Falling for the Marquess - Julianne MacLean Page 0,29

her!

She paced back and forth across the room, telling herself that she would not, under any circumstances, reply to this letter. That would be social suicide. She must break all contact with him, for it was clear he was exactly the kind of man she should avoid. The kind of man she had initially feared he was—a rake and a libertine. The kind of man who was very dangerous to her, for over the past week, she had discovered that she was not as strong as she thought she was. Where the gorgeous, tempting marquess was concerned, she was actually quite weak.

Clara squeezed her eyes shut and breathed deeply. She must concentrate on meeting the right sort. The kind of man she had hoped to meet when she’d steamed across the Atlantic dreaming of a proper future. She wanted a man who would be faithful to her. A man who would have the integrity not to stray outside of his marriage, because that’s what it took to be faithful. Honor and integrity. Everyone felt passion and temptation. Those with honor did not act upon it. The marquess seemed to act on every base impulse he felt.

Clara read the letter again. It was shocking. She lifted her chin and folded the paper and stuffed it deep into the back of one of her drawers.

No, that wasn’t a good place. Her maid might find it. She pulled it out and stuffed it under her mattress, then made a firm decision to thrust the Marquess of Rawdon out of her mind once and for all. For good. For eternity. She would not think of him again. No. She would forget him. He was not the man for her.

There. She went to her door and ventured out into the corridor to join Sophia for tea.

He was forgotten.

The next day she read the letter again. It had taken every ounce of self-control she possessed not to pull it out in the middle of the night and read it. Somehow, she had resisted that urge and congratulated herself in the morning.

It was almost noon now, however. She had not been able to get through even half the day.

I could not stop looking at your lips last night. I wanted to find another dark staircase.

Her toes curled inside her shoes. Something tingled in her nether regions. She should not have read it. It had been a foolish thing to do. She was weak, to have been seduced from clear across the city by ink and pen. Weak, weak, weak. He was an expert at lovemaking to be sure.

She should have known better. She should have burned his wicked words right after she’d read them. She should not be infecting her brain with them now.

She read the letter again.

What a scoundrel he was. Any ideas? he had asked. As if she would entertain such thoughts.

Heaven help her, she had quite a few.

But she would certainly not tell him what they were.

That night, by candlelight, Clara dipped her pen in the ink jar and paused above her stationery. How to begin, how to begin... It was necessary to inform the marquess that she was not interested in anything untoward, and that she would prefer it if he refrained from any insinuations in the future.

She looked at his handwriting again and felt a warm fluttering in her belly. This was his personal penmanship. The ink on this paper had come from his very own desk. His big, masculine hands had touched this paper not long ago. Perhaps he had blown gently on the ink to dry it.

Her belly quivered as she imagined all of that.

Clara shut her eyes and shook her head, forcing herself not to think about him sitting at his desk writing to her, or doing anything else for that matter. She had to focus on the task at hand.

If only she knew what to say. There was a part of her that did not want to end this. It was exciting and invigorating and flattering. He was a grand and beautiful man and he found her attractive. All her sexual instincts were telling her to encourage him and see where this might lead, but her head was telling her to be careful and prudent and not be foolish. She wanted so very badly to be virtuous.

Oh, dear. She was having a barrel of a time listening to the right voice.

Sighing deeply, hoping she was not doing anything too terribly risky, she lowered her pen to the page.