It seemed a while that he left her like that, posed so scandalously. Then he caressed up her back and over her bottom. One firm palm remained on the small of her back, but his other hand sought again the source of her madness.
The sensation undid her. Sharp, deep and intense, it made her scream. She tried to swallow the sound, but she could not.
She felt him then, entering her, first slowly then hard. The intensity centered on his fullness and his thrusts. She knew relief at first, but then a trembling began and grew, one she could not control. The hard tremors frightened her, and his movements only made them stronger. Her body seemed to disappear except for where they joined, and the intensity tightened into something painful but compelling. It twisted tighter until suddenly the tremor coursed through her in a powerful wave of sensation that submerged her.
* * *
Sight returned, but damned little strength came with it. He grasped the arm of the divan with both hands, steadying himself lest he collapse on top of Clara. Limp and silent, she did not make a sound now, but the chamber still reverberated with her howl of joy a few moments ago.
He bent to press a kiss on the small of her back and then on the soft flesh of her bottom. Even now, sated from a staggering release, the eroticism of her pose entranced him.
He fixed his garments, then lifted her to her feet. With a scoop he picked her up and carried her to the bed. She nestled onto the pillow while he drew the sheet over her. She reached out and placed her hand on his arm and looked him over through heavily lidded eyes.
“You certainly know how to make houseguests feel welcome.”
“I try my best.”
“If that is your best, it is spectacular.” She rubbed the fabric of his sleeve between two fingers. “You did not undress, and you appear ready to meet the queen. I, on the other hand—” She looked down at the gentle hills of her body beneath the sheet.
He bent to kiss her. “I will have the maid sent to you in an hour, and a bath as well if you want.”
“A bath will be wonderful, assuming I can move by then.”
“I will see you later.” He turned to leave.
She turned on her side and snuggled the pillow. “I can still feel you. Can still feel what happened,” she murmured sleepily.
As could he. He gently stroked her cheek and watched her fall asleep, then sought his own chambers.
Unlike Clara, he did not sleep. He did not even rest. He continued what he had been doing before thoughts of her led him to her chamber.
In the ducal apartment, soon books sat on the floor instead of in their cases in the sitting room. The wall behind one case stood open, revealing a gaping cavern. Its former contents were now strewn on the desk.
He walked past the bag of gold coins and the stacks of papers and headed to the dressing room. He pulled back the carpet and knelt in one corner, feeling with his fingers on the wood. He found the spot he sought and pushed hard. A section of the floor, a foot square in size, bounced up on a hidden hinge. He felt down into the underlying structure of the house.
Learning the locations of these hiding places had been as much a part of his education as learning the history of the Tory party. These secret spots had been built into this house, just as others could be found in most of their other properties. Gold coins often found homes in spots like this.
He groped, sliding his fingers along joists, making sure nothing remained tucked beneath one. His hand closed on a small sack. He dragged it into the light and opened it. Jewelry poured into his palm.
The piece bore no resemblance to that item missing from the last inventory. Nor did its silver, pearls, and purple stones fit the description of anything in any of the inventories he saw. It looked very old. Perhaps it had been stuck down there for generations.
He dropped it back in its hiding place and replaced the section of floor. This had been the most likely house if those missing jewels had been stored and, like that silver necklace, forgotten. Now he would have to search Drewsbarrow, which would take a very long time.
* * *
“I trust your friend did not scold you too badly.” Stratton poured some wine while he made the observation.
They had dined on a fine meal. They still lounged at the table, enjoying the last of the claret.
A nap and a bath had reinvigorated Clara. She had not even blushed when she came down to join the duke for dinner. She should, however. The afternoon had been a revelation in several ways, not the least being how exciting she found the masterful way he handled her.
Another day she would contemplate what that might mean about him. She would also have to consider what it said about her, she supposed.
“She only cautioned that there would be the devil to pay if there was one slip. I already knew that.” Althea had offered a bit more advice that would not be shared with the duke. About the difficulties of having a truly discreet affair. About the danger for a woman never married. She had spoken as if from experience.
“I have an acquaintance with her brother, but confess I had not seen her before you introduced us.”
“Althea has an unfortunate history. Unlike my father, hers left her dependent on that brother. When he attempted to marry her off to a man whose favor he wished to curry, she refused and instead married an army officer who unfortunately died in battle. She has been treated like the poor relative she is ever since. A governess would live better.”
