Page 45 of Walk on the Wildsyde

The back gate opened without a squeak as she entered the backyard and Hamilton followed her in.

“When you kissed a foolish vicar’s daughter just to prove a point, and then sent her flowers when all you really wished to do was apologise for behaving badly,” she said, and his heart clenched as he heard the hurt in her voice.

“Clara,” he said, reaching to take her hand, but she danced backwards, out of reach.

“I did not give you leave to use my name,” she said, chin up, eyes blazing defiantly, trying too hard to act as though she didn’t give a damn when he could see he had wounded her pride.

Damn him to hell. He went after her, catching her before she could reach the back door and pulling her into his arms.

“Little fool,” he said roughly. “If ye think I kissed ye to prove any point past that I am losing my wits over ye, ye are much mistaken.”

“Fool, am I?” she said, and he could see the storm clouds gathering in her eyes now. Cursing himself for an idiot, he shook his head and took a step backwards, letting her go.

“Nae,” he said, when his every instinct was to gather her in his arms again and kiss her until she realised he was the one in danger here. “Nae, Clara, I am the fool. Ye must forgive me though, for I have never… ach, ye are right. I flirt with all the lassies and make them smile but I never pretend an interest I dinnae have. But I do this time, and… and I’m making a proper mess of this, am I nae?” he added in frustration.

Her lips quirked a little, the anger in her expression dissipating at his obvious confusion. “You are, rather,” she said, and he heard the amusement there with relief.

“Clara,” he said, his voice low. “I think of ye. I think of ye when I try like the devil to think of anything else. I tell myself I am a fool to get involved when yer father despises me, and I have nae desire to take a wife but… but there ye are. The moment I wake up, there ye are, and when I sleep…”

“Oh.”

The sound she made was soft and full of wonder and did terrible things to his equilibrium. Knowing she would likely slap him, and rightly so, he pressed his mouth to hers and she grasped his arms as he wondered whether she would push him away. For a moment she was rigid in his embrace and then everything softened, and she let out another soft sigh, this time of capitulation that he knew would live in his memory until the day he died.

She could not deny the way she felt for him, not now. She might not like her desire for him, but she could not pretend it away. The knowledge sang through his blood, triumphant male pride burning with satisfaction as she returned his kisses, inexpertly but with obvious desire.

“Clara,” he murmured, gathering her closer, nuzzling into her neck and breathing in the sweet scent of her. “Roses. I could smell roses all night and it was driving me mad.”

“M-Mr Anderson, we really ought not—” she said hesitantly, but Hamilton caught her mouth again, desperate to taste her, to ingrain the delicious flavour of her kisses in his mind so he could recall every detail when he was forced to say goodnight.

He ought to do that now, of course, but he could not. He did not want to let her go. Not yet. He dragged his mouth from hers just long enough to growl, “My name is Hamilton, I give ye leave to use it whenever ye like.”

“I ought not… I ought not be here at all,” she said, yet she gripped his arms still, not letting go as he pressed ardent kisses down her lovely neck.

“But here ye are,” he murmured, his hands spanning her narrow waist, wanting to demand the right to call her his own but knowing he could not, not yet. “Such a good girl doing such a wicked thing, kissing a man in the dark. What does that tell ye?”

“That I’m not half so good as I thought I was,” she said, sounding so wretched his heart seemed to squeeze in his chest.

“Nae,” he said softly, gentling his lips on her skin, kissing her forehead tenderly. “Dinnae be daft. It means ye feel something for me, more than ye want to let on, or else I could never have persuaded ye to kiss me. Dinnae deny me, lassie, not when I want ye so fiercely.”

He nipped at her plush lower lip, making her gasp and lost no time in sliding his tongue into the warmth of her mouth. She made a startled sound and pulled away, gazing at him in astonishment.

Hamilton grinned at her. “Let me teach ye how to take my kisses,” he murmured, aware that his voice had grown low and husky. God but she was delicious. He could not remember ever wanting anything as much as he wanted her. His body was rock hard with longing, thoughts of all the ways he wanted to love her dancing in his mind’s eye.

Somehow, he had backed her up against the wall in the dark of the yard, though he did not remember doing so. At least they were out of sight here, hidden from the vicarage windows and from the street. He brushed his lips over hers, hearing her sharp intake of breath as he did so.

“Part yer lips as I kiss ye,” he told her, heat surging beneath his skin as she obeyed him, and he slid his tongue inside once more.

She was still at first, obviously puzzled until she tentatively slid her tongue against his. Desire lanced through him, and he growled low in his throat, deepening the kiss, taking more and more as his hands moved restlessly over her.

“Ye are the most delicious thing I ever tasted,” he told her, before taking her mouth again, harder still, like a man starved who had finally found sustenance.

She was the air he breathed, she was necessary, and he could not get enough. One hand drifted from her waist, sliding up and up until it cupped the firm, round breast that filled his palm. She started in surprise, one hand lifting to curve around the wrist of the hand that caressed her, but she did not pull it away. He groaned, maddened by too many layers that kept his touch from her skin, squeezing the softness that lay beneath and wishing he could take it in his mouth. Imagining the taut little nub under his tongue was enough to unravel what little remained of his brains.

“What’s that? Who’s out ’ere?”

A door to their right pushed open and Clara gave a muffled squeal, pushing at his chest as Hamilton stepped back, fighting to regain his wits, which seemed to have been scattered all over Wick, damn him to hell.

“Oh, J-Jimmy!” she said, her voice trembling. “I’m so sorry if we woke you. Mr Anderson was just… he was just—”

“I’m just seeing her home, Jimmy,” Hamilton said gruffly.

Jimmy, who was obviously indignant at having been woken up, rubbed his eyes and then glared at him suspiciously. “Oh, aye?” he said, with exactly the same inflection that Hamilton might have given the unconvinced reply. “That’s what you’re calling it, eh?”

“Jimmy!” Clara said sharply. “Mind your manners.”

“Far as I can see, I’m the only one who is minding ’em,” he said sourly. “But you’ll be running along now, won’t you, Mr Anderson, seeing as Miss Clara is home safe now?”

“Aye,” Hamilton said in frustration, having no other option now Jimmy had poked his oar in. “But I’ll be calling on ye, Clara. Ye hear me?”

Clara nodded but did not meet his eyes and he hoped Jimmy’s interference had not undone all his good work.

“Goodnight, lassie,” he told her softly, unable to help himself from adding, “Sweet dreams.”