Page 52 of Walk on the Wildsyde

“Special?” Clara asked with trepidation. “In what way?”

He tapped the edge of his nose and grinned. “You’ll see.”

“Papa, you will be careful, won’t you?” Clara said, for as much as he seemed to have gained some valuable insight into the lives of the people of Wick, she didn’t believe he had entirely changed his spots. Rubbing people up the wrong way was something he did with far too much ease to be dismissed as a possibility.

“Yes, yes, of course. Don’t you worry,” he said, waving her away. Considering herself dismissed, Clara left the room and was about to return to the kitchen when she saw an envelope on the doormat in the hallway. Hurrying over, she picked it up, saw with surprise it was addressed to her, and broke the seal.

Her heart skipped as she read the short message from Hamilton. He wanted to see her, something he must say to her…

Clara’s breath caught. Of course, it was very wrong of her to meet him in secret, alone. But unlike Malcolm Stewart, she trusted him, and Mrs Scott had told her his intentions were all that they should be. Besides which, she wanted to see him very badly, and she did not know when that might next be, as tomorrow was Sunday, and her father would want her help.

She glanced at the note once more. 8pm? It was almost that now. Deciding she would be brave, she stuffed the note in her pocket, put on her cloak and drew the hood up over her hair, shielding her face. It was the work of a moment to slip out of the front door. Since the street was deserted, Clara quickly made her way up the steep incline to Hamilton's tavern. It was looking very handsome now, and she thought perhaps it would not be too long before it opened. She only hoped she could keep her father from causing him trouble when it did.

Finding the door unlocked, Clara turned the handle and pushed it open, darting inside and closing the door behind her. The place was in darkness, but a glimmer of light shone from upstairs, so she followed it, tiptoeing up the stairs. When she got to the top, the light was brighter, and she saw it came from one of the bedrooms. Hurrying to the doorway, she felt her heart lift as she saw Hamilton. He was frowning over a dozen fabric samples laid out on a table in front of him. She didn’t know if he heard or sensed her watching him, but his head turned.

“Clara!”

“I couldn’t not come,” she exclaimed, running up to him. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

He stared down at her as if he was completely stunned by her appearance. “I hardly ken what to think? But I’m glad… Clara, lord but I have missed ye, and I dinnae care if that’s a daft thing to say when I saw ye last night, but it’s too long, lassie.”

“It is,” she agreed, smiling and wondering if he could see everything she felt, for she was too foolishly infatuated with him to hide it.

“Ye are nae vexed with me?” he asked, reaching out and stroking her cheek. “I’m afraid I behaved very badly.”

Clara shook her head. “I let you behave badly, didn’t I?” she added, her smile dimming a little as she considered that. “You… You don’t think the worse of me—”

“Little fool,” he said fondly, and took her hand. “It pleases me more than ye can comprehend when ye show that ye want me. Come away from the windows though, love. I dinnae want anyone to see ye here. Will ye nae be missed?”

“Not for a little while,” she said, gazing up into his handsome face, his amber eyes warm in the lamplight. Did this man really care for her? It seemed an impossible dream. He could have anyone he wanted; surely a vicar’s daughter was not aiming high enough when his father was an earl. Perhaps, even if he did want her, his parents would not approve.

“What are ye fretting about?” he asked softly, caressing her cheek with the backs of his fingers. He touched the place between her eyebrows and stroked softly. “Ye are frowning, lassie. I dinnae like to see ye troubled.”

“Oh, nothing,” she said, not wanting to confess such concerns when he’d not even declared his interest in her yet.

His hand dropped to her chin, and he raised it up, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Ye are a little liar. Are ye worried I’m toying with ye? That I mean to dishonour ye and leave?”

Clara blushed, surprised he put it into such stark words, but then he was not the kind to prevaricate. “I would not have said it quite that way, for I believe you are a gentleman, that you would not treat me so ill, but… but all the same…”

“But all the same, I’ve nae told ye my intentions,” he said, his voice low. As he spoke, he moved her, guiding her gently until her back rested against the wall. His body pressed against her, hard and so very vital. There was so much energy in his frame, still as he was, like seeing the smooth surface of a deep river and knowing there were dangerous currents hidden beneath.

“N-No,” Clara stammered. “You have not.”

“My intention is to kiss ye, lassie,” he teased, nuzzling into her neck. “And to make ye sigh and call my name.”

“Hamilton,” she whispered unsteadily, as he nipped at her ear. She shivered as she felt his teeth graze the tender lobe.

“Aye, just like that, but louder.”

He chuckled, a wicked sound that raised all the tiny hairs on the back of her neck and made her feel too much, desire too much. She ought not be here. It was she who was wicked, behaving in a manner no decent girl should ever do. How had she got here, how had this happened, when she knew she was breaking every rule?

“What else do ye think I intend?” he asked her, his deep, rumbling voice like the purr of some great cat vibrating through her.

“I c-couldn’t possibly imagine,” she said desperately, pressing her palms against his waistcoat and feeling the heat of his body through the fine woollen weave. She lay her cheek on his chest, and he kissed the top of his head.

“Are ye sure about that? What is it ye dream of, when ye are alone in your bed? Do ye think of me?”

“No, of c-course not,” Clara said with a gasp, shocked he should ask her such a thing.