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Chapter Twenty-Two
James understood the cause of Clara’s absence despite the vagueness of her note.
The news came as a relief. He’d grown concerned by her lack of bleeding to the point of asking her about it. Distressed by the bold question, she’d roundly scolded him, and reassured him that it was typical for her.
He spent the first few days reminding himself to take advantage and focus solely on work in a way he hadn’t since their liaison.
Three days after the note—five days without her—he found himself restless.
On day five post-note, impatience clawed.
James was uncomfortable with how dependent upon her company he’d become. Not receiving her meant that he was left to his own devices during those evenings, which could’ve been freedom.
But it meant not feeling that tingle of excitement preceding her visit. It meant waking without her, not smelling her scent on him, not hearing her voice or laughter.
Pacing in his study, he pushed away those thoughts.
It’s a release of your bollocks you’re needing, not her company!
He grimaced at the empty words that failed to resonate.Half-right, at least. He unfastened his trousers, freeing his hardened cock.
He walked to his large desk, where the daily newspaper was spread open. The print blurred and then disappeared; he shut out the world. Taking himself in hand, he pumped firmly.
James imagined his face buried against the back of Clara’s neck; he kissed her soft, warm skin. Her gasp made him harder. He slid his hand up under her gown, snaking through all those damnable unmentionables, eventually reaching the hair-covered warmth between her legs. His balls tightened up against his body when she cried out gutturally—
But it was James, moaning alone, his hot cum splatting onto the black print and taupe paper.
Afterwards, he gave himself a moment to recover before crumpling upTheTimesto discard the evidence of his wayward thoughts. He refastened his clothing before slumping into the chair. Collapsed there, he knew some measure of physical relief, but his craving for Clara was unchanged.
In her absence, he’d slept more than during her visits, but it was the opposite of invigorating or refreshing.
Damn it all to hell!
When a week had passed after her note, and a full nine days without her company, he went from impatient to glum. And after another two days, his mood bordered on reckless.
He hatched a plan to visit her house after dark.
He marched up to the front door, and as ever, that butler of hers was both effective and disapproving.
“I’m not avisitor, as you well know,” James told the man impatiently. “I wish to see hernow.”
“The lady is not at home, sir.”
His stomach dropped. Was she more than indisposed? This could be her method of exiting their affair.
“I must speak with her,” he insisted.
“Sir, she isnot well.” The butler raised his brows meaningfully.
“I need to see her.” He wedged his way through Loudon and the door.
“I shall tell her you called, Mr. Robertson, but I must ask you to—” Loudon gave up on speaking and concentrated on blocking him.
James paused, his eyes narrowing. “Very few obstacles placed in my path will stop me from reaching her.” His biceps flexed under his coat. “Short of an act of God opening the floor and swallowing me, I am going up those stairs, and I will find her.”
Two footmen materialized behind the butler; unfortunately, by the looks of it they would not be persuaded to let him pass without a fight.
So be it.
