Falling for the Marquess - Julianne MacLean Page 0,30

Then it came to her. She smiled and began to write.

My lord. You are very naughty.

Sincerely,

C.

The next morning, another letter bearing the marquess’s seal was brought by a footman to Clara’s boudoir, who picked it up off the silver salver and calmly thanked the young man. She set the letter on the corner of her desk and feigned disinterest until the footman left the room and closed the door behind him, upon which time she could not help herself. She snatched up the letter, rose to her feet and tore at the seal.

Miss Wilson,

I laughed out loud when I read your note. You are enchanting. Again, I implore you. Any ideas?

S.

Clara covered her mouth with her hand. She’d never felt like this before. What was it about this particular gentleman that brought out such overpowering impulses in her? She had not felt this way with Gordon. It had been naïveté and pressure from her parents that drove her to make mistakes with him, not this kind of blatant, hungry desire. She should not be communicating with this man in such a wicked fashion.

Clara stuffed the letter under her mattress with the last one and returned to her more respectable correspondence. That was impossible, however, with her mind where it was—frolicking in the house of sin, entertaining all sorts of lewd, indecent thoughts about a gorgeous, golden-haired marquess.

Ten minutes later, she realized she was still resting her chin on her hand, staring blankly at the wall. She felt inebriated.

Shaking her head at herself, Clara realized she could not possibly resist replying to his letter, depraved as it was. She pulled a blank sheet of stationery out of her desk drawer.

For a moment she sat there, tapping the clean end of her pen against her lips, wondering if it was possible for the marquess to ever be faithful to one woman. Perhaps he had simply not met the right lady yet. All boys grew up to become men eventually, didn’t they? Wasn’t it possible he could have arrived at that crossroads? She was his first debutante, after all, or so he claimed. Perhaps he was ready to change. Perhaps she could teach him about real love. Was she foolish to hold on to that hope? Probably.

Nevertheless, she dipped her pen in the inkwell and began to write, while forcing herself to be serious and scrupulous.

Lord Rawdon,

You must realize that this manner of correspondence is utterly inappropriate. I do not wish to continue this, as I have explained that I am not interested in any kind of immoral affair. If you wish to see me, please do so in a proper, respectable place, at which time I would be happy to converse with you.

C.

She congratulated herself on her most inspiring self-restraint.

Another reply arrived that very afternoon.

But I don’t wish to see you in a proper, respectable place. I wish to be quite alone with you, Miss Wilson, so that no one will witness my hand sliding up your dress.

S.

Clara gasped in shock. Of all the cheeky nerve! The audacity! What kind of wanton woman did he think she was? She would not be lured into sin simply because he suggested it in a note, no matter how clammy her palms were at the moment, or how loopy she felt at the thought.

Congratulating herself again for her impressive iron will in the face of such astounding provocation, she picked up her pen to reply:

My lord, your suggestions are appalling. Is it your intention to ruin me?

C.

Clara received the marquess’s reply the next morning. She had to admit, she was exceedingly curious about how he would respond to her blunt accusation. She tore open the letter and began to read:

My Dear Miss Wilson,

I apologize if I gave the impression that I wanted to ruin you. I have no desire for such an outcome. You have my word that I will do everything in my power to prevent it. I am discreet and I know how to give pleasure without destruction. You may trust me completely in that regard.

S.

Clara could not believe the marquess’s reply. He was still trying to seduce her after she had made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that she wished to remain respectable. Had he no shame?

The time had come to put an end to this. For real this time. She could not see him again.

She was about to write another reply and communicate her decision when a knock sounded at her door. A maid said, “Miss Wilson, the duchess requests