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Chapter Twelve
The bedchamber door was still swinging on its hinges when James stripped from his shirt. Clara didn’t track its trajectory as it sailed and billowed—her gaze focused on the body he’d revealed.
In her studies, she’d examined illustrations ranging from clinical to salacious. Some brought edification and others amusement, but none prepared her for seeing James clad only in his form-fitting trousers. He was a marble statue come to life; carved slabs of muscle rounded his shoulders, defined his arms.
She raised one finger toward his body, as if asking permission to touch. He nodded, and his abdominal muscles contracted when she moved toward him.
Clara’s fingertips were drawn to the same place as her eyes—the alabaster swell of his bicep. She startled at the unexpectedly soft skin. She delighted in the mix of textures of his body; the dense muscle covered by satiny skin, his gentle, but calloused hands.
His breathing hitched as she traced the bulge with her middle finger. Then his broad chest caught her eye; without warning, she abandoned one novelty for another. Her brow furrowed in concentration as her fingers tested his dark, springy chest hair before pressing into the warm pads of muscle underneath.
With the lightest of touches, she traced the hollow of his throat. Her mouth parted as she took in the sight, a study of strength and vulnerability. Heat and vitality emanated from his powerful neck, usually hidden by shirt and cravat, and he shivered when she stroked the sensitive place.
In the corner of her eye, James’s hands flexed. Was his restraint waning? What would the moment feel like when he couldn’t hold back any longer?
Clara slowly ran her fingertip straight down from the base of his throat until she reached the concentrated swirl of dark hair around his navel. Breathing rapidly, she followed the narrowing line over his warm abdomen as it meandered into his trousers.
Her fingers stopped at fabric that draped on his hips; her eyes continued south. “Oh, Mr. Robertson!”
He smiled tightly, humor piercing the fog of arousal. “You may call me by my Christian name, lass.”
“We scarcely know each other! We’ve not been introduced formally! I—” She stopped, realizing how unpersuasive—even ridiculous, her words were.
But the rules!
“When would you ordinarily invite a man to call you by your first name?”
“I wouldn’t!” She turned her head to avoid his unyielding eyes for a moment. “It wouldn’t be proper until engagement.”
But wasn’t she withhimnow precisely because she wanted their relations to differ from what she’d know with a fiancé? A husband?
Clara remembered his words about not taking her in the dark, clothed, like a proper Englishman. Had they been warning or promise?
Her cheeks tingled as she thought of their mutual frankness during their negotiations downstairs. Still, she harbored no regrets. She wanted to be safe—andshe wanted the sublime.
“Engagement, eh? I suppose I’ll forever be Mr. Robertson to you,” he said matter-of-factly.
Clara sighed. “I know it must seem utterly ludicrous that I could cling to propriety even as we…”
He took one of her hands. “Address me as you wish. So long as you stay.”
His sincerity touched her. She traced a fingertip along one of his dark eyebrows.
He grunted. “Am I supposed to address you as Lady Clara, then?”
“No. I didn’t visit you to be Lady Clara with you, did I? I’m here simply as a woman. Clara,” she whispered her own name.
She pulled back to stare into his eyes, as complex as this man who was proving to be so many things, including more patient than she could have imagined based on their first interactions.
She let herself imagine his name in her mind.James.An almost mischievous smile spread.
“James,” she dared to speak aloud.
The intimacy of his name on her lips left them both affected. A bell that could not be unrung, his name changed the very air around them.
His eyes burned. “It’s as you said—here, you’re Clara. And I’m James. Right now, nothing outside of this bedchamber signifies.”
“Oh, yes. We’re simply a woman and a man. Very well, I accept your invitation to address you by your Christian name. James,” she repeated with greater confidence than the first time.
