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At least you can finally admit to deeper feelings for Clara.
That had come after a particularly sleepless night of tossing and turning. However, he’d kept himself from acting upon them, still fearing Clara would regret tying herself to him without the hope of children in her future.
As if summoned, Hugh caught Clara once again escaping a ball, no doubt headed towards another deserted balcony. Will she ever learn her lesson? This time she had her parents in attendance as lackadaisical chaperones—the elder Netherfields safely ensconced in their social circles.
“Ah, Lord Covington, we meet again.” Lord Moseley approached. Hugh nodded in greeting, his eyes never straying from his little lamb. Moseley followed his gaze and chuckled. “Ah, I see you’re still fascinated by that young chit. I noticed your interest at the Tipton Ball, as well. Which is why you came to mind when the most peculiar opportunity was presented to me and any other friends of mine.”
He drifted closer, an air of secrecy surrounding him, but Hugh couldn’t be bothered to hear whatever ‘opportunity’ this man thought to offer. He only had one focus this evening.
“An auction is to take place two weeks hence for a… certain prize ofpleasure…”
The lord’s voice faded to the background as a sense of deja vu—of fate—overwhelmed Hugh, and his feet started in the direction of an escaping Clara before he quite realized his intentions. He found her moments later in a similar position as their first scandalous encounter at the Taft party.
“This looks familiar,” he drawled, though instead of caging her against the balustrade like last time, he moved to stand by her side.
“Yes, I recall a time when a wolf approached his lamb under the guise of protection. I also recall him dismissing her unceremoniously once he was done eating his fill.”
Fair point.
“I apologize for how I ended things between us that day. The truth is…” He swept a hand through his hair, inhaling the fresh scent of garden flowers below. “You muddle my thoughts. Blur the line between what I believe should be right and wrong. I shouldn’t yearn for you, yet I do. I shouldn’t ache to hold you in my arms, yet that’s all I desire, despite knowing it would never work between us.”
Clara faced him, reaching a hand out to squeeze his arm, a determined expression glazing her eyes. “It could work, if you give us a chance. It has more of a shot at success than my marriage to Lord Evanston. Isn’t that enough? If you care for me, how can you abide my becoming his wife instead of yours?”
Hugh studied her beautiful features—precious in his mind—and allowed himself to imagine what that life would be like.
Happy.
Satisfying.
Instinctively, he knew those descriptions would be true. They’d have their trials—the first being his daughters, the next being her betrothed and parents. But the end would justify the means. They’d be together and could enjoy more idyllic weeks together like the one they shared a mere month ago.
“Won’t you try?” Clara pushed.
How could he refuse her? He wanted nothing else but to please her in all things.
“Yes, for you, I will.” Pulling her into his embrace, Hugh finally kissed her like he’d been desperate to all evening, needing to taste her sweetness again, to know the shape of her soft curves yielding to his firmer muscles.
It was delicious. Even better than he remembered.
“Do you remember the fantasy I shared on our first night together?” he whispered, one lone fingertip tracing the edge of her bodice. Clara moaned and nodded as he tugged on the thin fabric.
“Would you care to reenact it?” His lips drifted over her cheek, her neck, before he landed on his prize—the valley between her breasts. “It’s been far too long since I’ve tasted your sweetness. Your berry nipples. The honey of your cunt.” His tongue licked along the shadowed line of her cleavage as her skirt bunched in his hands.
This wasn’t the appropriate place for an assignation, but Hugh’s thirst for Clara would not be appeased by anything less than making her come apart in his arms on this darkened balcony.
Until a gasp of shock tore them apart.
“Father!”
“Miss Netherfield!”
A group of onlookers stood at the balcony entrance, where Sarah, Mary, Lord Evanston, and the Netherfields watched with mouths agape.
“What is the meaning of this? How dare you force yourself upon my betrothed!” Evanston sputtered, fighting his way forward. Hugh tried to guide Clara behind him for protection, but his little lamb refused to go quietly. Instead, she stood beside him and took his hand in hers.
“He didn’t force himself upon me. I gave myself to him willingly… as one does to their betrothed. Lord Covington proposed to me, and I accepted.”
Not quite true, but close enough. He would’ve proposed after he’d finished kissing her delectable mouth. And delicious breasts. And her…
