Clare had never discussed the intimacies of married life with her sister. Though Caro and Nairn’s passion in public was well-known and well-remarked upon by many, she had no idea of what went on between them in the bedchamber. Oh, she suspected much but knew little. Glancing at her sister’s expectant expression, Clare tried to explain it without many details.
“Things with Jonathan were... comfortable. Pleasant and loving.” She could not meet her sister’s gaze at the disclosure. “I enjoyed our... relations.”
“And Sir Iain? Was it uncomfortable? Did he hurt you?” Caro’s voice took on a menacing tone. “If he did—”
“He did not hurt me, Caro! I mean we did not dothat.” Her face must be red as a ripe raspberry in June.
“Oh.” Caro sat back and a deep frown appeared. “What did he do then? If he did not bed you?”
“Other...attentions. With such passion and fervor that I lost myself.” She used her hand to fan her hot face, having neither her reticule nor her favorite fan with her, and dabbed her forehead with the napkin.
“Well then.” Caro’s gaze narrowed. “Did you object or wish to?” Before Clare could speak, Caro patted her hand. “Being overtaken by passion can be overwhelming if you have not experienced it before, Clare.” Clare nodded. She had been shocked by what he did and how she felt. And how had she not raised a sound or gesture to stop him. “But it can be marvelous and splendid and something that does indeed take your breath away.”
From the way Caro spoke just then and when she grabbed at Clare’s napkin to dab her own brow, Clare understood that her sister enjoyed that kind of passion in her marriage. And until that moment when Iain had leaned down and tasted her most private place, when he kissed and used his tongue to send her careening to some kind of bliss, Clare had never felt before or had any idea such a thing could happen. Not that way.
It had never happened to her before.
The man she’d loved had never given her what the man she... detested? opposed? desired? feared? had—he had made her feel desired and euphoric and lost to pleasure.
The tears escaped without her realizing it. Caro dabbed at them and gave the napkin to her when her efforts did not control them. After Caro left for a few moments, a lovely handkerchief replaced the napkin. As someone who rarely shed a tear in the worst of her grief, this last week had proven a surprise.
And yet, Clare felt more in control of herself and understood she needed to make a few changes in her life. She could not let one absolutely breathtaking yet absolutely not-to-be repeated, sensual experience turn her head or soften her heart to Sir Iain Buchanan or his outrageous offers or behaviors. Wiping away the last of her tears, she cleared her throat and stood. Though she had not sorted out everything, she had made one decision.
She could not do this—continue to oversee the businesses she’d inherited, manage the orphanage and other charities—on her own. Other businessmen had friends and colleagues and even trading clubs or societies, but women like her were excluded based only on their sex and not the extent of their holdings. Clare needed help.
She needed family. She cleared her throat again.
“I need your help with Father.”
At first, she thought Caro was going to argue or even refuse, but when her eyes lit with an almost-unholy fire of interest, Clare understood. Her sister would do whatever Clare needed. She just prayed she would not regret it.
Chapter Twelve
Iain had girdedhis loins with, hopefully, an adequate amount of spirits before approaching the entrance of the Assembly Rooms on Princes Street. He could handle only a finite number of these society soirees and not lose every layer of gentlemanly control he’d learned.
Tonight’s event was the one he suspected would break him and send him screaming like aban sithdown the center of the New Town. Though he’d entered the sumptuous building, the hundreds of candles burning in many chandeliers over his head, the crush of the crowd, the heat and smells of the undulating throng of attendees threatened to force him back out onto the street. And that was even before anyone approached or spoke to him.
And it hadn’t been the fawning of the mamas with their trailing eligible daughters or wards that made him want to beat a hasty retreat—those were to be expected. It wasn’t even the watered-down punch in place of a quality whisky or port or brandy or... a decent anything. Nay, neither of those did it. The situation that had done it was an invitation he received from one of the little lordlings, as he called the sons of nobles who had nothing to do, no meaning in their lives while having enough funds to keep them idle and worthless.
One of them asked him to join in a secret society open only to nobles and other select gentlemen, a polite way of referring to those who were unspeakably wealthy as he was. In their cups from a prior engagement, they were easily manipulated into spilling the information about what made this society so secret. Apparently, the men gathered to drink, watched as naked women exposed their assets, all while the men all wanked their ownmembers. And drank from glasses molded into the shape of their cocks!
He spewed the mouthful of punch he’d just taken in at the description that each little lordling tried to expand for his benefit. These pompous little twits thought he would be interested in showing his prick to others in the name of being included in some exclusive club. He’d rather concentrate on fucking real women and ignore the antics of small and stupid men.
“You look like you could use this,” Nairn said as he walked up to Iain. He held out a flask and filled a clean glass with amber liquid.
“Bloody hell, Nairn. I owe you for this.” Iain swallowed the whisky. When it hit his gut, he sighed. “I do not ken why the leaders of society and Edinburgh allow only swill to be served when there is such an abundance of spirits available.”
“As a bachelor you might not understand the true power of women to make our lives miserable at times,” Nairn said, filling his glass again. Lady Clare Logan came to mind immediately and Iain drank to avoid saying anything. “Ah, I see you do understand that particular fact.”
He could have been friends with a man like Nairn if he accepted friends among his business associates. Or any friends at all. Friends could be problematic when money and investing was involved. And when a man hid his past and lived in two worlds, he could not trust that a collision of those worlds would not happen. Nairn held up the flask, but Iain waved him off.
“My thanks for that.” Nairn secured the flask inside his coat pocket, sipping his drink rather than gulping it as Iain did. “Would you care to join me for a real drink?”
“Now?” Nairn asked.
“The marchioness is here, of course. Pardon me for trying to drag you away.”
“My wife has released me for the evening,” he said. “In spite of what you may have heard, we do not spend every waking moment in each other’s pockets.” Nairn laughed, acknowledging what he had indeed learned about the couple. “I have done my duty and Lady Nairn is out there with her sister.” He nodded to the main ballroom from where they stood in the entrance to one of the side rooms used for cards.
