His stony walls were back up, much to her disappointment. It would take time and effort to chip them away. But now that she had tasted what lay behind them, she would never rest until she demolished them completely.
Patting her hair, she found some stray wisps that had come loose in the frenzy, and she took a moment to tuck them back into their pins while David waited with a look of smoldering admiration on his face. As she took her husband’s arm and walked down the hall to the dining room where her family awaited, she blessed her lucky stars for David. Mrs. Dove-Lyon had been right. He was her perfect match, and with a bit of effort and persistence, their love would outshine the heavens.
Chapter 9
Never had David been more grateful for a moment of solitude than when he closed the door to his room on his wedding night. He’d made certain Charles was away from the house before bringing Clarissa in. They would leave in the early morning hours before his brother was awake, and hopefully Charles would be none the wiser.
Small noises from the next room told him that Clarissa was readying herself for bed with the help of her lady’s maid. Try as he might, he couldn’t stop himself from picturing her taking off her garments, one by one, exposing that soft, cream skin inch by inch as she changed into her bed clothes. Would she be in a high-necked, long-sleeved night rail or something more diaphanous and revealing? Had she had time to prepare a trousseau? Would the fabric cling to her tantalizing figure? How soft would it be to the touch?
Stop it, David. You’re only torturing yourself.
He hurried to the pitcher and basin in the corner of his room, splashing water on his face in an unsuccessful attempt to quell the pulsing need that had been plaguing him since he tasted her lips.
It was embarrassing how easily he’d lost control with Clarissa. Something feral had come unleashed when he kissed her, and he’d given in completely to his baser instincts. Had he scared her?
He rather hoped he had, as no good would come of losing control like that again. God help him if she came to his room tonight. The temptation to finish what he’d started in the Wellington drawing room pulsed in his veins and addled his thoughts. The taste of Clarissa lingered on his tongue, no matter how he’d tried to wash it away. Her berry sweet lips would be his ruin if he couldn’t rein himself in.
Why in heaven’s name had he confessed his attraction? He must have lost his mind. But she did that to him. When he was with her, something about her mere presence loosened his tongue and lowered his defenses.
He sat down on his bed and yanked off his boots, doing his very best not to picture Clarissa on his mattress, her hair splayed on his pillow. Thank God he’d redone the room after he’d lost Laura. Everything was new, from the simply but beautifully crafted four-poster bed to the forest green walls.
Though perhaps he needed a reminder of his first wife on his second wedding night. His first marriage was a cautionary tale that should have stopped him from repeating the mistakes of the past and would have if not for his brother’s folly.
He slid out of his breeches and shirt, draping them over the clothes horse in the corner, climbed into bed, and extinguished the oil lamp. He had always preferred to sleep naked, and thankfully, with Clarissa safely installed in the next room, he could do as he pleased.
As he closed his eyes, memories of his first wedding night invaded his mind against his will. He had been so young, eager, and besotted. In those early days, Laura gave every impression of returning his regard. In retrospect, there were signs, even from the start, that something was amiss, but like the naive idiot he was, he didn’t see them.
No.He wasn’t going to think about Laura, nor was he going to think about Clarissa.
The estate. That was a safe thing to focus on. He had a list of repairs that needed to be made to tenants’ properties. He would have to meet with his manager as soon as they reached Rose Hills to prioritize the work.
As he made a mental list of every repair he could think of, a quiet tap on the door connecting his room to Clarissa’s make him tense.
“David?”
Damn it.He’d told her he would leave her in peace until morning and urged her to get some sleep. The truth was, if he opened that door, there was no telling what he might do.
Reluctantly, he slipped out of his bed, donned a robe, and padded to the door that connected his to hers, checking that the lock from his side was firmly fastened.
“David?” she asked again, a note of uncertainty in her normally cheerful tone. “Are you there?”
“Yes. What is it?” Everything in his body hummed at the sound of her voice. He had to clench his fists to keep from reaching for the latch.
“I want to talk to you. Can you open the door?”
No. Absolutely not. “You should go to bed. We have a long journey ahead of us tomorrow. We’ll have plenty of time to talk then.” Alone together. In an enclosed carriage. For hours on end. Temptation a mere arm’s length away. God help him.
“David, please.”
That “please” nearly did him in. His hand twitched toward the latch. “I don’t think that’s wise.”
Fabric rustled, and she sighed. “Very well. Good night.”
The creaking of floorboards told him she was retreating. He should have done the same. If he had any willpower at all, he would have turned away and headed back to bed. “Wait.”
The footsteps stopped.
What was he doing? “Just talking. Nothing more.” Apparently, he had lost his mind completely because he reached for the latch and slid it open. The click resounded in his mind like the clanging of a bell, but he couldn’t stop. His traitorous hand reached for the knob as if moved by some invisible puppet master. Everything he feared and everything he craved was on the other side of that door.
