“Kiss me, Frank,” she breathed.
Their lips met on a sigh. Like a homecoming. Her fingers threaded into the hair at his nape, delighting in its softness.
He deepened their kiss. She answered his questioning lips, returning the pressure. Her heart pounded against her ribs. His hands came to rest at her waist and drew her closer.
Their mouths opened in synchrony. Then his tongue greeted hers, and introduction over, furthered their acquaintance. Warmth flooded her body.
His embrace tightened and his muscular body engulfed her. She pressed closer, wanting more, until her sensitized breasts were flattened against his chest.
While their mouths performed their own mating dance, their hands explored each other’s form. Frank’s hands travelled lower and flexed on her buttocks, pulling her against his hardened member. Heat pooled at the apex of her legs. She moaned in response to the unfamiliar need.
Frank broke their kiss to trail his mouth down her neck, pushing aside her winter garments to access more skin. Eagerly she helped him. His hands were on her breasts, massaging them through her clothes. A spike of arousal arrowed low in her belly. She panted in want.
Suddenly, his urgent hands ceased their actions. Breathing hard, Francis leaned his forehead against hers. “I think we had better leave now or I won’t let you go at all.”
Stunned by the passion of their kiss, Clarissa nodded her head, incapable of speech. In a haze of sensation and fuzzy thoughts, she let him lead her to the theatre and insert her into the carriage in a forward-facing seat beside a window. She’d been so excited about her trip, but now, she suspected all the excitement she’d ever need lay in Francis’s capable hands.
***
Submerged in her thoughts and emotions and sensations, the carriage rocked ferociously as it sped towards Kent.
If she had known a man’s touch could create fireworks like that in her body, would she have kissed more of her admirers? Or was it only Frank Brody who could elicit such a response? She hummed at the recollection. She suspected it was only him.
The carriage lurched over another bump in the road and Clarissa clung to the leather strap beside her head for dear life. Around her, other members of the cast tried to sing, despite the rough road they travelled through the bleak winter countryside. Meanwhile, she tried to resolve her confusion.
As each milepost passed, Clarissa daydreamed about their future happy life in London, with her performing a new role while Francis continued with his parish duties. She envisaged late evenings spent together in front of a cozy fire.
But Francis had mentioned sometime in the last few weeks that his brother-in-law would appoint him to a living he held, after the present incumbent’s retirement. She couldn’t yet imagine herself doing good deeds amongst the poor anywhere.
She dismissed that idea entirely. She had a career to pursue and no time for a real marriage and a family. She had vowed to herself when Aunt Dora put her on the stage that, unlike her mother, she would put career before marriage and men.
And marriage with a man of the cloth had certainly not been in her plan!
The journey ended at an enormous country house built in the Palladian style. Clarissa left the vehicle, shaken by the carriage ride and by her thoughts.
But as the week progressed, her feelings for the Reverend Francis Brody only became clearer. The memory of him grew in her mind with each passing day—kind, generous, and irresistible—consuming her thoughts and tugging painfully in her chest. She woke every morning, aching for his gentle smile as he cooked her tea and toast.
She found herself wishing she could catch the woody-sweet scent of his cologne. She longed to hear his deep, clam voice, to feel his solid body beneath her hands and to feel the steady beat of his heart against her cheek.
By the end of her time away, she was anxious to see her Frank again. Although they were the epitome of the saying that opposites attract.
She was falling in love with a clergyman!
Ridiculous!She still could not see herself as a rector’s wife, with her role confined to doing good deeds and raising their children. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Was a comprise possible?
If only there had been time for them to discuss this, but Francis had been engaged in church business most of the week and when he was with her, she wanted only to savor their precious time together.
Acontinuation of their current life in London—her acting and Francis working for the church—but with some way to express her intense feelings for him without jeopardizing her career. She wanted to propose this to him.
Surely this would be possible? Didn’t some married actresses continue to perform? Mary Robinson had done so. Many more had not—like Mrs. Jordan, who had retired from the stage to live as the Duke of Clarence’s common law wife.
One day in the far future when she had achieved her ambitions, could she see herself listening to his sermons, begging him to seduce her, and then bearing and raising his children? Her mind hurriedly skittered away from these thoughts. Maybe? But not yet.
Back in London,Clarissa hurried to Francis’s rooms to wait for him, ready to tell him that she was falling in love with him. She paced the sitting room while she waited. He should be home by dusk.
Butterflies circled and plunged in her stomach. Had Francis been as pained by their time apart as she had? Would he want to set their marriage on a new footing as desperately as she did?
