‘What, pregnant?’ Josephine whispered.
‘Excuse me?’ Claire half stood up in exclamation at Josephine’s news. ‘But—’
‘I know.’ Josephine clutched Claire’s hand and looked around the room.
‘Shall we retreat to another room, and discuss this in private?’ whispered Claire. Josephine nodded. Together they stood, and Josephine left the room so quickly that Claire blinked.
‘My apologies. We just need to, ahh, go over there for a while,’ she said. Nicholas leapt to his feet.
‘What did you say to her?’
‘Calm down, Nic. It’s nothing much, just, um, women’s business.’ She waved her hands in front of her in the general gesture of don’t worry about it.
‘That’s fine.’ Nicholas sat down again. ‘Josephine needs someone like you to talk to.’
‘Thank you.’ Claire couldn’t stop the sarcasm in her voice, even though she knew that Nicholas had his wife’s best interests at heart. ‘You just stay here and solve the minor issue of my father’s false arrest for fraud.’ She spun on her heels with her dress swirling in the air, and left the room.
‘Josephine. Wait,’ she called down the hallway. These country manors and their ridiculous hallways! Josephine looked back over her shoulder, and smiled a grim, taut smile.
‘Let’s go in here.’ She pushed open the door, and Claire followed her into a small sitting room with a gorgeous outlook over the garden and fields beyond. A herd of young horses stood together under a tree, tails flicking at each other in the summer afternoon sunshine.
Josephine grabbed her hand and squeezed it. ‘I’m scared.’ A tear sat fat and heavy at the corner of Josephine’s eye. Claire reached up with her other hand and brushed it away.
‘How far along are you?’
‘As you know, it’s almost impossible to know precisely, but I guess about twelve weeks,’ said Josephine quietly.
‘You do realise that is a consequence of marital relations?’ Claire bit her tongue. Why did she always say crazy inappropriate things?
Josephine grinned.
‘That’s the Claire I love. Always saying the right thing to stop me worrying.’
‘What is there to worry about? The chance of your dying is only one in a hundred.’
‘Even outsiders win occasionally. And what if I’m just like my mother, and my baby has to grow up without me. And Nic—’
‘Hold it there. You read too many gothic novels. The three of us have all the up to date training. I’ve just successfully delivered twins, for crying out loud! We will use Lister’s methods—you won’t get childbed fever—and that’s the most common reason for a poor outcome.’
‘I know all that. But it doesn’t stop me being scared.’ Josephine reached for Claire’s hand, and Claire gave Josephine a gentle squeeze. She pulled her hand away, waving it in the air.
‘Why, then? Why do it? You know all the risk is with us, the woman. Why put yourself at risk? Why face this fear?’ All Claire’s old worries, brought to the fore by those kisses with Ravi, galloped out of her mouth. She rolled her neck on her shoulders, cracking it as she tried to rid herself of the built up tension, but her breath just became shallower as she waited for Josephine to answer. Her friend dashed a tear away with the back her hand, and reached out to hold Claire’s hands carefully.
‘Because it is worth it for everything else. To be loved for who you are, to not be put in a box by society, but supported by someone who knows you and wants you for everything you are. That’s why it’s worth the risks.’
‘Because the benefits make it worthwhile?’ Claire sneered, an echo to Ravi’s comment yesterday, as Josephine gushed about her loving marriage. Not everyone would be so lucky, and yes, she acknowledged her jealously, an undercurrent to the deep happiness that she typically felt for Josephine’s marriage. To find Nicholas who supported her, championed her, loved her, was a treasure to be held with great respect. That didn’t stop that tense tingle of envy for her own situation.
‘Claire, my gorgeous, bold friend. You obviously trust him. Stop thinking and take the leap.’
Claire sucked in her bottom lip. ‘I do trust him. But I don’t know why.’
‘Isn’t that the definition of trust?’ Josephine laughed. ‘Plus, I’ve seen the way he looks at you.’
‘Oh.’ Claire paused, as a rush of memories sped through her head. A cascade of moments of shared glances, and longing gazes. She blinked, not ready to face the reality of that montage. ‘That’s just because—’
‘Do you hesitate because he’s not English?’ asked Josephine.
Claire frowned and shook her head. Hold on, what? The comment crashed against the images in her mind like a steam train coming into a station too quickly; steel screaming against steel. Her mouth dropped open, but no words came out. He is English. And more.
Josephine continued on, seemingly unaware of Claire’s reaction. ‘Because there is a saying in horseracing. People get caught up in bloodlines and pedigrees, but there is one truth that underlies everything. A horse doesn’t know who its parents are. It performs and is judged on its own character.’
‘You are saying I should judge him on his character.’ The sarcasm dripped off her tongue at her friend’s analogy that brushed over the underlying belief that Ravi was somehow less because he didn’t look English. She gripped the arm of the chair, her fingers tight against the wood.
‘No, judge him on his trust and his kisses,’ said Josephine with a smile.
Claire blinked once, a slow stunned flap. That wasn’t what she expected at all. Heat flamed on her cheeks as memories of Ravi’s kisses flooded her brain.
Josephine giggled. ‘And it would seem that his kisses are indeed worthwhile. He has that look about him.’
‘What look?’ Claire was still wary.
‘Of someone who can kiss. And he plainly adores you.’ Josephine paused. ‘I want you to be happy, satisfied in life, Claire, and having a loving partner is hugely satisfying. We can help you overcome any difficulties.’
‘That’s enough of that.’ Claire almost shouted, then took a sharp breath as rage filled her head with heat. She stood tall, clomping one foot loudly on the floorboards. ‘Ravi isn’t a difficulty to overcome. He might not look like your version of what is English, but his father was Lord Dalhinge, a title now held by his older brother. He’s as English as you, and more English than me.’ Claire threw out the words with vehemence.
‘My apologies. It’s just that he looks …’
‘His mother is an Indian princess, a maharani, but as you say, why not judge him on his character, not his royal blood?’
‘Oh. I didn’t realise.’
‘No, you just see his colouring and make assumptions. He graduated in law with honours. He has no need to prove himself to anyone.’ Claire stood up with her hands on her hips. ‘And quite frankly, I expect better from my friends.’ She turned to go, but Josephine grabbed her wrist.
‘Don’t leave. Please.’ Josephine blinked and a fat tear rolled down her cheek.
‘Fine. But only because friends forgive each other, and I trust that you will use this conversation to learn to do better.’ Claire sat down again.
‘Please accept my sincere apologies. I don’t want to fight with you.’ The sincerity on Josephine’s face, along with the quiet way she rested her other hand on her stomach, made Claire’s breath hitch.
‘Accepted.’ Claire pulled a deep breath in through her nostrils, and said the only outrageous thing she could. ‘Besides, if you think he looks like he kisses well, your imagination is nothing like reality.’
Josephine paused, an uncertainty in her eyes. After a moment, she laughed. ‘That’s the Claire I love.’
***
Ravi strode along the garden path. The dusky light of a summer evening painted the trees in a golden hue that made the house and farm look like an oil painting. A scene to inspire Stubbs with young horses in a field, and rich warm light bathing the green hedges. The discussion with Lord St. George had revealed many details about horse racing, and the intricacies of gambling, but none of them had shed any light on Mr Carlingford’s arrest. Officer Wedsley had added a few details from his side. It would all come down to who had access to that distinctive notepaper. They had peered at that piece of paper, but nothing new sprang out. Hopefully, the bookie, Sutton, would remember crucial details, or have someone who might know. The whole saga seemed without end, and his goal of his own practice felt suddenly far away. He paced quickly, long strides covering the ground, and gravel crunching under his boots. A heavy floral scent from the garden, roses and sweet peas, made the warm air heady and smothering. If he couldn’t pull this off, he’d have to work for another practice and save. Or ask his brother for the funds—could he face him without a wife to fulfil his wishes, especially when the only wife he wanted was Claire. She had clearly stated she didn’t want marriage. He wasn’t the sort of man who would just trample over her choice for his own gain—no matter how tempting it was to capture her. But just as one captures a butterfly, it removes the core reason for why the butterfly is beautiful. Freedom. He couldn’t do that to Claire, he couldn’t take away her agency over her life. It would be no marriage. Because if he did, he wouldn’t end up with Claire, his bold, brave Claire. He’d only have a shadow of her. He bunched his fists at his side, frustration filling his veins with power. The path twisted ahead of him, around the edge of the house, and he strode onwards.
Oomph! Ravi smashed into another person, and fell backwards, landing on the ground in a pile of limbs.
‘Watch where you are going!’ The other man scrambled to his feet. A sharp pain crunched on Ravi’s hand. He looked. Blood trickled out of his hand. His glasses lay crushed. Pieces of glass embedded in his skin. Time slowed down, and gradually, the pain seeped in. The gardener’s heavily booted foot had landed on Ravi’s hand, crushing his glasses into the back of it. Boots crunched on the gravel. The gardener walked past Ravi without another glance, leaving Ravi to gather himself. He stood, cradling his injured hand. The metal frame of his ruined glasses lay among the grass with shards of sunlight glinting. He looked around, grabbed a stake from the rose garden, and marked the area of broken glass with it. That damned gardener would have to clean up his own mess. He pulled his handkerchief from his jacket pocket, and gingerly held it under his hand, dabbing away the dribbles of blood. He didn’t want to pull out any of the glass until Claire had looked at it. She’d performed such magic with Mrs Jackson that he would never trust another doctor near him again. He walked quickly to the house, let himself in the side door he’d exited earlier, and pulled the bell-pull of the day lounge next to the bedroom he had been given by the butler. A footman answered a few minutes later and he related his problem.
‘No problem, the Lady of the house is a doctor,’ said the footman.
‘And so is her friend.’
‘I will fetch them both. Please take a seat.’ The footman left, but Ravi found that he couldn’t sit. The same frustrated energy that had hummed in his veins before he accidentally smashed into the gardener still swirled inside him. He paced back and forth, cursing how much he anticipated Claire’s touch. The door flew open with such force that it bounced against the wall.
‘You didn’t have to injure yourself just so I would touch you.’ Claire’s voice mirrored his thoughts.
‘I assure you, it wasn’t intentional.’
‘Sit down, then you can outline your intentions.’ She placed her hand on his back and pushed, guiding him forcibly towards a chair. A bright spot of heat burned where she touched him. But most astonishing of all, the pain in his hand retreated as his prior frustration switched into desire. Apparently, he did hurt himself just so she would touch him. He clenched his teeth at the ridiculousness of it.
‘Now, sit. Show me your hand,’ said Claire. Her voice had a rational impersonal quality that added to the crazy mix of desire and pain. As she crouched beside the chair and started to investigate his injury, the indignity of it added to the swirl of emotion rushing in his ears.
‘Will I live?’ he said.
‘This isn’t a joke, Ravi. If we clean this properly and avoid infection, then you will probably live. If it gets infected, however, the odds aren’t so good.’ She stood up as he held his breath. His gaze followed her, and for the first time, he noticed a footman and maid in the room holding towels, a bucket and a small pile of linen. He eased out the taut breath and tried to force his limbs to relax.
‘Place the bucket here, and you can all leave. I would rather work in absolute quiet.’ The staff did as bid, leaving just the two of them with his injured hand between them. ‘Hold your hand over the bucket to keep any mess as contained as possible.’ He closed his eyes as she started to clean his hand. Darkness increased his other senses, and now he could feel her deft touches as she fixed him. The coppery tang of blood, an occasional swish of water, the cool, wet napkin on his sticky skin, and then …
‘Damn.’ A sharp pain sliced through his hand. His eyes flicked open to see Claire carefully removing shards of glass from his hand. Blood flowed freely from the wounds, and still she focused on her work. The quiet throb of desire mingled with his admiration for her ability. He understood in this moment, as little cuts of pain twinged in his hand, why the suffragette movement mattered. How many amazing brains, like Claire’s, had been wasted during history? There had been so much technological advancement in the last fifty years. Imagine what doubling the world’s brain power could achieve?
‘All done now. I’ll just do a final clean, then bandage it, and you’ll be free once again,’ said Claire.
‘Free?’ He didn’t want freedom anymore, he wanted Claire to possess him. He would gladly sacrifice his own freedom for hers, but that thought led to marriage. He growled, knowing it was a crapshoot to convince her. He closed his eyes, and breathed in a long, slow breath, as he tried to inhale the hint of violets that she wore.
‘Oh, I’m sorry. Did that hurt?’
‘No.’ Only his thoughts hurt, the pain in his hand nothing compared to the prospect that her reasons for saying no seemed insurmountable, quashing the concept of having her in his life before it had even started. After far too many tugs of pain, he felt his hand being wrapped in a bandage and he opened his eyes to watch her handiwork.
‘You will be fine now. I’ll see you at dinner.’ She stood to leave, and he sprang to his feet.
‘Stop. Don’t run away. You are always running from me,’ he said.
‘I can’t give you what you want.’ She spun on her heels to face him, and the fabric of her dress swirled between them.
‘Yes, you can. Stop being scared.’ He reached out to hug her, wanting to wrap her close, but she tensed in his arms. He purposefully loosened his hold, forcing himself to relax until his hands rested lightly on her shoulders. She pushed his hands away, a jolt of pain that didn’t only stem from his wound, and he let his hands drop to his sides.
‘You don’t get to tell me what I want.’
‘Correct. And I wouldn’t dare. I can only tell you that I want you.’
‘Why?’
‘Claire, you delight me. You have such natural energy, and I’m fascinated by your mouth.’
‘Then you’d better kiss me again.’ She’d hardly finished her sentence before he took her advice. Still cautious, he pressed his lips to hers. For someone so bold, Claire tasted fresh and sweet. Her lips softened under his and he nibbled at the corner of her mouth. She grabbed his wrists and lifted them back to rest on her shoulders. He slid his uninjured hand up her neck, fingers spreading into her silky hair. Her tongue flicked out and ran along his bottom lip, tempting him, so he deepened the kiss. His heart pounded in his chest. This was home. Claire and her perfect, beguiling mouth.
‘Ravi,’ she breathed. He plunged his tongue inside, exploring her mouth, cradling her head. She responded in the most Claire way possible. Her hands grabbed him on the backside, pulled his hips towards her. His body pressed against hers in the best possible way, her form imprinted against him, and his erection hard and strong between them. There could be no misunderstanding his desire for her. She sighed into his mouth and her body relaxed against him. Her eyes fluttered, so he pulled the kiss back a little. She arched her back, and his whole body smiled as her tongue demanded more of him. Kiss me more, deeper, faster, I want everything, her kiss said to him. He battled with her, willing to be possessed by her. He shifted, kissing along her jawline until he reached her ear. He scraped his teeth on her earlobe and she moaned.
‘I want more,’ he said. His heart threatened to gallop out of his chest in anticipation of her answer.
‘Yes. Show me everything.’ Her hands shifted, sliding under his jacket. Little tugs against the fabric of his shirt as she fumbled with his clothes, and then, heat skimmed up his back as her fingers spread on the small of his back. Skin against skin.
‘Claire.’ He breathed out her name against her neck, amazed that he could get harder than before. Her hands spread over his back. He wanted to know how she felt, how the contrast would feel with his skin on her palms and his crisp shirt hanging over the backs of her hands.
‘Kiss me again,’ she said. Yes. He claimed her mouth, and yet it was her claiming him. Every other woman before was swept away in the heat of this moment. There was only Claire. All he needed. He rested his injured hand on the back of her neck, and with his good hand, he started to explore. Down the curve of her back, up her sides. She moaned deep into his mouth as his hand brushed the side of her breast. He eased back, only enough to give his hand space to explore further. His blood coursed in his veins. Her dress was buttoned up to her throat, a barrier to her skin, so he traced the edges of the seams, across her nipples drawing another moan from her throat. It vibrated against his mouth, connecting them closer together.
‘You have too many clothes on,’ he whispered against her cheek.
‘I know. But I need them. Otherwise …’ She drew her hands out from under his shirt and ran them up his arms.
‘I understand. I wish I didn’t, but I understand.’
‘You tempt me, Ravi. More than I wish to be tempted.’ She shook her head wryly and grinned. ‘The worst part is that I know I can trust you, and that’s the most tempting thing of all.’
His hips shifted involuntarily pressing his erection harder against her. Her words pushed his control to its limit.
‘I want to pick you up. I’d carry you to that day bed over there,’ he said. His eyelids were heavy and his breath shallow as he articulated his desire.
‘And then what?’
‘You’d expect me to unbutton your gown, to kiss your throat, to explore down to your breasts, to hold the soft weight of them. But you wouldn’t be satisfied with the expected, so instead, I would take off your boots. I’d rub your feet—’
‘Oh God.’ She melted against him. ‘That makes my feet tingle.’
‘I’d massage your ankles, slowly working up your legs. I’d kiss behind your knees.’ Her mouth parted, those soft lips open.
‘And then?’
‘Is the skin on your thighs as soft as the skin behind your ear?’ He brushed his thumb there and she purred. ‘Are you wet now, between your legs in that secret place?’
‘Yes. Oh. Ravi.’ Holy hell. This was the hottest sex he hadn’t had. They stood in full contact with too many clothes between them, without skin against skin, and yet the way she responded to his words was bound to have him spill in his clothes any moment. She looked at him with such awe, and anticipation for him, that he had to continue. Had to push the edges of his control. For her. He kissed her earlobe, drank in the shiver that skittered across her skin.
‘I’d kiss you there. In your secret place. Until your pleasure broke all over me,’ he whispered in her ear, his tongue caressing her skin. Her head dropped back, her hands clutched at his clothes, and she moaned his name as an orgasm overtook her. In this moment, he knew that this was just the start of it, if he actually touched her, her intensity would be stronger. Her body shuddered against his, trembled in the aftermath. She sagged against him, the perfect weight in his arms. He carried her to the day bed.
‘Don’t go.’ Her throaty voice called to him. He didn’t want to leave, what person in their right mind would leave now?
‘I have to, otherwise I’ll do all those things I said.’ He forced his arms to let her go, pressed one final kiss to her forehead, and walked reluctantly away. Away to a quiet room where he could take himself in his good hand and relieve his need.