Chapter Sixteen
Two days later, Pearce’s carriage rolled to a stop in the wide courtyard of Coylton Castle.
The route was a natural resting point for them on their journey to Northumberland, and Clara was overjoyed by the opportunity to see her family again.
Even though she’d only been absent for a few weeks, it was the longest she’d been without any of them.
A part of her felt more settled as she set foot on the familiar packed earth path.
Archie bolted toward her and immediately launched into grand stories to catch her up on all the goings on since she’d left. “I cannot wait to show you my new soldiers! They have painted red coats, and the cavalry has real horsehair!”
“That sounds lovely!” Clara exclaimed with honest excitement.
Dori kissed the top of her head as he usually did, and Amelia enfolded her in a tearful embrace.
“Apologies,” said Amelia as she pulled away and began fanning her damp cheeks. “I’ve been more emotional as of late.”
“As if I did not already have enough of a challenge on my hands,” Dori joked lightly before Amelia swatted his chest with the back of her hand.
“How have you been feeling?” Clara asked excitedly. She focused on her sister-in-law even though it was distracting to feel Pearce’s presence behind her. Everything within her called to him, making her every nerve hum.
“I heard the good news,” Pearce said then, holding out a hand to Dori. “Congratulations to the both of you.”
Amelia grinned. “It was a long time coming, but we are finally able to have our happily ever after.”
“If crying spells and near castrations are considered happily ever after—” This time, Dori caught his wife’s hand before she could swat him. He pressed a kiss to her palm, then her temple, sliding a hand to her abdomen, which had only just barely begun to swell beneath her skirts.
Clara watched the scene with a warm smile, until she experienced a sudden flash of Pearce behaving just like Dorian, elated over sharing a child with the woman he loved, thrilled to be gazing toward a bright, happy future.
Her next, less buoyant thought was, if he had his way, she would never have the opportunity to experience that with him.
She’d confessed the depth of her feelings to him and, while he hadn’t told her he felt the same, he’d shown her in other ways that he cared very deeply.
Perhaps, in time, he would find the words…
but the type of affection Clara witnessed in the scene before them would be forever out of her reach.
She refused to look at her husband for fear that he would read her thoughts in her eyes.
She could not do that to him; she could not make him feel that she did not respect his choice—not so soon after he’d told her the truth of it.
She felt him close in on her a moment before he slid an easy arm around her waist as he’d done many times in the preceding weeks.
The comfortable possessiveness of the gesture was not lost on Clara’s elder brother.
She watched Dori’s keen eyes flit between the two of them, but his expression never changed.
She knew the cogs and gears were working in that mind of his, and she wasn’t sure if she liked it.
Shortly thereafter, Dori invited Pearce away and she almost wanted to warn her husband.
She wasn’t sure if what she’d seen in Dori’s eyes boded well or ill for Pearce.
But Clara did not have time to contemplate it overmuch because Archie dragged open the door to the castle and released Bonnie and Wallace into the courtyard, unleashing bouncing chaos as the dogs took their turn for greetings.
Kempton served Pearce a drink as the two of them sat alone in the castle’s large study. A fire crackled in the hearth, releasing the pleasant, earthy scent of pine and peat into the air.
“How is everything so far?” he asked.
Pearce pretended not to understand the question, instead talking about the weather and crops. “—and I am hopeful that this year’s lack of rain won’t hinder the harvest too greatly.” Only after a few minutes of that did he tap his forehead and say, “Oh, you mean my marriage to your sister?”
Kempton rolled his eyes, though amusement still danced across his mouth.
“Well enough.”
“I’d say better than expected.”
“What gives you that impression?”
“For one, neither of you has committed murder…yet. But I also see it in the way you treat her.”
Pearce made a conscious decision to remain as outwardly nonchalant as possible. “Is that not the best-case scenario?”
Kempton mulled it over for several long seconds before saying, “I don’t know if I will ever grow used to seeing you touch Clara.” Pearce smiled into his drink. “Or the two of you getting along, for that matter. I am more prepared to break up a fight than witness what I did out there.”
Pearce snorted. “You act as if I touched her indecently. May I remind you that I behaved with far more restraint than you?”
“That is different. We are—”
“In love?” There was a long pause. “New topic of discussion,” Pearce said before sipping his drink again.
“Have you spoken to her about not having children?”
Pearce shot him a droll look over the rim of his glass. “Think carefully before you press me for an answer. Would you really like to discuss the methods of conception prevention I practice with your sister?”
Kempton actually cringed and finished his drink. Whether he shook his head at the burn of the spirits or to banish the unbidden images from his mind, Pearce could make an educated guess.
He smiled and finished his whiskey.
*
That night, Pearce retired shortly after Clara had changed into her nightshift.
After entering the chamber, he paused to watch her sitting at the vanity while her maid slowly ran a comb through her long, dark tresses.
The air was scented with her citrus-and-vanilla bathing oil, infusing him with image after image of flushed pink skin, ripe for the taking.
It made his mouth water in anticipation.
“Thank you, Beth. You may leave us. Your services will not be required again until tomorrow,” Pearce said, dismissing the maid. Immediately, the girl set aside the comb, bobbed a swift curtsy, and quit the room.
“I am not yet fully prepared for sleep,” Clara protested. “My hair has not been plaited.”
“I can see to you,” he said, beginning to remove his coat.
Next went his cravat and waistcoat before he picked up the comb, continuing to run it through his wife’s hair as her maid had been doing.
“I like your hair loose, anyway,” he added after several minutes of combing, enjoying the crackle of static as her locks shone beneath his efforts.
Setting aside the comb, he wrapped the length of her hair around his fist and gently tugged her head back, exposing her throat to his lips and teeth.
Her gasp of surprise quickly morphed into a moan of desire that shot straight to Pearce’s cock.
This woman could have him pulsing and heavy with need from one heartbeat to the next.
Everything she did was arousing. Everything about her made him burn for her.
“What are you doing?” Clara’s voice was hazy as her own arousal gained momentum. “We are in my brother’s home,” she added unnecessarily.
“We are newlyweds, are we not? It is expected for us to find some trouble.” He licked his way up the column of her throat to capture the lobe of her ear between his teeth, then suckled it to soothe the sting. “We are allowed to indulge.”
He maneuvered her to stand and pulled her nightrail over her head, growling appreciatively at the sight of her gorgeous body, her shapely curves in the most delectable of places.
“Glorious,” he murmured, enjoying the blush spreading from Clara’s face to her throat, down to the tips of her breasts.
Kicking the vanity’s stool out just a bit with his boot, he urged her to bend over it and prop her palms atop it.
The position left her nowhere to hide and, while he found the sight of her cleft exposed and dewy with her blossoming need to be highly erotic, he recognized the tenseness in her shoulders as embarrassment.
“There is nothing to be ashamed of—not when you look as perfect as you do,” he purred as he stroked her back from the curve of her waist to the nape of her neck.
Each pass became longer and slower until his fingers trailed between her legs to cup her there and dip between her folds.
By then, she’d relaxed and her body arched back into him, presenting the most perfect vista in creation.
A groan rattled free from the cage of his chest, filling the room with the low echo of his need.
When he was positive she was wet and ready, Pearce ripped open the falls of his breeches, wrapped his fist in her hair once more, and slid into her tight channel in one deep thrust from behind.
Clara’s sigh quickly dissolved into a deep, drawn-out moan as he began to move, fast and hard.
Pearce pounded into her tight, wet body, his thighs slapping the backs of her naked legs with every thrust. He took her again and again, filling her to the hilt each time before withdrawing nearly completely, only to repeat the process.
“God, Clara,” he panted through gritted teeth. “You’ve no idea how much I think of this. How much I want this. You drive me to fucking distraction.”
“Pearce!” she whimpered, rocking back into the motion to take all of him until he kissed the lips of her womb.
“Say it again,” he demanded in a snarl. “Say it.” He’d insisted upon exactly this every night since she’d confessed her feelings to him, and he knew he’d never grow weary of it.
“I love you!” she sobbed joyfully, each word punctuated by a pounding thrust.
Then, they raced each other to blinding oblivion.
Amelia lay in bed watching her husband pace the same path he had for at least ten minutes. “I did not realize having Clara beneath our roof once more would put you so on edge,” she jested, resting her book on her stomach.
“It is not Clara, it’s…”