“I apologize for not asking your name,” Clare said.
“I am Suisan, my lady.” The maid curtsied. “There is a footman outside to escort ye to yer carriage, my lady.” As Suisan went to answer the knock, Clare reached for her reticule to find a coin for the maid’s assistance only to realize she’d lost track of it at the dining table. Unwilling to return to his suite, she was going to ask the footman to retrieve it when the door opened, and the same footman who’d brought her here earlier held it out to her.
“My lady,” he said with a bow. “Your reticule and your cloak.” He helped her on with her cloak and she found several coins in her purse and handed the maid and the footman each one.
“My thanks for your assistance,” she said, unable to meet either one’s eyes. There was simply no way that they had not heard her screams and not known what was going on in the other chamber.
“There is a private entrance this way. Your coach awaits outside.” The footman stepped back and indicated their direction away from the main staircase and lobby. Away from other people who would see her and wonder her purpose.
Her departure was quick and smooth, and she saw no one else on her way down a private stairway to a discreet door leading to the street. Clare turned back to thank the footman and saw the outline of a man at the top of the stairs. Though too far to see his features, she recognized the shape of the man’s body and knew that Iain watched her leave.
A short time later she arrived back at her house, and she prayed that Samantha was not at home or, if at home, that she had already retired for the evening. Apparently the fates were against her, for Samantha stood in the foyer as Clare entered. Poogan intercepted her with a few messages left for her before bidding her good night.
Empty in so many ways, Clare did not have the strength to explain or even dissemble with Samantha. How could she answer the inevitable questions when she did not know the answers herself? How could she face her cousin after what had happened between her and Iain?
There was only one explanation—she was as lack witted as some had claimed her to be. A woman who meddled in business when she should not. When she should mind her place and her manner and her words.
Once Poogan walked down the corridor to the back stairs, Clare let out a breath and faced her friend.
“Did he hurt you, Clare?” Samantha asked. Taking Clare’s still-trembling hands in hers, she pulled her close. “Did he?”
“Stunned. Surprised. Overwhelmed. But not hurt,” she whispered. Samantha nodded and wrapped her arm under Clare’s.
“Come. I will call for a bath and then you must get a good night’s sleep. Everything looks better after a good night’s sleep,” she said.
As much as she wanted to believe Samantha’s words, Clare suspected it would take more than sleep to set right her life and her heart.
That man had invaded her life and torn everything she’d worked for—an orderly life, a sense of purpose, a journey towards fulfilling the last dreams she shared with Jonathan—into pieces that blew away on Edinburgh’s winds.
All of that while giving her the most exciting physical experience of her life.
While never seeking his own pleasure. She stumbled and was glad of Samantha’s arm holding hers.
Oh, she’d felt the evidence of his own arousal and not once, not for a moment of the whole encounter, did he seek his own release. He had centered his desire on her, touching and tasting her in shocking and exciting ways. Clare would never look upon dessert or cream in the same way again.
No, now more than before, Clare understood that a night’s rest would not happen this evening. Her body still ached from his attentions and felt more alive and alert than it had in a long, long time.
How could she sleep when such an ache had been created and when all she wanted was... more?
Chapter Eleven
Twelve days. Almosta fortnight.
Nigh on two weeks had passed since that night without a word from her. Or even a sighting of her outside her house.
Nearly two weeks since he’d touched her and kissed her and tasted her. Since he’d lost his wits and his control and had feasted on her flesh like a savage without regard for her sensibilities.
But that was what he was—a beast strolling around society in a gent’s clothing. Hiding his depravities from the world and making a fortune as he did it. Using his nefarious and morally questionable skills and talents to get what he wanted because... he wanted it. He’d not expected to face someone like her in this contest of power and wealth and she’d become more than an opponent to him.
A strongminded good woman with a purpose in life that was not aboutherneeds orherwants. Bloody hell, she ran an orphanage! A tremor shook him as he approached the line he could not cross in thought or deed, so he did not.
Even seeking out the physical punishment and exhaustion that the fights gave him did not help his unceasing arousal. And no amount of seeking his own satisfaction with his hand rid him of the inconvenient and hardened reminder that he had not buried himself in Lady Clare’s tight passage as he’d wanted to that night. In spite of the lovely Tess’s ever-present willingness to help with that matter, Iain could not bring himself to seek out the relief that her talented mouth or skillful hands offered.
Something else, something he thought might be regret tickled his conscience. Oh, not at the experience of pleasuring her, he would do that again in a second, or even taking her hard and deep as he’d wanted to do. Nay, what he did regret was that he’d shocked and frightened her so badly she’d disappeared. He had enjoyed more than just their passionate encounters—he enjoyed their discussions and found her intelligence and courage refreshing, for she confronted him in a way no one had before.
Iain stared out the window of his office, watching as a ship moved slowly to the dock. He put his office on the upper floor of this building for exactly this view. The whole of Leith Harbor spread out before him and the sight of it and his ships pleased him. Between his fleet here and in Glasgow, his rivalled any on the seas. Pride and pleasure filled him.
He’d reached this level of success by having the determination to fulfill his ruthless ambition from that moment in the gutters of Glasgow’s slums. And by following his well-laid plans no matter his opponent or competitor.
