“You said I was scheming,” Clara retorted.
“I was upset over a friend’s predicament. I have no excuse. I took my frustration out on you. I also do not deal well with being…pressured.” He suddenly looked up, slyly. “My Ariadne, my masquerade lady.”
She gasped. “You know?”
“Yes,” he confirmed softly. “I know. Why didn’t you tell me? And why did you say you’d never been kissed before –”
“…Soviolently.” Clara interjected quickly. She saw understanding light Rook’s eyes.
“Damn,” he said quietly.
“How could I tell you? I would have been ruined. And besides, you seemed toenjoyyour masquerade woman – more than my company!”
“I based my assumptions on the fact that you hadn’t been kissed before. There weresomany times that I thought it was you; I wanted it to be you, but then I remembered your words. However, afterthatnight, I knew that all I wanted was my Clara.”
“Hah,” she snorted. “You hardly fought me off!”
“I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I got rather carried away pretending she was you.”
“I don’t know whether to be flattered or annoyed,” she responded with a huff.
“Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, my sweet.”
Clara narrowed her dark eyes at Rook, despite his poetic words. “Don’t pretend you made that up, that’s Shakespeare.”
Rook sighed, “Your intelligence just makes me love you more, you realise. Talking of which– how the devil did you escape Taylor.”
“I stuck his own stickpin in his thigh – twice.” She thought she may see disgust on Rook’s face, but instead his features relaxed, and his eyes danced with desire.
“God, I love you, my Clara. Be my wife. Be my –”
“And Betsy?”
“That was years ago!” He cursed the bloody valet and Hestia. “Clara, I don’t want, or will want, any other woman – ever. I spent that night nestled up to Jack’s feet and there are witnesses…unfortunately. I love you, Clara – from your dainty toes, to the tips of your fingers, to your kissable, delectable lips. Now come here!” he demanded, still on his knees.
Clara fell in front of him, and then suddenly remembered what he had said at the beginning.
“Dionysus! The god of fertility and wine…the god who saved Ariadne…?” she trailed off. He closed his eyes, and his head lowered.
“Yes, my parents, as I told you, were a bit…different and passionate for anything Greek. Apparently, I arrived nine months after a rather wine-soaked honey moon in Greece, and so they thought the name appropriate. For Hestia, they were rather more sober-minded.”
Rook had kept his eyes closed throughout this confession, awaiting the laughter that always followed. He’d been ragged endlessly at Eton and never used it nowadays; he dreaded people finding out.
Soft lips met his eyes, his cheeks, his mouth – the kiss was gentle.
“I love you, Dionysus, Earl of Rookdean. I loved your kisses that first night at the Masquerade; I loved your gentleness after Taylor’s attack; I loved your compassion when coming to my aid during the recital and at dinner; I love your humour; I even loved beating you at chess,” she teased.
Rook opened his eyes. “My Clara, my Ariadne, my…wife?” he enquired with a raised eyebrow.
“Yes, my Rook, my Dionysus, my husb –” The rest was cut off, as hard, passionate lips met hers, and strong hands pulled her against his body. Kisses skirted her jaw and then her cheeks, as hands roved over her.
“I have my faults, Clara,” he mumbled against her ear. “I hate it when things get out of control, and I can be, as you say, ‘an unmitigated arse’.”
“I’m not perfect, Rook. I can be a little impatient and I hate being cooped up. So…if you don’t mind me telling you when you are being…overbearing…” She smiled. “I may have to ask Aunt Agnes for more insults, though. I’m not even sure what a ‘mutton monger’ is.”
“I can teach you far worse words than that,” he murmured. “Later…” His hands set to work once again, holding her hair firmly and slanting her face to better angle a deep kiss. They both groaned aloud as their bodies rubbed against one another, and his hand reached for her –
“Oy! Yous can’t do tha’ in the middle of the road.”
The voice broke them apart, and they gazed at the disgruntled farmer that had appeared out of nowhere.
“You are absolutely right, my good fellow. I can’t be seducing my future countess on a dusty road.” Rook swept Clara up in his arms and strode to his horse, placing her gently before him on the mount. His lips brushed her forehead as he set the horse to canter. “I know of a soft couch in a curiosity room that will do…”
ΦΦΦ
