Chapter Eleven #2
“Because now you have some idea of the power you can wield over me,” he practically purred into her caress. “A woman as smart as you will surely have me eating out of your hand in no time. I used to believe I was so much better than your usual admirers, but I am no different.”
If she were honest, Clara was more than a little bit taken aback by Pearce’s raw admission. She was also utterly thrilled with the knowledge that she could have power over this seemingly invincible man. It was heady. It was intoxicating. And she could see how it might become addictive.
She pondered this as he cleaned and put himself back together before helping her to her feet and kissing her slowly, banishing her train of thought.
“You did not need to do that,” Pearce said against her mouth, his every word another tickle of his lips on hers.
She leaned back and frowned up at him. “I thought you enjoyed it.”
Immediately, his arms tightened around her. “It was one of the most transcendent experiences of my life; I’ve no doubt it will flash across my mind when I am ancient and on my deathbed.”
Her cheeks burned like coals, and her heart made an exciting skip in her chest.
“I merely do not want you to feel as if it is something you needed to do. An obligation.”
Clara moistened her lips before responding. “I—I enjoyed it.”
Lord, his smile was beautiful just then, broad and unchecked.
It lit up his silver eyes until they practically glowed.
“Well, I loved it.” He snuck another quick peck upon her lips before dragging her back over to where her painting lay discarded.
“Now, I believe it is time we address this handsome little fellow.”
Clara tensed as her husband picked up her painting board, and the project affixed to it.
He held it up with what might only be described as reverence as his eyes swept over every curve and shade, every pool of color and blended hue.
Her heart began to thud within her chest for an entirely different reason.
Though she painted often and had countless books filled with her work, she shared it with hardly anyone.
Of course, she’d shown Dori the few pieces she was particularly proud of, but she maintained her privacy.
It was something purely for her enjoyment, and she suspected her hesitancy about sharing it with the world had less to do with the fear of criticism and more to do with not wanting to share with the world something she held so close to her heart.
So much of her life was on display and picked apart by the ton; she did not want her painting to become a part of that, too. It felt too pure.
“It is just a little bird.” The words came out hurriedly as she reached for the board only to have Pearce lift it just out of her reach.
“Just a bird?” Pearce huffed incredulously. “This is a work of art.”
“I was only playing around a bit.”
“If this is you playing around, I would give anything to see what you created when you really tried.” His eyes found hers and the earnestness there stole Clara’s breath all over again. “I would like to see more, if you are comfortable sharing with me.”
“P-Perhaps…”
He gave one decisive nod and began removing her painting from the board.
“What are you doing now?” She frowned in confusion and consternation.
“Taking this painting for myself. I think it will look quite fetching in my study.”
“But…it is not finished.”
“Looks perfect to me.” The way he held the corners of the painting so carefully between his long, blunt-tipped fingers melted any further protests from her tongue.
“Not only for the beauty of the painting, but as a memento of today.” His smoldering eyes found hers.
“I will think of it each time I look upon it.”
Clara sank her teeth into her lower lip, thinking she would, too.
Pearce stepped closer to her once more and ran his thumb along the curve of her cheek.
“Do not take my next question as a demand; I want you to know you have every right to decline,” he said, choosing his words carefully.
Clara tilted her head in uncertainty and waited for him to continue.
“If I come to you, will you welcome me into your bed tonight?”
Clara supposed she should have been expecting the question, but her mind still stuttered when she tried to form a reply.
She’d been so adamant in her refusal to admit him to her chambers, but the past days served to wear down her resolve—not to mention the events of the past hour.
She wanted him…she was finished denying that much.
What point was there in maintaining that resolution when it only deprived her of pleasure?
She had given the topic a great deal of thought and, once again, she reminded herself that their blossoming companionability and chemistry was the beginning of everything she’d desired in a spouse.
Also, his question confirmed to her that she was the one who truly held all the power.
Another surge of that heady power crested within her.
He may be larger, stronger, more experienced, better able to force her to do anything he wished, but Clara knew a word or a look from her would stop it all.
She had the control.
She licked her lips. She still had not decided on her stance about the topic of children, but she supposed she’d eventually settle into it.
Eventually, Clara found herself nodding, the motion so slight that it barely existed. Pearce’s answering almost boyish grin warmed his eyes into molten silver, infusing her insides with the same glow.
With a tilt of his head, he excused himself from the room and they went their separate ways until supper, leaving Clara to oscillate between excitement and nerves over her decision.