She opened her eyes to gaze at him. “I—” Words still failed her, and she swallowed. “I do not—”
He waited, watching her face, his eyes alight with joy. He kissed her forehead.
“That was—” She took another deep breath. “That was unexpected.”
He chuckled. “That, my dear, was merely the beginning.”
He could not have stunned her more had he slapped her. “The beginning?” He nodded, and Clara licked her lips. “Perhaps we should have had tea after all.”
Michael’s laughter soothed her soul. He stroked her hair and her back, his gaze tender. He cuddled her even closer, kissing her just beneath her earlobe. His words caressed her as gently as his hands. “You are the most remarkable woman I have ever known.”
She touched his chest. “Then you could not have known many.”
He fell silent, his eyes dulling a bit. “More than I should have.”
Clara hesitated. “Then the rumors are true?”
Michael looked away from her, staring at the wall. “I suppose it would depend on the rumor.”
The distant look in his eyes made her pause, but she would not deceive him, not here, not now. “One said you had not slept in your own bed in four years.”
The muscles in his arms tensed. “Almost true.”
Clara fought the wave of doubt that showered her.No wonder he was so skilled—“Did you seduce the sister of a duke? Cuckolding her husband?”
This time his hesitation lingered. “I did not know—” He stopped, a low growl in the back of his throat. “We met at the theater. I thought she was an actress.”
“Did you know a lot of actresses?”
He focused on her again, his voice terse. “You knew who I was. Please do not tell me—” He stopped, his entire body rigid. “Yes. There were a lot of actresses.” He started to push up away from her.
Clara put her arms around his shoulders. “I do not care.”
He stopped. “What?”
She tugged at him. “I do not care if there were others. Not if they taught you...that.”
He remained quite still. “Clara—”
“You said our experiences change us. We learn. We grow. So some time in the past, you must have learned”—she glanced down between them—“that. Yes?”
His lips twitched. “Yes. A number of them taught me how to”—he grinned—“do that.”
“Then I have reaped the benefit of your experience.”
Michael folded her into his arms again. “Oh my love, your ‘reaping’ has barely begun.”
Chapter Nineteen
Monday, 22 August 1825
The farrier Radcliff’s bedroom
Eleven in the evening
Michael released her,sat up, and rescued his cravat from the floor. He slid the silk across one palm, then tested both its length and strength between his hands.
Clara watched, curiosity in her eyes. “What are you doing?”
