A Passion for Pleasure(41)
Clara turned her head, as if she sought to remind him he spoke into her damaged ear. The movement brought their mouths perilously close together, so close her breath swept across his lips.
“I’m scared,” she confessed.
“So am I.” He understood it, her fear about something over which she both blamed herself and yet had no control. He understood it because the same fear seethed beneath his own skin.
“You?” She gave a husky laugh. “What are you afraid of?”
He pressed his forehead against hers. She closed her eyes and curled her hand around the lapel of his coat. The smells of machine oil and perfume clung to her, but beneath it he detected the scent of oranges and spice, a strangely tropical aroma that sweetened his bitter thoughts.
Her lips brushed his. So soft. So gentle. Her fear seemed to dissolve into the tenderness of her sigh, the unwinding of tension from her body. Sebastian laced his hands around her waist, drew her closer, deepened the kiss until she arched like a supple willow against him.
The icy thoughts thawed, melting into the heat of their kiss, the press of their bodies. Warmth filled Sebastian, twined through his blood. A vital energy surged from her into him, a spark of electricity that ignited a fresh resolve.
Clara placed her hand flat on his chest and eased herself away from him. Urgency threaded her voice. “I must find out what happened to Andrew, Sebastian. I will not lose sight of him.”
“Nor will I.”
They stared at each other, the bloom of night between them, the sounds of the ball filtering through the open doorways of the building. In that moment, a strange, reckless impulse seized Sebastian hard—the urge to grab his world and force it upright, to find his footing again, to repair everything that had been broken.
For him. And now for her.
“Bastian.” Rushton’s voice carried through the night air.
Clara stepped away, then turned and fled back into the building. Sebastian took a breath and faced his father, whose keen gaze followed Clara.
“You’ve a particular interest in Mrs. Winter,” Rushton remarked.
“I ought to,” Sebastian said. “I’m going to marry her.”
Grim satisfaction filled him as his father blinked with evident surprise. Sebastian’s pronouncement hung in the air. Rushton cleared his throat.
“Bastian, she is an assistant in an automata museum who—”
“She is lovely and respectable, and she…” His voice tangled suddenly as he remembered his father’s own words about finding a wife who would make him a better man. “You gave me both an ultimatum and a suggestion, my lord. Marriage to Mrs. Winter will fulfill both.”
The mention of Rushton’s ultimatum left a sour taste on Sebastian’s tongue, as if such a calculated motive somehow diminished the intensity of his feelings for Clara. Marriage to her would do more than fulfill a condition. Sebastian suspected it would somehow fulfill him, though he could hardly explain that to himself, let alone his father.
“You have recommended several young women who would serve as a suitable match for me, sir,” he said, his voice sharpening with determination. “Yet you have neglected to take into account my view on the matter. You now have my response to your decree. I choose to marry Clara Winter.”
They looked at each other, Rushton’s dark eyes penetrating the dusky light. A flood of questions and answers seemed to fill the space between them, reminders of the countess, of all their family had lost and still sought to regain. Sebastian steeled himself for a battle, prepared to defend his decision with every ounce of his being, but then…rather to his shock…his father stepped back.
“Very well,” Rushton said. “If Mrs. Winter is your choice, then I trust you to fulfill your obligations with the honor that befits the son of an earl.” He turned toward the door leading back to the drawing room. “I hope she will, at the very least, remind you of what nobler qualities you can possess. Only by improving oneself can a man sustain a good and rewarding marriage.”
Clara looked at the clock. Nearly four. Mrs. Fox’s voice came from the parlor, where she was explaining the history of Uncle Granville’s inventions to a visitor. Granville was back in the workshop continuing his task of copying the intricate details of the cipher machine plans.
Without informing either of them of her intentions, Clara pulled on her cloak and left the museum. As she hurried toward the cab stand, the clatter of horses’ hooves and carriage wheels neared.