He sat up and trailed one of his hands down the side of her nightgown. “Nor I, Clara. I know I’m not a gentleman and it is hard to deal with.”
Clara frowned at him and felt a spark of anger at his insinuation. “I don’t care if you are a gentleman.”
His eyes flicked away from her, and Clara realized he didn’t believe her. “Sam, I don’t.”
Sam’s hand slid down further to where the hem of her nightgown met her ankles and he ran his fingers along her bare skin from her calf to her thigh. She closed her eyes as her body trembled at his touch.
“Clara, I don’t want to fight. When I am around you, the very last thing I want to do is quarrel.”
“What do you want to do then?”
His fingers tiptoed across her hipbone and stomach. She gasped as her body reacted in response to his touch. “I want to touch you. I want to hear your whimpers of pleasure.”
She closed her eyes and leaned forward bracing herself by holding on to his shoulder. His fingers slid down past her belly button, through the curls that led to her most intimate part, and she whimpered. Her eyes flew open to see him staring at her with a mixture of lust and delight.
His fingers teased her gently, and she felt her hips rock against his hand. She arched her body, wanting more. He dipped a finger into her feminine folds, and she let out a sigh before pressing against his hand.
“Do you like it when I touch you like this?” he whispered.
“Yes,” she murmured.
He smiled and found a rhythm with his fingers that her hips instinctively followed. She gasped and threw her head back. She whimpered and swayed into him. Her breath grew ragged as she felt the ache build, an ache that made her clench his shoulder until it shattered, and she let out a deep gasp. She leaned against him, and he pulled her onto his lap, kissing her forehead.
“Happy?”
She looked up into his hazel eyes and said, “I don’t know if happy is the word.”
He chuckled and Clara could feel his chest shake. She wiggled and felt his hard shaft against her thigh. She looked up at him and his eyes were still filled with desire. He stood her up on her feet and unbuttoned his pants, freeing himself. She looked at him questioningly, and he spun her around, so she wasn’t facing him, sliding her night gown back up. He sat her down on his lap, so she was astride, pulling her down onto his shaft. Clara gasped at the sensation. She turned to look at him, but he gripped her hips keeping her pushed down against him.
Then he slowly started to move her up and down. The sensations overwhelmed her. Sam moaned behind her before leaning up to run kisses down her back through her nightgown. She pressed her toes to the ground and pushed herself up and down on his lap. His hands fell away from her hips and Clara could hear his ragged breath grow more and more intense. The ache between her thighs caused her legs to shake, but she couldn’t stop herself. Sam bucked underneath her, and they were a swirl of moans and sighs. Her body exploded against his as he pushed one last time into her with a deep sigh, finding his own release. Clara collapsed against him, and he wrapped his arms around her.
They sat silently with Clara pressed against his broad chest. She could feel his heart slowly going back to normal as he ran his hands along her form, while placing gentle kisses along her neck. Finally, Sam said, “I’m sorry I caused a scene.”
Clara didn’t want to think of their fight or why it happened. It didn’t matter. She stood and turned to face him, cupping his face in her hands, looking at him intently. “I don’t care if you aren’t a lord. I want you to believe that.”
“It doesn’t matter, Clara,” he said, placing a kiss on her nose.
“It matters to me,” she insisted, needing him to understand that a title didn’t matter to her. He stood and pulled her with him to the bed.
“We need sleep,” he said, as they both collapsed on the bed.
He spooned her and whispered in her ear, “And maybe after sleep, more of each other.”
Chapter 21
A few days later, Sam stood in the foyer of the Duke of Claremore’s house waiting to see if Clara’s father would see him. The butler, an older expressionless man, made his way back to where Sam stood.
“Mr. Kincaide, His Grace is busy at the moment.”
Sam pulled a note card from his pocket and said, “Give him this.”
The butler pursed his lips. “He said he would not see you.”
Sam glowered at him, and the old man stepped back in alarm. “Take him the card.”
The butler took the card and walked away without another word. Sam listened to his footsteps until he entered what Sam assumed was Claremore’s study. Claremore may not want to see him but once he saw the amount of his debt Sam owned written on the card, Sam had no doubt he would change his mind. Sam looked around the home Clara had grown up in. It was ornately decorated but devoid of any emotion or feeling. Rage simmered within him, remembering the scars on Clara’s back from the lashings her mother gave her, likely not far from where he stood. He wanted to destroy the Claremores but knew what Clara wanted more than anything was her parents' acceptance.
The butler made his way back. “This way, sir.”
