So why the bloody guilt? He wasn’t even courting the girl, let alone betrothed. If anything his guilt should be for the unknown woman, although he was starting to worry she may be married, the way she always disappeared.
However, this morning, tired but sober, it all made sense. What he wanted was Clara Lockwood. It was her he had wanted last night: naked and writhing against him, scoring his body with her nails and bringing him to release.
“I’m sorry, my friend. There’s only one reason, and it’s bad news.” Rook raised his head.
“You are falling, or are in love with, Miss Clara Lockwood. It’s the only rationale why you would think about her when with another woman, and why you feel any sort of guilt this morning.”
Rook slumped. He had come to that same conclusion, although, he preferred ‘wanted’ rather than the word that began with ‘L’.
“But it’s only been four nights…” Rook protested to Jack…and himself.
“Your parents, God rest their beautiful souls, married after how long?” Rook mumbled something. “How long?” Jack asked again firmly.
“Three days, goddamn you. Met at some ball and eloped three days later. Set the gossips going for a year according to Dill, but you know what they were like: they weren’t entirely…normal.”
“Your parents were the sweetest people that I have ever had the privilege to know.” Jack gave him a steely stare, and Rook remembered Jack’s less than savoury childhood. He nodded his head in acknowledgment of his error.
Jack smiled. “There you go then – runs in the family – this sudden courtship…thing. You have talked of Clara before this party. You said she was a very taking piece, and anyhow, it’s not like you have to marry her tomorrow. Spend some more time with her. She’s a sensible girl, and if you start to annoy each other, then it wasn’t meant to be.” Jack sat back, satisfied.
“S’pose you’re right. I’ve tried to avoid the poor girl. I suspect she doesn’t know where she stands, and that kiss in the knot garden was most… affecting, even if it didn’t have the passion of the masquerade woman.”
“I suspect that you will find that was becauseyouheld back, not her. I think Clara will… surprise you.” And with that mystical remark, Jack got up and stretched.
“It’s archery today, perfect for wooing.”
ΦΦΦ
He washovering.
That was the only word Clara could come up with. Every time she turned around, she felt him there. He’d be behind her, and then at the side, at one point she’d tripped over him. Did he realise it had beenher,last night, in the dark? She didn’t think so, as he showed no obvious signs of familiarity – no sly winks or covert nods. He seemed the very epitome of gentlemanly conduct.
“May I get some refreshment for you, Clara?” He was back to using her given name.
“Thank you, my lord. That would be most kind.” Clara breathed a sigh of relief when he left. She couldn’t practise archery because of her hand, but a few other ladies had also opted out, and they were all helping Hestia with the setting-up. There was lawn bowling, and a reposing area to organise, with cushions, refreshments and books. Clara had been glad of the distraction, and Hestia with her red-rimmed eyes looked like she needed the assistance.
“What else can I help you with, Hestia?” The viscountess looked ready to weep.
“You’ve been a wonder, Clara. You really have.”
“I grew up in a bachelor household, remember? I’m used to ordering men around,” she teased lightly, hoping for a grin from the woebegone Hestia.
The smile was weak. “I think ’tis all, thank you. Although you cannot practise archery, I’m sure you could play lawn bowls very well.”
After last night’s pianoforte debacle, Clara had confided in Hestia this morning about her hand – although she had made her promise not to tell anyone. Hestia had been surprisingly intimate and confided that she too felt out of her depth and anxious at times, especially because her figure was not of the current mode.
Clara had been astounded, and told Hestia that she envied her voluptuous frame. She recounted how the men’s eyes had followed Hestia out of the dining room, the previous night.
“Did you… did you see if my husband looked?” Clara had frowned. ’Twas a strange question, as the viscount had looked utterly transfixed by his wife all evening.
“He couldn’t look away,” she replied truthfully. Hestia had blinked rapidly and bitten her lip. Even now, Clara could see the viscount some yards behind Hestia. He was another man, it seemed, that hovered in the background.
Clara made her way to the archery area to watch the contestants. She felt a tad weary this morning and, although the reposing area looked most attractive, she couldn’t bear to do idle chitchat.
Targets on wooden stands had been set out for the archery, with some brave souls – or well paid ones – standing at the side to collect the arrows. Some of the ladies were well-versed in the sport and had brought their own archery gowns. The wind blew across the field, and Clara could see that most men’s eyes remained on the ladies’ figures – clearly outlined by the breeze – rather than the supposed targets.
“Would you care to release some arrows?” The words were innocent, but the way he said them made Clara tingle. The events of last night made an unwelcome reappearance in her mind. His large hands on her body, his mouth at her breast – she shuddered.
“I can fetch your wrap if you are cold, Clara?” Rook questioned, as he placed a chilled champagne in her hand. It wasn’t quite what she meant by refreshment, but she took a steady sip.
