They drank in silence for a while. The hot tea calmed Francis. He wanted to re-assure Clarissa, help her. But would she let him?
From outside came distant road noises, broken only by the call of the watch on the hour. The quiet and warmth of the room seemed to foster a sense of harmony.
Now that his anger on her behalf had faded and Clarissa had regained her color, Francis found that just her presence in his room raised his heart rate. Her lilac scent stirred his senses. His attraction to her warred with his duty to provide pastoral care for her, which was his only legitimate role in her life.
Miss Bartlett drained her tea and set the cup in its saucer. “Aah.”
“Feeling better now?”
She leant further back in the chair and smiled at him sleepily.
“Don’t get too relaxed, you need to make a decision about your next step, so this evening’s events never occur again.”I am being pushy, but it’s necessary.
Clarissa frowned at him.
“Assuming that is what you wish to happen?” He backtracked to ensure he wasn’t appearing to tell her how to live her life.Which of course, I am.
“Tomorrow, I’ll find new lodgings. Now, I just wish to sleep.” Her tone brooked no argument.
“You take the bed. The sheets are clean today. And I barely made it to bed by midnight.” He stood up and offered her his hand to rise. “Come, let me assist you.”
“Where will you sleep, Reverend Frank?” she asked. A crease formed between her eyebrows.
“Here, of course.” He gestured with his hand to indicate the room.
Clarissa lowered her sad gaze from him and nodded. “Thank you,” she whispered.
He longed to hold her and comfort her until her confidence returned. but such an idea was inappropriate, especially when she had just been assaulted.
The last time he had comforted a woman in his arms—his recently widowed landlady in Oxford when he was a new graduate—had led to his seduction by her. She had drawn him down to lie with her and encouraged him until nature took its course—as it had so easily. Francis scolded his wayward thoughts, knowing how much anguish such actions caused.
For three weeks, he had fallen into her bed, raw young idiot that he was, until the morning he had looked over at her sated, sleeping body and knew without a doubt that he didn’t love her. Cold realization had crept icy fingers through his veins. If he didn’t love this woman, he had no right to have relations with her. And it might be too late already to avoid the parson’s noose, which getting her with child would bring.
He had never lain with her again. He had prayed that she didn’t have the clap, although she’d sworn that she had been with no man but her husband. That would be one of the very real wages of the sin he had committed.
In new lodgings, he’d waited long weeks, before breathing freely again, certain that his landlady was not with child and he had contracted no disease from their liaison. And during that time of fear, he had become determined that he must followmore closely in his father’s footsteps. He had vowed never to behave in such a weak and using manner again.
And ever since, he had felt obliged to assist women who had been exploited by men and then discarded. Nor had he repeated his own misdemeanor.
He had learned from that experience not to accept the offers that occasionally came his way from lonely widows and even from some actresses under his pastoral care. Why they singled him out, he had no idea. Thank goodness Clarissa was not like them.
Clarissa slid her hand into his and electricity zinged up his arm at her touch, firing every nerve from his fingertips to his cock. He closed his eyes and fought for control of his wayward thoughts and body, then braced himself to gently raise her to her feet.
When he opened his eyes again, she stood before him, cheeks flushed and eyes looking over his shoulder into his bedchamber beyond with its rumpled bed sheets. Only in his wildest dreams did he think she was imagining, like him, what it would be like to walk together into that room hand-in-hand and to sink back onto the feather bed and under the warm bedclothes together.
May the good Lord give him strength to resist his attraction to Miss Clarissa Bartlett. She deserved far more than the imaginings and fumblings of an impecunious curate. She deserved respect from him and all men.
He bowed over her hand. “Good night, Miss Bartlett,” he murmured.
“I think that now you have rescued me from the dastardly Lord Travener and I will be sleeping in your bedchamber, you should call me Clarissa.” She sent him cheeky smile, which gave him hope that she had recovered somewhat from her ordeal.
He sent her a smile to acknowledge her generosity in allowing him to use her name. “Thank you, Clarissa.”
“And I shall call you Frank.” She chuckled to herself, apparently amused at her own cheekiness.
His jaw clenched at her bantering tone. Dismissing his response as a petty over-reaction, he led her to the doorway of the bedchamber. She swept through it without a backward look and he closed the door behind her with a sharp click of finality.
His heart contracted. That she did not reciprocate his infatuation with her was clear. And thank goodness for that!
