The Sinner Who Seduced Me (26 page)

But for now he allowed himself to sink farther into the soft bed, the pain in his battered body melting away as he did so. Pettibone. What was he up to? Pettibone. Pettibone …

“James?”

The voice, so sweet, was startlingly close to his ear. James came fully awake in a flash and instinctively
grabbed the person around his upper arms and threw him down onto the bed. James rolled on top and anchored the intruder’s hands to the soft surface with his own, the muted light from a lone candle on the nightstand illuminating Clarissa’s face.

“James!” Clarissa hissed angrily. “Why are you attacking me? And more important, what are you doing in my bed?”

This was not at all how James had hoped to begin his apology. He released her hands and rose to his knees, turning rather inelegantly and landing where he’d begun his hasty attack. “I’m sorry, Clarissa. I didn’t know it was you.”

“Who else would it be, James?” she asked as she sat up and frowned at him. “And you still haven’t told me what, exactly, you’re doing here.”

James rolled on his side and grimaced, the twisting motion sending a flash of pain from the knife slash at his side.

“Is it very painful?” she asked in a much softer tone, concern on her face.

Well, sympathy is a start
, James told himself. This had all seemed much easier in his mind. But now, with Clarissa next to him, the only thing between them a man’s dressing gown—“You’re dressed for bed.”

“Of course I’m dressed for bed. That is typically what I do before … well, before going to bed. Did you hit your head this evening, James?”

“I was attacked, Clarissa. By no less than four men,” James answered.

“Four?” she cried, her leg brushing his as she shifted closer. “How on earth did you manage—”

“My point,” James interrupted, trying to ignore the distraction of her slim, warm, soft leg pressed against his, “is that clearly you’ve been in the room long enough
to discover my presence. That it came as such a surprise is hardly my fault.”

Clarissa’s eyes widened and her mouth opened and closed twice. “Are you suggesting I’m to blame for your frightening me nearly to death?”

Dammit, he’d gone and lost her sympathy. This was not going according to plan at all.

“Because I’ll tell you right now, Mr. James Marlowe, under normal circumstances, no one in his right mind would find your argument in any way logical. This evening, while it may have been normal for you, was not for me. In fact, my experiences within the last twenty-four hours were as far from normal as I dare say—”

“I’m sorry.”

Clarissa’s jaw dropped and hung there as if it would never close again. James reached up and gently prodded it back into its charming home just below her top lip.

“Oh,” she finally uttered, her hands twisting nervously in her lap. “For what, exactly? That is …” Her voice trailed off and she dropped her head. “I should not have asked. It’s just that—”

“You’re speechless,” James said, relief flooding through his body at having finally uttered the apology he’d owed her for five long years.

Her head snapped up and she glared at him. “What is that to mean? It’s not as if I absolutely
never
pause to draw breath. Does my chatter trouble you so?”

James sat up though it pained him to do so, crossed his legs and drew them up, then turned to face her. He pulled her into a mirroring position and took her hands in his. “That’s not it at all. The point that I was so poorly attempting to make was that you were surprised at my apology—as well you should be. It’s been far too long in coming.”

She gripped his hands tightly and leaned in. “Do you mean you’re sorry for what happened with my father?”

“To begin with, yes. But understand me, Clarissa,” James replied, his heart achingly wide open, “it’s more than regret. I take responsibility for my actions. I made my choice, and I’ve struggled ever since with my decision.”

“Stop,” she begged, pressing their joined hands to rest on her heart. “Please. Do not say such things. I am the one to blame. I expected far too much—more than any human being could have managed. I accused you of knowing nothing when it came to love. Yet I’m the one who betrayed our love by not accepting your choice.”

She dipped her head and placed a loving, gentle kiss on his fingers. “And then you returned, out of nowhere. And I couldn’t let you hurt me, not a second time. So I tried to be strong and control my emotions—I did, honestly. But in the end, it was you who were hurt. If not for my foolish pride—” Her voice cracked and she closed her eyes as if she was in pain. “James, you could have been killed. And it would have been my fault.” The stark words held an agony of terror and remorse.

James closed the small distance between them and freed his hands from hers, embracing her with the newfound strength that her words had inspired. “No, it wouldn’t. It wasn’t like that at all. I called you weak, claimed that you failed me for feeling betrayed when I sided with your father. Emotion is not a weakness, Clarissa, it’s a strength—one of the strongest you possess. You are a very strong woman. Never let anyone tell you otherwise.”

He loosened his hold on her and pulled back so that they were face-to-face. “I’d only just decided to ask you to marry me. But I had to side with your father—and it made me angry. So angry, in fact, that I needed someone to blame. When you accused me of never having really loved you …” He paused, the memory of her words still painful to this day. “Well, I had someone to blame.”

“Oh, James, a proposal?” she asked, her soft, comforting hands coming to rest on his shoulders. “But I don’t understand. Why did you have no choice?”

“Pettibone mentioned my being employed by an English organization before I met up with Les Moines,” he began. He’d held the Corinthians’ secret for so long … much to the detriment of his own heart. If, when the mission was complete, Carmichael was to find fault with his decision to reveal his connection, even after all that Clarissa had endured on behalf of the Corinthians, then James did not want to be an agent any longer. “He was telling the truth. I work for the same group as your father. That is how we met.”

Clarissa’s brow furrowed. “My father? A spy?”

“Yes, one of the best, actually. The woman he’d been rumored to be having an affair with worked within the group.” James was almost sorry to have to tell Clarissa the details. But if she was to believe him, she needed to know. “Mind you, many of the agents dallied with women—the majority of Corinthians are not married, one reason being the dangers we face on a daily basis. I had too much respect for the man to ask, and he never broached the topic with me. If I had told you the reason why I supported your father—well, I couldn’t. I did my duty because that’s what I’d been trained to do. All I had, all I cared about, were the Corinthians and your family. When your father refused to address the rumors and your mother moved away, I—”

“You lost me too,” she whispered, placing her hands on his face. “We’ve both been such fools.”

James couldn’t help but smile at her simple, yet undeniably correct statement.

“Oh, I must tell you,” she started, her face becoming animated. “I suspect that Pettibone is up to something beyond Les Moines’s interest in the portrait. And I fear it has to do with you.”

James’s smile grew wider with delight in the way her face lit up when she shared information she deemed particularly important. “I know. I’ve suspected as much myself. And tonight proved my suspicions. Don’t think on it. I’ll take care of you. You have my word.”

“So you are still a turncoat?” she asked, reaching to toy with her short locks.

“Yes, but I serve the king, not Napoleon. Why?”

“I love you, James Marlowe. And I would still love you if you were a dastardly, no-good, gallows bird. But this makes things far less complicated.”

She returned her hands to his face and closed the space between them. “Tell me you love me.”

“I love you.”

There he was. The James who’d stolen her heart so long ago. Only he was a man now, his life as he’d lived it having honed his character, crafted his soul, and brought him back to her.

Clarissa had never expected him to be the one to apologize first. For five years, she’d dreamed of him walking back into her life, dropping down on his knees, and begging for her forgiveness. She realized now how selfish and wrong such a desire had been. Her experience with Les Moines had tested Clarissa in every way. But it had forced her to learn a lesson she’d been unable to master for far too long. It was a strength, as James had assured her, to allow one’s emotions space to breathe, to color, to grow. It was a strength, made even stronger when partnered with practicality and pragmatism, for then one could truly see people for who they were—what they felt, and what they needed. Clarissa’s emotions had allowed her to judge Iris without knowing her, but the practical need of continuing on as St. Michelle tonight had cleared the way for a deeper understanding of the girl—and, in turn, herself.

She’d done the same to James, her outrage over his involvement with Les Moines blinding her to anything else.

But no longer.

“Show me,” Clarissa begged, placing her lips on his. It was achingly beautiful. His warm mouth, seemingly made for hers, met her tentative touch with gentle enthusiasm, pressing lightly as his arms encircled her waist. The crush of her breasts against his chest started a fire burning in her belly that snaked its way to her arms and legs, the pooling heat at the apex of her thighs urging her on.

Intoxicated by his presence overwhelming her entire being, body and soul, Clarissa reached for his cravat, unknotted the linen, and began to unwind it slowly, torturously. “At last, it is me doing the dressing—or undressing, as the case may be. Not that I failed to appreciate your aid in any way, mind you,” Clarissa teased, her breath beginning to quicken. “I wouldn’t want you to think that I wasn’t appreciative.”

“I suspect that by the end of this evening, there’ll be no mistaking the level of appreciation we share for each other, Clarissa,” James answered, reaching for the silken sash at her waist and pulling gently. It slipped free and the dressing gown fell open to reveal her perfect body. “Shocking, Lady Clarissa,” he remarked on her lack of a chemise.

Clarissa set to work on his shirt buttons, pausing for a moment when he cupped her left breast in his large, warm, strong hand. She caught her breath when the pad of his thumb stroked over her nipple until it pebbled. “That is only the beginning, Mr. Marlowe.”

She pushed the shirt off his shoulders and untangled it from his arms, gasping when she saw the raw, fresh wounds. Instinctively, she placed her palm over one, as
if she could provide some measure of healing. “Are you quite sure that you’re up for this, James? I do not want to hurt you any further.”

He removed her palm from the wound and placed it on the bulging firmness of his penis, the rock-hard firmness making Clarissa shiver in anticipation. “Yes, Clarissa, I am ‘up’ for this, have no doubt.”

She smiled devilishly, then licked her lips. “Well, if you insist, though I will demand that you take a slightly less physically demanding role.” She began to unfasten his breeches, abandoning the smooth, torturous pace of earlier and taking a decidedly more frantic tempo that matched the heat now threatening to consume her from within.

“Clarissa, I assure you, I could have been attacked by twelve men and mauled by a bear as I returned to Kenwood House and I would still be able—wait, that is not the right word. What word am I looking for?”

“Masterfully prepared,” Clarissa offered helpfully, noticing the unintended husky tone her voice had taken on.

James’s breath caught as she gently pushed him to lie back, then moved to his boots. “Yes, precisely. Even if I’d been accosted by eighteen men and mauled by a pack of wild dogs—”

“Is it eighteen now? James, if you’re attempting to seduce me, you’ve no need. I’m wet,” she whispered, catching his hand and placing it precisely where he could feel for himself.

“Masterfully prepared, Clarissa,” he repeated, his voice raw. “God, you feel so good, so right.” He rubbed slowly, stroking one finger into the slick folds between her legs every now and again, then returning to the maddening massage.

Clarissa shrugged free of her wrapper then dropped to
all fours on the bed, arching her back. Her breath came in quick, hard pants as he continued to rub, the pressure building with each touch.

He shifted closer and stroked his other hand over her bottom, squeezing it, then walked his fingers slowly up to the mid-point of her back, taking hold of where her hip met her thigh.

Clarissa could have given in right there, exploded into a million pieces, overwhelmed by the powerful, exquisite emotions pulsing through her. But she slipped away from his clever, warm, arousing touch to reach his boots. “Not just yet.”

She pried one glossy boot loose and then the other, stripping his stockings off quickly then tugging at his breeches. He lifted his hips in assistance and they slid toward Clarissa, revealing his smalls—all that was left between their skin.

She loosened the fabric tie and removed them, twirling them above her head before tossing them to the floor.

James started to rise, but she pushed him back again. “I warned you.”

He almost looked disappointed, though the sight of her naked body as she straddled his bare midsection seemed to help if the flush of blood to his face was any indication. “Christ, Clarissa, you’re torturing me.”

She smiled and placed a finger in her mouth, sucking on it lightly before running the damp tip of it the length of James’s fully erect penis. “We can’t have that, now can we?” Her murmur was throaty, seductive, as she caressed the head. She luxuriated in the sight of his body, familiar yet different since they’d last made love, skin to skin and utterly bare to each other over five years ago. He’d been barely a man, his physique markedly sleeker than the broad shoulders and thickly muscled chest that
met her eyes now. Her gaze moved lower. Beneath the ugly wounds lay a taut and trim stomach that tapered to his hips and groin. She lovingly stroked his penis again then tucked him against her, the exquisite fullness as she slowly sank taking her breath away.