The Training of a Marquess (7 page)

Chase stood when Claire entered and flicked his hand at the boys. They shot to their feet, but their attention was on the cart. She smiled. They might be infatuated with her, but at the moment, they only had eyes for the plate of cakes.

“Have a seat, Lady Claire, and allow me to do the honors.”

Derebourne’s concern touched her. Not even her father had shown much regard for her in the seventeen years she had lived in his home. Yet, this man she had only known a few days offered to take care of her. Her heart took a little tumble.

He pulled a small table over to the sofa and placed the glasses of lemonade and a plate of cakes on it. “What do you like above all things, boys?”

“Cakes!” they exclaimed in unison.

Whenever he grinned, his dimple appeared. Her butterflies apparently liked dimples very much.

“Milk and sugar, my lady?”

“Yes, please.” Her voice sounded odd to her ears—breathless, as if she’d just ran up the stairs.

He put an assortment of cakes on a plate and set them and the teacup on the table next to her. After pouring himself a brandy, he sat in the chair closest to her. “I discovered the use of cakes as a bribe the first day I dragged Harry home with me.”

“Father made me take a bath,” Harry said. “I didn’t want one, but he gave me cakes, so I didn’t mind so much.” His gaze fell. “Now, I like baths,” he added, giving her his cheeky grin.

“I like baths, too,” Bensey said around a mouthful of cake.

Dragged Harry home with him? What did he mean by that? And why had the boys once called him my lord? She wanted to ask, but didn’t know if she should. He took a sip of his brandy and her eyes followed his hand as he brought the drink to his lips.

Long, elegant fingers held the glass, and the sapphire of his signet ring reminded her of his eyes. She lifted her lashes to see that his attention was on her. Blasted butterflies. Would they ever go away? His attention shifted to the twins and the air swished out of her lungs.

“Harry, did you tell Bensey the two of you are going to have a swimming lesson tomorrow?”

“Yes, Father. He wants to know how he’s getting down to the lake.”

“I saw a pony cart in the stables. If Lady Derebourne is agreeable, we’ll borrow it.”

“It is your cart and the pony to pull it, Lord Derebourne. You needn’t ask me to borrow what is yours, my lord. Excuse me, please. I need to see if dinner is ready.”

Once out of his sight, she leaned against the wall inhaling deep breaths. She was flustered and it was his fault. One minute he made her feel fluttery inside and all she could think about was kissing him, then in the next, she wanted to rail at him for the unfairness of it all. Pushing away from the wall, she went to check on dinner.

Chase narrowed his eyes on the back of the confusing woman. What had he said to rile her?

“You made her angry, Father,” Harry accused.

Yes, apparently, he had. It had to be because of all she had lost. Although he wasn’t to blame for the circumstances that brought him here, she had no one else to take out her anger on. Her little champion glared at him. He’d never been anything but a hero to Harry before, and this was new ground.

“I think she’s only worried about our meal being ready on time.” By the boy’s fierce scowl, Harry wasn’t buying it.

She returned and announced dinner. By her smile, it appeared she’d gotten over her little snit. Relieved, he nodded at the twins. “You may escort Lady Derebourne in to dinner.”

Trailing along behind them, Chase inhaled the faint scent of violets. He liked violets. Instead of the formal dining room, she led them to a small, intimate room where a square table was set for four.

All during dinner, she chatted cheerfully with the boys, but ignored him unless he asked a direct question. Apparently, she wasn’t over it—whatever it was—after all. When they finished their meal, Lady Claire excused herself for the evening. Chase took the twins to Mr. Edwards and then returned to his room. After Anders left, he tried to read the horse breeding book he’d found in the library. When he caught himself staring off into space for the third time, he tossed the book aside.

The picture of Claire shedding tears for her son played in his mind. It had been a mistake to hold her in his arms even if it had only been to comfort her.

Several times tonight, he had caught her watching him, the desire in her eyes obvious. If he knew women—and he did—she didn’t understand what was happening to her. That alone would unsettle her, but add the loss of her son and home into the mix, and it was not surprising she was easily riled.

What had her marriage been like? He didn’t think she grieved for Derebourne, so he guessed it had been a loveless union. Even so, why hadn’t the man made any arrangements for her? Chase had carefully read the will and the marquess had made no provisions for his wife. What kind of husband left his wife’s wellbeing to the whims of another?

“Bloody bastard,” he told the dead Derebourne.

The clock struck twelve. Sleep wasn’t coming anytime soon and with a sigh, he slid his legs over the side of the mattress and stood. Restless, he slipped on breeches and a shirt. He remembered seeing an inner courtyard during his tour of the abbey. With a brandy and cheroot in hand, he slipped out of the room and made his way barefoot through the quiet house.

The abbey was U-shaped, wrapped around a slate courtyard, the main feature being a bubbling water fountain. The moon was half-full, providing enough light for him to find his way to a four-foot-tall stone wall. He placed the brandy on the ledge and hoisted himself up. When his eyes became accustomed to the pale light, he surveyed his surroundings.

The stone wall he sat on ran from one side of the open U to the other, sealing in the courtyard. A tree on the outside of the wall rose above him, draping him in shadows. A comfortable breeze blew in, ruffling his hair. Benches and lounges were scattered about, and blooming flowers scented the air.

If he wasn’t feeling lazy, he might retrieve his pillow and counterpane to make a bed on one of the lounges. With a flick of the flint, he lighted his cheroot, and then cradled the glass in his hand to warm the brandy.

His thoughts returned to Claire.

As if he’d conjured her up, the lady wandered into the courtyard. Lowering the cheroot, he rested his hand behind the wall so she wouldn’t see the glowing tip. She aimlessly roamed the courtyard, stopping now and then to smell a flower. Occasionally, she sipped from the glass of wine in her hand.

She wore a white silk dressing gown over her nightdress, the moonlight giving it a silvery sheen. Her hair fell straight and long down her back. Like him, she was barefoot. The breeze picked up, fluttering the silk around her legs and her hair moved in shimmering waves. She raised her face to the stars, lifted her arms as if a partner stood with her and began the steps of a waltz.

An angel danced under the stars just for him. God save him from beautiful moonlit women dressed in sheer silk.

Her dance over, she ambled his way. He supposed it would be impolite to continue to allow her to think herself alone. Bringing the cheroot to his mouth, he took a deep drag causing the tip to glow brightly. She stilled and squinted into the shadows.

“Lord Derebourne?”

“I am he, although I thought we agreed you would stop lording me.”

Her mouth curved in a smile. “So I did. What are you doing here, Derebourne?”

“Chase,” he said. “The same as you, I suppose. Couldn’t sleep and thought to enjoy some fresh air.” He held the cheroot out for her inspection. “And to enjoy a smoke.”

She inhaled. “I have always liked the smell of them.”

Who could resist a woman who danced under the stars and liked the smell of a cheroot? But he must. She stepped closer. If he were smart, he’d warn her off, tell her to run away as fast as she could.

She leaned her head to the side and peered at him. “If I asked you to kiss me, would you?”

No. Yes. “Why would you ask me such a thing?”

“Because I have never been kissed and just once in my life, I would like to know how it feels to have a man kiss me.”

His traitorous cock stirred with talk of kissing her. “How is that possible? You were married for how long?”

“Four years.”

Mother of God, what kind of fool had Derebourne been? “Why me?” he asked in desperation.

She lifted her face as if the answer might be written on the moon. Her eyes drifted back to him. “Because it seems to me you would be good at kissing.”

Yes, he would. “How old are you?”

“I recently turned one and twenty.”

He sucked in a breath. “You were married at seven and ten? Good God, you were a child.”

“True, I was a child then but I’m a woman now, married four years, yet never kissed. Does that not sound pathetic? I want you to give me my first kiss.”

He crushed the end of the cheroot on the wall. God save him from himself. “Claire.”

“Yes?”

“Come here.”

Her eyes trained on his, she moved forward, stopping when she reached his knees.

“Claire.”

“Yes?”

He spread his knees. “Two more steps if you want to be kissed. But you should walk away. No. Run. To your room and lock the door. Your choice.”

Two steps put her between his legs. He was doomed. She leaned against him and placed her glass on the wall next to his. The scent of violets filled the air. If he licked the skin below her ear, would she taste as good as she smelled?

He held out his hands, palms up. “Place your hands in mine.”

She did as he asked, and he placed them on the sides of his waist, then cradled her face with his palms.

“Close your eyes, Claire.”

Her lashes lowered as he touched his lips to hers. She tasted of berries from the wine, and he had clearly lost his mind.

Chapter Six

This was how Claire had imagined a kiss—like the soft wings of a butterfly fluttering over her mouth. She sighed in pleasure. Chase groaned and the kiss changed, his mouth descending over hers in a firm and consuming possession.

Sweet heavens. This she had never dreamed—had never known a kiss could cause her to forget her name or make her legs tremble. She pushed her hands under his shirt, and when her palms touched his heated skin she thought she might swoon for the first time in her life. He wrapped her hair around his fist and gently tugged.

“Open for me, Claire,” he said against her lips.

When she opened her mouth to ask what he meant, he slid his tongue inside. If not for his legs pressed against her waist she would have gone down in a boneless heap. She hadn’t known a man’s kiss—this man’s kiss—could sear her down to her toes. His tongue explored the inside of her mouth and she shyly touched her tongue to his. He tasted of brandy and his cheroot. A low noise came from his throat and she grew bolder, teasing him with her tongue while her hands roamed over his chest.

“Chase,” she whispered.

Abruptly, he pulled away and let go of her hair. “Go to bed, Claire. You’ve had your kiss and you need to leave now.”

If his chest wasn’t heaving, she would have thought the kiss hadn’t affected him. She stepped away from the warmth of his legs.

“Good night, Chase.” She was halfway across the courtyard when he spoke.

“Claire.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Yes?”

“Lock your door.”

Chase picked up his brandy and drained it in one swallow, then picked up the wine she had left behind and finished it. If the lake were closer, he would go and jump in. Perhaps the water would be cold enough to put out the fire in his loins.

Just one kiss, she said. Ha! Naïve girl. She had almost gotten more than she’d asked for.

When her tongue touched his and her soft, delicate fingers trailed over his chest, he came close to climaxing like a green boy. If he were in London, he would slip out and go straight to the Pink Slipper. Unfortunately, the only thing available to him tonight was his hand.

He slid off the wall, picked up the two glasses and returned to his room. He would not kiss her again—would avoid her as much as possible until he could put his plan for her in motion. Resolved and feeling better because of it, he removed his clothing and climbed into bed.

The taste of Claire lingered on his lips as he fell into a restless sleep.

****

Claire stared at the canopy of her bed and relived the moment Chase’s mouth touched hers. She slid a finger over her lips and smiled. Her first kiss had been beyond her wildest imagination. She was glad now that Thomas had never kissed her. If he had, she would have never asked Chase to do so.

Chase. His name struck a chord in her heart. Would he kiss her again? Claire grinned. How foolish to think one time would satisfy her. She fell asleep and dreamed of kissing an angel.

When the early morning sun on her face woke her, she rang the bell for her maid, performing her absolutions and dressing with a bounce in her step. Not wanting to wear her black bombazine, she settled on a lavender day dress suitable for half mourning.

She arrived in the dining room and, ravenous, piled her plate high with food. As she ate, she watched the door. When Chase hadn’t appeared by the time she finished breakfast, she went searching for Mrs. Smithfield. Claire found the housekeeper in the kitchen.

“Has Lord Derebourne come down to breakfast, yet?”

“No, my lady, he asked that a tray be sent up to him and the boys.”

Disappointed, she went to the stables and spent several hours closed up in her office with Gordon. When she returned to the house for luncheon and there was still no sign of him, she asked Smithfield if he had seen the marquess.

“Yes, my lady, he left not long ago to take the twins to the lake for a swimming lesson.”

Alone for luncheon, she nibbled on her food, her excitement waning. Was he avoiding her? No, he had promised the twins he would take them to the lake today. Harry’s question from yesterday popped into her head. Chase would be swimming in his drawers. The thought refused to leave her mind and she gave up trying to eat. Returning to the stables, she learned he had saddled Mischief and Victory, and had rigged up the pony cart for Bensey.