Thunder and Roses (36 page)

With luxurious slowness he nibbled the lower lip that had attracted him earlier. Her mouth opened and her rough exhalation caressed his cheek. When their lips melded and his tongue slid into heated, welcoming depths, her tongue greeted his, touching delicately, then darting away in a brazen invitation for pursuit.

The kiss went on and on, breathtaking and pulse-pounding. Dimly he realized that he had pinned her against the door and that their pelvises were rubbing together in a profoundly erotic simulation of intercourse. Her robe and gown lifted easily and he cupped her bare buttock in one hand, pressing her more tightly to his groin. “Ah, Clare,” he said hoarsely. “You are so lovely. So desirable.”

He shouldn’t have spoken, for his words caused her to open her dazed eyes and whisper, “It’s time … to end this kiss.”

He was so far gone that he almost didn’t remember their bargain. When he did, he groaned aloud. “Yesterday there was no official kiss. Can I collect it now?” Without waiting for an answer, he pressed his lips to her throat.

She gasped, but managed to say, “No! Yesterday is over, and you can’t collect kisses retroactively. Besides, there were plenty of unofficial ones.”

The primitive male part of his brain was not yet ready to give up. He kneaded her buttock,
molding
the smooth, firm curve. “Then can I take tomorrow’s?”

She gave a half-hysterical giggle. “If we were counting future kisses, your account would be somewhere around 1830. Enough, Nicholas.”

Enough. His breath rattled out of him. Remove your hand, even though it abhors the emptiness. Let her robe drop over her shapely bare legs. Set your palms on the door and push a way from it, and her. Look somewhere else, not at her ripe lips and passion-drugged eyes.

Honor. Remember honor.

Now open the door so she can get the hell out before it’s too late.

One thing more needed to be said. “Clare.” He swallowed hard and moved a safe distance away. “T
hank
you for staying.”

She gave him a smile of great sweetness. “That’s what friends are for.” Then she slipped out.

He gazed at the closed door for a long time, body and mind both throbbing with needs, some simple, some not.

Who would have thought that the prim schoolmistress could be so sensual?

And who could have predicted that the irritating female who had come to Aberdare to bully him would become his friend?

 
The dignified doorman at White’s greeted Nicholas as if his last visit had been the day before. The exclusive club looked exactly the same as it had four years before; only change would have been surprising.

Since Rafe hadn’t arrived yet, Nicholas wandered into the reading room and picked up a copy of The Times. As expected, Napoleon’s abdication dominated the news, along with speculations about the future and self-congratulatory articles about the triumph of British courage and wisdom.

Hearing a familiar voice, he glanced up and saw Rafe heading toward him. Halfway across the room, the duke was intercepted by an ebullient young man who burbled, “Have you heard the news, Your Grace? They say that Napoleon’s dynasty will be set aside and the Bourbons be restored to the French throne.”

Impaling the young man with a glance, Rafe said in freezing accents, “Indeed?”

The young man flushed, then backed away, mumbling apologies.

Nicholas watched sardonically. When Rafe reached him, he said, “You’re even better at terrorizing the impertinent than you were four years ago.”

“I should hope so,” Rafe replied with a lazy smile. “I’ve been practicing.”

Nicholas had to laugh. “How many people in the world are allowed to see you as you really are?”

“The arrogant side of me is quite genuine. Since you lack arrogance yourself, you have trouble recognizing it in others,” Rafe observed. “But if you want to know how many people I actually relax with, the number is about six.”

In a rare show of affection, he put a friendly hand on Nicholas’s shoulder. Caught unprepared, Nicholas flinched.

“Damnation.” Rafe hastily dropped his hand. “Sorry—you seem so normal that I forgot that your back must look like a chessboard. How bad is it?”

Nicholas shrugged even though it hurt. “Nothing to signify.”

Rafe didn’t appear convinced, but he let the subject drop. “Do you mind if we go directly to the coffee room? I was so busy being a host last night that I didn’t eat much, and I seem to have missed breakfast as well.”

“Fine.” As they headed toward the coffee room, Nicholas added, “After last night, I wasn’t sure you would want to keep our engagement. Michael will look on this meeting as consorting with the enemy.”

“Don’t be ridiculous—I’m not going to drop one friend because another is temporarily addled.” Rafe smiled a little. “Besides, he won’t know about it.”

In the coffee room, cold meats and other dishes were set on a sideboard. Few tables were occupied this early, so after selecting food they found a quiet corner where they could talk privately. Seeing the duke, a waiter brought a bottle of hock without being asked, then withdrew. When they were alone, Nicholas asked, “How is Michael this morning?”

Rafe sliced a pickled onion in half and ate it with a piece of beef. “Physically he’s all right, apart from a devil of a headache. Clare’s diagnosis was confirmed by the doctor who examined him.” He gave Nicholas a speculative glance. “I liked her very much. She has a cool head on her shoulders.” After a moment’s thought, he added, “Very nice shoulders, too.”

“Yes to both observations,” Nicholas agreed, not in the mood to discuss his eccentric relationship with Clare. “I’m glad that he wasn’t seriously injured, but what about his mental state?”

“When I visited him this morning, he was civil but very withdrawn, almost as if we were strangers. He didn’t refer to the duel at all.” Rafe hesitated, as if considering whether to say more. “When I mentioned your name, the shutters went up. Not a hint as to why he exploded last night, or if he intends to seek you out again.”

“If he does, I won’t let him goad me into another fight,” Nicholas said once more.

“Not even if he insults Miss Morgan?”

Nicholas’s mouth tightened, but he said, “Not even then. My patience can outlast his insults. Nor do I care if he threatens to tell the world I’m a coward—I don’t have that kind of pride.”

“You might not fight, but that doesn’t mean he won’t.”

Nicholas looked at the duke sharply. “No matter how angry he is, Michael is not going to try to kill me out of hand.”

Rafe looked troubled. “I wish I were sure of that.”

Nicholas snorted. “You know Michael—he can be a stiff-necked idiot, but he would never behave
dishonorably
.”

“Four years of war can change anyone. He said as much himself.”

Because it was Rafe talking, Nicholas gave serious thought to the possibility. He had known Michael Kenyon for more than twenty years, through good times and some bad. Michael had always had a fierce temper—and an equally fierce sense of honor. Dangerous, yes. Treacherous, never. Nicholas shook his head. “He can’t have changed that much—not Michael.”

“No doubt you’re right and I’m worrying too much.” Rafe topped up their glasses with hock. “Actually, he’ll be too busy to pursue a vendetta. He said this morning that since the war is over, he’ll sell his commission rather than return to the army.”

“Good. Without battle to feed his madness, in time he should become himself again.”

“I certainly hope so.” With determined cheerfulness, Rafe continued, “Did you really remember meeting Jane Welcott at Blenheim, or were you only being polite?”

“I remembered, though the circumstances were not ones that a gentleman could disclose.” Nicholas grinned. “Even I won’t.”

“No need—I can imagine.” Rafe sampled the jugged hare. “I think the lady and I are about to reach a parting of the ways. She has become rather tedious lately.”

Since it wasn’t the sort of statement a wise man commented on, Nicholas addressed himself to his pork pie. Rafe’s light, civilized liaisons seldom lasted more than six months, and Lady Welcott wasn’t the woman to change that.

He thought of Clare, with her stubbornness, exasperating morality—and her honesty and warmth. Though his little Welsh rose had her full share of thorns, he would rather spend a week with her than a year with any of Rafe’s polished, worldly ladies.

He took another bite of pork pie. The weeks were slipping by, and it was time he made Clare his mistress. He must use the next few days well, since he guessed that she would yield more easily in anonymous London than in the valley, where reminders of her old life were everywhere.

He finished his glass of hock. She must be well and truly his before the three months were up. No other outcome was acceptable, for he would not let her go.

Pushing away his empty plate, he asked, “What have you been doing while I was out of the country? Do you still race that marvelous red roan?”

“No, but he sired an equally marvelous colt,” Rafe replied. The conversation moved easily from horses to politics and beyond. Nicholas enjoyed himself thoroughly; Rafe, like Lucien, was someone with whom he could pick up immediately, no matter how long it had been since the last meeting.

Once Michael had been like that.

Angrily pushing aside the thought, Nicholas got to his feet. “I’ve a meeting with my solicitor, so I must be on my way. I’ll be returning to Wales in a few days, but I expect I’ll be back in London before too long.”

“Good. Think about coming down to Castle Bourne for a few weeks this summer.”

“If my affairs in Penreith are in order, I’d be delighted. If I can’t get away, you’re always welcome at Aberdare.”

As the two men shook hands, Rafe said gravely, “I know you’re not concerned about what Michael might do, but … do me a favor, please. Be careful.”
                

It was a sobering note on which to part.

 
Clare was intensely glad that Nicholas spent the day away from Aberdare House; she needed time to recover from the dizzying effects of their morning embrace. Spending the night with him had made her very susceptible, and she had come within a hair’s breadth of surrender. It amazed her that she had been able to call a halt when she had been a whimpering imbecile.

T
hank
heaven he’d used his kiss for the day, for she still felt vulnerable and over-sensitive. Perhaps she should count the kiss on the throat that he’d taken while trying to wheedle one other. If she charged it to his account, she would be protected from his potent persuasions for another day.

By the time Nicholas returned for dinner, she had managed to calm her carnal instincts. As long as she didn’t spend another night with him, her virtue would be in no danger.

When they finished, he said, “Will you join me in the library? I’d like you to look at the Penreith mining lease. Maybe you’ll see something that the solicitor and I have missed.”

“You’re looking for a way to break the lease so you can take over the mine?”

“Exactly.” He made a face. “My solicitor assures me that anything can be brought to court, but this particular lease is so simple that it’s hard to find a weak point. A long, complicated document would be easier to challenge.”

Though they often discussed business, it was the first time he had asked for Clare’s help on such a matter, and she felt flattered. In fact, she realized as they walked to the library, his whole manner was different this evening. A wonderful idea struck her: now that they were acknowledged friends, perhaps he would abandon his campaign of seduction.

Their relationship had been a strange mix of challenge and companionship, but she felt that it had changed the night before: what was between them now was deeper and warmer than simple lust. Nicholas knew how her life would be damaged if he seduced her, and surely he wouldn’t want to ruin the life of a friend.