier if it hadn’t all gone to dung without his knowledge.
He had lost control of his life when he was younger, but now, St. Clara was in control. No one could take her away from him again, not even her. She would be his again, his friend, his confidant, and his wife.
He cared nothing about the year she requested. The only thing that mattered to St. Clara was that she was his for now.
CHAPTER 12
Dear Chauncey,
I must admit that I miss you more than I can bear. At first, it was a fleeting ache in my chest, and now, it’s threatening to take over my entire being. You’re my only friend, and I fear I love you. Please return soon.
Your friend,
Kitten (The Chemist)
Aharsh bump jostled Pippa awake. Her eyes flew open to find that she was lying on the carriage seat with Newt snuggled against her chest. She did not know how long she had been sleeping, as her eyes had drifted closed less than an hour into the carriage ride to Gretna Green.
She and St. Clara had stayed awake until the rays of the sun shined on them, warm and bright. She could still feel his kisses on her lips; if she closed her eyes again, she would remember the dream that was very much her reality.
Her body had awakened under his expert guidance. Perhaps a year as his wife—in his bed—would not be so terrible. She could finally know what it was really like to be intimate with a man.
Sitting in his dimly lit rooms with nothing but the candelabra to light her way, Pippa had lost herself in their childhood memories, swept up in what they’d once meant to each other. What he’d once meant to her.
It would have been easy for Pippa to dismiss the kiss in Heartford’s study as a mistake… or two… or perhaps three; she had lost count of how many times his decadent lips had brushed hers. However, it was impossible to dismiss the kiss in his rooms. She could still feel him dragging her willing body to his, their mouths fused together like atoms.
She wanted more of it—all of it. Pippa wanted to experience the bliss of intimacy with another person before they went their separate ways. One year. She would give him one year as his wife, and then they would live separately…forever.
“Are you hungry?” His smooth, deep voice slid over her already warm skin. It was then that she noticed the large great coat draped around her and Newt like a duvet.
There was much about the Duke of St. Clara that Pippa did not know or understand. The devilishly handsome man that was encompassed in rumors of depravity, coldness, and whoremongering amongst other things was nothing like her childhood friend, Chauncey. Yet there she was in a moving carriage wrapped in his coat, feeling cared for in a way she hadn’t felt in nine years.
Rising, Pippa stretched her neck, massaging her achy muscles after lying in an awkward position for hours. Looking over at a slightly disheveled St. Clara, she eyed the small plate of fruit, meat, and cheese in his hand. Her traitorous stomach let out a large growl.
His deep chuckle caused goosebumps to slide across her skin as her cheeks reddened with embarrassment.
Taking the offered plate, she looked down at the array of foods, her mouth watering. “Thank you. Is this all for me?”
