Chapter 7
Christian propped himself on his elbows, relishing the feel of Clarissa’s lush body lying beneath him. God, how he’d stormed into her, unable to hold himself back. He’d spoken the truth when he said he had no defenses against her. And it scared the hell out of him. But he could no more turn away from her now than he could cut out his own heart.
She stared up at him, looking dazed—flustered, even. Not that he could blame her. He had acted like a brute—taking her with no ceremony on an old trundle bed in the attic of his family’s house. And in broad daylight. His parents would see him hanged for a scoundrel—after making sure he married Clarissa first.
Which he had every intention of doing.
He brushed his mouth across her kiss-swollen lips and she whimpered, her small hands fisting into his shoulders as if to push him away.
“Poor sweet,” he murmured. “Am I crushing you?”
She gave a jerky nod in response.
With a deep sigh, he pulled out of her warm body and rolled onto his back, taking her with him. The damn bed was so small he almost fell out as he tried to arrange them on the mattress. That earned him a muffled giggle, one so girlish and sweet his heart turned over in his chest.
She wriggled on top of him, trying to get comfortable. His shaft twitched with renewed interest.
“Careful, love,” he groaned. “You might get more than you bargained for.”
She lifted her head from his chest and frowned. “What do you mean?”
He caressed her luscious bottom and she blushed, dropping her gaze.
“I don’t think that would be a very good idea,” she replied in a strained voice.
Christian frowned, trying to see her face, but she kept it turned away from him.
“What’s wrong, Clarissa?”
“Nothing,” she said tightly.
He knew that voice. Knew it meant she was hiding something. “Yes, there is.” He rubbed the bunched muscles between her shoulder blades. “You can tell me anything. I won’t be angry.”
She gave an unhappy sigh that stirred the hairs on his chest. “It’s just that … this will take some getting used to. I didn’t expect it to happen.”
He smiled, relief flooding through him. As long as she didn’t regret what they’d done.
“Try not to think about it right now. There will be plenty of time to mull it over later.”
She looked up, scowling. “You always say that. But sometimes things can’t wait.”
He stroked the glorious tangle of golden hair back from her face. “You know me, Ladybird. I’m a simple soldier. We don’t like to think too much.”
She made a scoffing noise and settled onto his chest. But even though she lay quietly for a few minutes, he could practically hear the cogs and wheels turning in her head. He gave her leg a gentle nudge with his foot.
“Tell me what it is,” he said.
She stirred but kept her head down. “All these years you’ve called me Ladybird, and I never once asked you why.”
An obvious feint, but he’d play along for now. “I called you that because you were always flying away home, just like in the nursery rhyme. We could be in the middle of anything—like fishing on the lake, playing cards—and you would drop everything and dash home as if the devil himself were at your heels.”
She blew out a pensive breath. “I suppose in a way he was. Father would be so angry if I was late for afternoon tea or dinner. And I was late quite a lot, because I never wanted to leave Rosedell Manor. I loved it here.”
Anger pierced his gut at the memory of Clarissa’s mistreatment. “I know he used to hit you.”
She seemed to shrink into herself. “Sometimes.”
He hugged her close, the old anger warring with an aching regret. “No one will ever hurt you again, Clarissa.”
