Regency Rakes 02 - Rescued By A Viscount (20 page)

“Dear god.”

His laugh held little humor; in fact, to Claire, it sounded almost painful. Opening her eyes, she looked up at him. His face was taut and his teeth, clenched. His body was strung tight.

“You need pleasure, too, Simon. Let me give it to you.”

“No, Claire. You are a lady–”

“Therefore I cannot give a man pleasure?” Claire’s heart still raced, yet her body felt languid. It was a wonderful sensation and one she knew she would never reach with any man but this one again.

“It is not right.”

Claire placed a hand on his chest and pushed him onto his back as she rose. “I may be innocent, yet I know you need relief, Simon, just as you gave it to me. So tell me what to do.”

“No.” He got out of bed and glared down at her. She moved quickly, kneeling at the edge of the bed. Pressing one hand against his erection, she took the bold move of stroking him through his breeches. He twitched and then moaned as she did it again. “Claire, don’t-”

Undoing the buttons, she opened his breeches and took him into her hands, touching and stroking the heated skin. Simon stood rigid, hands fisted at his sides, eyes closed as he shuddered with every touch of her hand on his flesh. It was like heated steel, Claire thought as she closed her fingers around him and ran them up and down the length. The tip was damp, so she used the moisture to smooth her way.

“Faster–dear Christ, do it faster, Claire,” he rasped.

Claire adjusted her position and did as he asked. Leaning forwards, she placed a hot kiss on his chest, and he moaned again. Lord, the power of touching him like this was intoxicating. Had he felt the same touching her? She wanted his release almost as much as she’d wanted her own. One of his hands fisted in her hair. Pulling her head back, his mouth crushed hers, and she felt him shudder, his body stiffening beneath her hands.

“God, Claire, I’m sorry.” He pulled away from her when he was spent and went behind the screen. Returning with a damp cloth, he then washed her hands.

“I’m not sorry, Simon. It was wonderful.”

He threw the cloth aside, then did up the buttons of her nightdress. “I should not have done that…or let you–”

Claire placed her hand over his mouth and then shook her head. “Say nothing more, Simon. What we just did was beautiful, and I won’t have you ruin it with apologies. Do you understand?”

He nodded, so she released him and lay back on the bed. Turning on her side, she smiled in the darkness. She felt tired now, as if someone had drained all the blood from her body, it was a wonderful feeling. Simon soon joined her, and she felt him press his front to her back, one arm pulling her tight into his body. They did not speak again and in minutes, both were asleep.

At dawn, they were again on the road. This time the journey would end at Liverpool. Simon was relieved to see no discomfort or regret on Claire’s face as she looked at him across the coach. He manfully attempted to push all visions of her pleasuring him and him pleasuring her out of his head. Now was not the time to discuss what they had done; there would be plenty of time for that later. They had to concentrate on the child.

“Do you want to look at the note again, Simon?”

He took it from her, although he knew every word, as he had memorized it the first time he’d read it. He tucked it in his pocket, though he was not sure he would need to show it to whomever held the child. However he wished to be prepared for all eventualities.

“Claire, I must insist you follow my lead on this. These men could be dangerous, and we have no idea what we are stepping into. Plus,” he added as she opened her mouth, “I have been into the Anchor once, and it is not a place frequented by respectable people. It is rough and loud and filled with whores and sailors.” He’d hoped to scare her, but instead, she lifted her chin.

“This is my niece or nephew, Simon. A few women of loose morals and hardened sailors will not scare me, I assure you, especially after the fight I witnessed not two nights ago.”

“I must have your word that you let me negotiate for the child, Claire. Otherwise, I shall be forced to tie you up and leave you in the carriage.” Simon said calmly, when all he could think of doing was hauling her onto his lap and ravishing her smart mouth.

She didn’t gasp or look affronted. The only indication she gave that she was agitated was the rise and fall of her splendid breasts, which he had licked last night.

Focus, Kelkirk, for pity’s sake.

“Are you threatening me, Lord Kelkirk?”
“Yes, Miss Belmont, I am.”

She puffed out a breath. “Can we not approach this as equals?”

“Of course we can, and I will have the final say in all things.” Lord, he wanted to laugh as she glared at him. She was feisty, was his Claire.

“I thought you would wait in the carriage,” she said.

“No you didn’t.”

“I’d hoped you would wait in the carriage, then,” she clarified.

“Having been through what we have in the last few days and knowing what you do of me, do you think I would let a beautiful woman I care about go to a tavern, which I have already explained has disreputable patrons, on her own?”

He could see her brain working furiously to try to outmaneuver him. He loved that about her. She always challenged him and was never happy to simply accept his word.

“I’m not beautiful, Simon, so stop trying to flatter me so I will fall in with your plans.”

“You are beautiful, and why are you so sure Anthony’s son or daughter will be awaiting our arrival? Have you given thought to the fact that Mathew may be right– that this could be a hoax?”

“It is no hoax, Simon, I’m sure of it. And Eva is an example of a beautiful woman, not I.”

“Claire, men hang off your skirts every evening. I have watched them. Why, if you are not beautiful, are they doing that?”

Her answer was to wave her hand, which, he guessed, meant she was through discussing the matter.

“I have made it a study of mine over the years to observe women, especially beautiful ones.” Ignoring her scoffing, he added, “And you are…beautiful, that is.”

“I am aware of your extensive study, Simon. Now enough of this silly conversation, if you please. It matters not to me. I would rather we organize what is to be done when we arrive at our destination. How shall we know whom to ask for at the Anchor?”

“It matters to me that you do not see yourself as others do, Claire. It matters very much.”

“Oh.” She looked surprised. Her eyes widened as she heard the seriousness in his tone. “Well, thank you, Simon…really.”

Clearly, she didn’t believe him. It surprised him that she did not know herself to be beautiful. He’d always believed her self-confident and aware of the effect she had on men, but it seemed he was wrong. Miss Claire Belmont was a mass of contradictions and uncertainties, and he’d gotten to know a few of them, but he was sure she was hiding several more.

“We will stop for food now, Claire, as we left without eating, and then press on to Liverpool.”

“Mathew is like you. He can’t do anything if his stomach is not full.”

“We are bigger than you. Therefore we need more food,” he added simply. “Plus, my coachmen will be hungry, and whilst you now have their undying devotion, I have to still work at it. Food is always a good bribe.”

“Why do I have their undying devotion?” she questioned, frowning.

“Because you walked into a room filled with men who were all engaged in beating each other senseless, stood on a table, and threatened to shoot one of them between his legs.”

She rolled her eyes. “Men are silly creatures, to give their devotions so easily.”

“So not only do you believe you are not beautiful, but also unworthy of devotion.”

She didn’t answer, just gave him another look that told him this line of conversation, too, was over. So he started another. This one she would like even less than the last. “Your brother told me at the Waverly musical evening that he had not had much to do with you growing up, Claire, and that he was very sorry about that fact.”

She looked away from him and out the window.

“You dreamt about him last night, and your words told me the distance between you is painful. Have you ever talked to Mathew about how you feel, Claire?”

“My brother and I have never been close, and perhaps I am in part to blame. Anthony and I were closer in age, so we spent most of our time together after father passed. And Mathew was forced into the roll of Marquis at a young age. I’m sorry now that I did not support him more. It was just that he seemed so capable, and I did not think he needed me. However, it is too late now. After this, the distance between us will be insurmountable.”

He remembered the words she’d spoken in her sleep, her need for someone to comfort her when she was alone at night.

“You more than anyone know about living behind a façade, Claire. Did you not credit your brother with the same pretence as you?”

“It seems I should have, but now I fear it is too late to attempt to change what lies between us.”

Simon took her hands in his. “It’s never too late.”

She gave a sad little laugh. “Not all men talk like you, Simon, and Mathew is like me. We don’t share our feelings easily. I fear after this there will be an even greater divide between us.”

“You don’t know that. When he is presented with his neice or nephew, he may forgive you everything.”

“I am doing nothing wrong, Simon. It is I who will need to forgive him first.”

She was right, of course. If there was a niece of nephew awaiting them in Liverpool, then Mathew Belmont would have much to forgive himself for.

“You said your parents were not loving, Simon, but were they fair?”
He hadn’t expected that turn in conversation and had no time to school his features, so instead, he turned away from her. “Why do you want to know?” He knew he sounded defensive yet he had no desire to discuss his past.

“You were an only child?” She said ignoring his question for one of her own.

Simon had buried the years with his parents deep inside him. Not because it still hurt him–it was just something he had now put aside, as after his parents’ deaths, his life had really begun. Only then had he known it was possible to live with two people and know happiness. “I am,” He said adding nothing further. Luckily the carriage chose that moment to stop. Relieved, Simon ignored the curiosity in her eyes and reached for the door. “I will get us some food.” He had the door open before she could protest and was back within minutes with a plate of freshly baked scones. After giving Ben and Merlin some, he then rejoined Claire in the carriage.

“Ben and Merlin think very highly of you, Simon.”

Simon was relieved that Claire seemed to have dropped her earlier line of questioning. He took a large bite of his scone before answering, enjoying the warm, doughy mixture in his mouth. “I treat them fairly–that is all, Claire. Now you need to eat something.”

“I don’t really think I could eat now.” She eyed the offerings with wariness, as if they were not fresh and slathered with jam and heavenly tasting.

“Be sensible, Claire. You need to keep up your strength for what is to come.”

“You have a lot in common with my brother when you talk like that.” She took the scone reluctantly and nibbled like a rabbit on the edge.

“I begin to sympathize with him,” Simon muttered, eating one scone in three bites before reaching for another.

“At least chew before you swallow,” she said teasingly.

“Shrew.”

“Heathen.”

He returned her smile and felt something flow between them. He wasn’t sure what, but it left him feeling ridiculously happy, which, in the normal course of his life, would have terrified him spitless. However, surprisingly, it now left him feeling warm right to his toes.

Claire could barely sit still as the carriage approached the outskirts of Liverpool. The scone was not sitting well, and she felt sick at the prospect of the upcoming encounter. Across from her, Simon sat calmly, gazing, for the most, out the window. Occasionally he would look at her, and she knew it was to check that she was all right. The bruise on his chin was now a dark shade of plum, and his eye was black. If not dressed like a gentleman, he could be mistaken for someone with more nefarious intentions.

When the first ship’s mast came into view, she wanted to tell him to turn the carriage around, that this had been a mistake. But of course, she could not, not when a child relied on her–Anthony’s child, she reminded herself.

“Take a deep breath, Claire.” Simon had a gentle look on his face as he held out one of his hands to her. She clutched it and drew in a shuddering lung full of air. “And another, sweetheart. That’s it.”

How had she come to rely on this man? He was so much more than she’d believed him to be, or had allowed herself to see. How had she been foolish enough to run away from him, believing she could do this on her own? “Thank you, Simon.”

“You’re welcome, Claire.” He went back to looking out the window, but her fingers remained in his.

“I’m scared.” The words had left her mouth before she could swallow them down. It seemed that now she had told him so much about herself, she was unable to hold anything back.