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James blinked dispassionately. “Looks as if she found them all.”
“Oh!” Clara gasped, pressing her hands to her cheeks.
He shrugged. “Next time, leave your pins at home. Come to me with your hair down, a siren.”
She clucked her tongue. “You speak nonsense! Can you imagine such a thing?”
“Yes. But if you wish, wear them. I can remove them again.”
Smiling indulgently but still embarrassed, Clara ignored his inflammatory statement and coiled her plait at the back of her head. James readied a pin, which she inserted. They repeated this until a few remained on the tray.
“Where else are they needed?” She turned for him to look upon her work.
He set the tray down on the bed, then his hands claimed her hips, pulling her back into him.
Clara trembled when he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her nape. He caressed her waist before continuing up to touch her hair.
“No more pins,” he whispered, a fingertip trailing along her hairline. “I don’t want to tame you. I like this little tendril that’s escaped. That refuses to go along.” His lips grazed the path his finger had just taken.
“I’d have to dismiss you if you were my maid.”
“But think of how good it would feel not to have your hair tugging all day, confined tightly. What if by day, you felt the reminders of what I did to you the night before, and will do again at the first opportunity?”
Clara reached back and clasped his solid thighs. “You’d have me be a mess,” she accused weakly.
“Aye,” he agreed readily. “I’d dress you like this every day.” His knuckle skimmed down the laces at her back. “No bloody corset. Skirts I can step near and lift, not an infernal cage that’s so big it requires its own ticket to the theater. And yes, your hair wild.”
Clara’s eyes fluttered closed, her heart swelling in her chest. How could she feel so beautiful to him when she’d visited him lacking her usual finery? When she’d dressed practically to facilitate their liaison?
She turned around. “Very well. I shall retain your services here. In between my visits, the world will see me pinned tightly, and wearing proper petticoats like armor. But for you, James, I will be unrestrained. Untidy.”
“Beautiful,” James breathed, taking her face into his hands.
Clara blinked away the tears that threatened. Could he possibly find her wildness appealing?
Two knocks sounded at the door.
“Your carriage has been readied.”
She nodded, words freezing in her throat as she thought of her driver spending the night in the loft above the mews house, woken before dawn to spirit her home.
“Thank you, Clara,” said James in a low voice.
Her eyes refocused on him questioningly.
“For the gift of last night.”
His face was solemn, his gratitude palpable, and Clara’s softened as she smiled. “And I thank you for last night.”
“It wasn’t enough. Not yet.”
“We have more exploring to do,” she agreed.
“Aye. And I meant it wasn’t enough for now, either. I’d like to accompany you in your carriage.”
Clara stroked his chest through his soft shirt, enjoying his warmth. “But how—”
“My carriage will follow at a safe distance. Your driver can deposit me before we reach your townhouse.”
“You think of everything. Very well, join me in my carriage.”
He dropped his hands from her face and stepped back, his near awkwardness almost boyish. He offered his elbow stiffly. She slipped her arm through, and they left his bedchamber as they had entered it—together.
