Love Letters (4 page)

A shiver of heat traveled her spine. She swore, even without looking at him, that she knew where Brendon’s attention riveted. First, on her profile, then back, her bottom, lower to her thighs and finally her toes. The chill room did little to cool her flushed body. She felt hot, breathless and even seductive under his scrutiny. The entire world stood still.

Every so often sounds from the night filtered through the dingy curtains. Carriage wheels rattled across cobblestone.
Coarse voices arguing on the streets.
But for the most part, the silence was their cloak of safety. A comfortable sense of companionship permeated her very being. A feeling she’d never experienced at home.

Sudden tears stung Clara’s eyes. Not wanting to give into melancholy, she plucked at a loose thread on the settee cushion. She didn’t want to leave England. Not that she fancied London, but she did love the countryside where she’d spent summers as a child.
The rolling green fields, the wildflowers, the streams where she’d wade.
She didn’t want to leave her homeland…she didn’t want to leave Brendon, yet she must.

The scratch of metal tools against soft clay was the only indication that Brendon still worked. As much as she wanted, she didn’t dare look over her shoulder, too afraid he’d read the emotion in her eyes.

“And do what when you get there?”
he’d taunted.

What would she do when she made it to America? She hadn’t thought much past earning enough money to procure a ticket aboard a ship. She only knew that she needed to leave. She could have sold her jewelry, but Mama kept a tight rein on the family glory. Perhaps a few of
her own
lesser trinkets would fetch a coin or two. Enough to keep her fed until she found a position as a governess. But money wouldn’t provide companionship, wouldn’t love her,
hold
her.

A sudden gust of wind battered the panes and jolted Clara from her thoughts. The house trembled, threatening to collapse around them. Clara bolted upright. The windows burst open, banging against the walls. She smelled the snow right before a whirlwind of flakes swirled into the room, stinging her exposed skin. At any other time she would have been delighted by the Christmas weather. Clara gasped, crossing her arms over her chest. Papers rattled from a nearby table, lifted and took flight.

“Damn.” Brendon jumped from his chair and raced toward the windows.

Clara stumbled from the settee, her bare feet hitting the cold wooden floorboards. “I’ll gather your drawings.”

She reached out, arms wide to scoop the pieces of paper to her body. One landed tightly to her breasts and one to her nether regions. Brendon pushed the panes shut with a soft thud. The howl of the wind faded and the soft patter of snowflakes on the glass was the only noise that remained. He turned, those brilliant blue eyes gleaming with speculation. For one long moment they merely stared at each other.

There was something in his gaze that made her hot, breathless,
nervous
. Clara swallowed
hard,
realizing only a couple pieces of paper hid her favors and wondering how the bloody hell she would give them back without feeling like she was undressing all over again. He took a determined step forward and she had to resist the urge to move back. She reminded herself that this was Brendon, the man she’d loved for years.

Yet, the last time she’d seen Brendon, he’d been a young lad. Now he was a man…a very large, very handsome man. A man with eyes that burned with something she didn’t quite understand, something that frightened and excited her.

Every step closer sent her pulse racing faster, the urge to move more urgent. Only a breath away, he paused. The crisp smell of snow combined with his musky scent, swirling around her, muddling her senses. Slowly, he reached out and took the first piece of paper from where she had it clutched to her lower belly. Reluctantly, she released her hold. He set the drawing upon the table. With his gaze focused on her, he took hold of the paper she held to her breasts. He gave a gentle jerk, pulling the sheaf loose and leaving her completely naked.

“Why is there a carriage out front?”

She frowned and shook her head, confused by the odd question. He stepped closer, the tips of his black boots touching her bare toes. So close, she had to tilt her head back to keep his gaze. Anger hovered around him, heavy and dark. “Did you take a carriage here?”

Unnerved, she stepped back. “Y…yes, but a hired hack.”

His gaze narrowed slightly and he took another step forward, his feet on either side of hers. “It’s not yours?”

There was a sudden hardness in his eyes, a hardness she didn’t recognize,
a
hardness that gave her pause. She stepped back again, her shoulders pressing into the cold brick wall. Her body was trembling and she had to remind herself over and over that she knew this man. He would not harm her. He would not.

He leaned forward, bracing his large palms on either side of her face and trapping her between his body and the wall. “Who are you?”

She found she could no longer look him in the eyes, frantically shuffling through her brain for some sort of response. If she told him the truth, he’d send her home. She didn’t want to
leave,
she didn’t want to leave
him
. He stepped closer, his hard form pressed to her naked body, fitting perfectly to each dip and curve.

Clara sucked in a breath, her gaze focused on that pulse thundering in the side of his neck. She shifted against him, attempting to make room, but there was nowhere to go. He wouldn’t budge.

His face was close, his lips closer. “Tell me who you are.”

But she couldn’t tell him. Not now, not while she was naked. Clara’s body quivered, whether from want or fear, she wasn’t sure. His hard thighs pressed to hers, his chest to her breasts. She was losing control of the situation and her freedom was suddenly slipping from her grasp. Oddly, she found it hard to care. Her mind spun with confusing thoughts.

Then she knew… suddenly she knew what she would do. She should have pushed at his shoulders, she should have slapped his face,
she
should have done anything to prevent this madness. Instead, an odd calm washed over her. She would tell him what he wished to know, but not in words.

She tilted her head back, lifted on her tip toes and leaned forward. She closed her eyes as her lips pressed to his. Brendon sucked in a sharp breath, his body stiffening. He didn’t move, merely stood there, frozen in place. Did he not wish to kiss her? Had she misjudged the heated look in his eyes? Desire gave way to embarrassment. Heat shot to her cheeks. Dear Heavens, what was she thinking? She shouldn’t have come here…she shouldn’t have… Clara tore her mouth away and fell flat on her feet.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—”

Brendon growled low in his throat. His muscled arms wrapped around her waist and he jerked her up against his chest. His lips pressed hard to hers, demanding, torturing her with heady delight. Any embarrassment fled and all that remained was an intense hunger. Clara’s hands flattened to his chest, her flingers slipping into his open shirt where she could just
peek
the dark curls. It felt right, dear
Lord,
it felt right being in his arms. His tongue flicked across her lips. With a sigh, Clara opened for him. Brendon made quick work of sliding his tongue into her mouth, and surprised by his bold kiss, she allowed it.

Shock gave way to heat, a pulsing heat that made her knees weak. Nothing mattered. Not her family, her responsibilities, nor
her
supposed fiancé. Nothing mattered but Brendon and his touch. This is what she’d wanted.
Had always wanted.

Growing dizzy, she slid her arms up his shoulders, wrapping her hands around his neck and holding tight, afraid he’d let go, afraid he’d leave her. His male scent swirled in the air— earthy clay, spicy male. A warm scent that sent her mind reeling. The trials of life fell to the wayside and all she could do was
feel
. Feel the soft, worn texture of his linen shirt against her hard nipples, the eagerness of his lips against hers, the hardness of his desire pressing to her lower belly.

Need flared through her blood. She didn’t understand her intense attraction, never had, but she didn’t care. She only knew she wanted Brendon to touch her, to stroke her and finally he was.

Brendon’s hands, slick with clay, slid down her spine, cupping her backside and pulling her up against his hard erection. Clara moaned, her arms tightening around his neck and moving closer, cuddling that arousal between her thighs. This was no soft, gentle kiss of a besotted country gent. Nor the rough biting pressure of her supposed fiancé. This was beautiful, heated, amazing.

Brendon’s knee nudged between her thighs as his body pushed her up against the brick wall. “Beautiful,” he whispered.

His lips moved to her neck, that knee between her legs holding her upright. The coarse texture of his trousers rubbed against the sensitive folds of her femininity. Clara moaned, her head lulling back as she slipped her fingers into his hair, entwining in the silky strands. Over and over he sucked, licked,
nibbled
his way down her neck until heat fought with chills. Frantic for more, her trembling fingers undid the buttons of his shirt. Impatiently, she pushed the material from his broad shoulders, leaving his torso bare.

He shifted, the lamplight highlighting the harsh muscles along his chest and arms. The strength there amazed and frightened her. Clara’s fingertips hovered over his warm skin, afraid if she touched him she would wake and this would all be a wonderful dream.

He lowered his head to the hollow of her throat. “Dear God, why are you doing this to me?”

She wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of his question. If anyone was doing anything, it was him. Clara felt like she was merely a puppet to the motions he stirred within, but oh how she didn’t mind. His lips pressed to the valley between her breasts. Need clenched her belly, flaring through her body and taking over her senses.

She hadn’t known it would feel like this. She knew what men and women did. She was five and twenty for Heaven’s sake. She’d heard the maids talking, realized the act could be delightful. But she’d had no idea being in Brendon’s arms would be this wonderful.

His hand slid under her knees and he scooped her up into his arms. He held her, eye to eye, their lips only a breath away. Each sharp intake of air sent her nipples brushing against the crisp hair on his chest.

“Tell me to stop,” he demanded. “Tell me.”

But she couldn’t, she
wouldn’t
. She’d known the moment she’d stepped into the attic what she really wanted. To hell with her supposed fiancé. To hell with the money she needed. She would have Brendon before she left for America.

Feeling bold, she crushed her mouth to his. She would give him no time to think, no time to regret, no time to stop her bold actions. Brendon groaned and turned. In three quick strides he was at the bed. Clara fell back onto the soft mattress. Brendon followed. She felt deliciously trapped underneath his hard weight. His mouth found hers in a searing kiss and any thoughts scattered to the wind. She was acutely aware of where his warm hands roamed, acutely aware of his tongue rubbing intimately against her own.

He caressed each of her curves as if she was a work of art to be admired. Slowly, his hands followed the lines of her body lower…lower… to her hips. He shifted, his knee wedging between her thighs. His touch was bold, yet soft and gentle. She squirmed under him, needing more, wanting more…wanting him to touch her everywhere, kiss her everywhere. She knew it wasn’t rational, yet she couldn’t seem to get enough of the man. His mouth moved to her collarbone and her hands found his hair, slipping between the cool strands. Lower still he moved until she felt the warmth of his breath over her chest.

“Lovely.” His tongue darted out to lick a hard bud,
then
took her breast into his warm mouth.

Clara groaned, arching her back. Her insides quivered and an unbearable ache settled deep between her thighs. Restlessly, she shifted. She couldn’t take it, couldn’t take the need, the desire. He pulled away and moved lower, his hands sliding down her body and leaving behind trails of wet, cold clay.

At her belly, he paused. In that moment, reality invaded. Clara squeezed her eyes shut. Embarrassment fought with desire. His warm breath brushed across the place between her thighs. She knew what he intended. She’d heard the stories. Oh God, he wouldn’t.

He did. With his hands he jerked her thighs further apart. Before she could summon the strength to push him away, he lowered his head and his lips pressed to the place between her legs. Clara
gasped,
her back arching.

His tongue slipped between her folds. The ache in her belly swirled lower, tightening unbearably. Clara dug her fingers into the sheets, biting her lower lip to keep from crying out.