Settled into her blood, her bones. She turned to watch him approach, his footfalls oddly silent on the marble floor. He stopped before her, his dark gaze intent.
“I beg your pardon?” Clara said.
“In music, counterpoint involves independent melodic lines that harmonize when played together,” Sebastian explained. “As in our situation, we can now give each other what we desire.”
Clara’s shoulders tensed, even as the word desire rippled through her.
“Have…” She swallowed to moisten her dry lips. “Have you considered all the implications of marriage to me?”
“I have, indeed. And you know my expectations?”
Clara’s breath burned her throat. She knew the expectations. She’d known of them since the idea of marriage had first occurred to her. She knew, because Sebastian Hall was not the type of man who would accept a platonic marriage, even one based on calculated ends.
She knew because thoughts of these expectations had seared her mind as she lay in bed at night, the thin sheets twisting around her legs, her body pulsing with restless palpitations she could not comprehend.
She told herself again she could do it. She could agree because Sebastian was a good man who would fulfill his part of the agreement. All she needed to do was give him copies of the plans. All she needed to do was take her vows and prove a loyal, good wife.
All she needed to do was share his bed.
A hot flush flooded her cheeks. She turned away to collect her composure.
Really, it wasn’t as if she hadn’t known a man before. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know what to expect. If Sebastian Hall was anything like Richard, he would climb beneath the coverlet, push her nightdress up to her hips, then have the whole business over and done with in a scant few minutes.
All she needed to do was lie there and wait for him to finish.
So why was apprehension swirling through her belly at the mere idea? Why could she not erase the image of Sebastian from her mind—him looming above her in the dark, the weight of his body heavy atop hers, his long-fingered hands brushing her bare skin as he slid her gown over her thighs…
Oh, God. Clara closed her eyes. She could not fathom the source of such imaginings. What on earth would the man think if he knew about them? If he knew how her body reacted to such thoughts of him?
“It distresses you so much, does it?” He was directly behind her, his voice a deep rumble spilling like warm water over her skin. “The idea of being my wife in all capacities?”
“No.” The word had a bit of force behind it, to Clara’s relief. She did not want Sebastian to think she wavered in her determination. She turned to face him, her pulse hammering. Unable to bring herself to look into his eyes, she stared at his mouth.
A mistake. His beautiful mouth—the shape of his upper lip marked by a slight indent, the smooth curve of his lower lip with the shadowy notch hiding beneath it like a secret—made untold longings spiral through her blood.
God in heaven. Did she want to marry him for more than the need to sell Wakefield House?
She lifted her head and found him watching her, intent but wary, as if he knew a false move would send her scurrying off. She looked away and gathered her resolve.
“I will be your wife in all capacities, Sebastian,” she said.
“You don’t even sound appalled at the prospect.”
“Should I be?”
“Not to my knowledge.” He stepped into the space between them and slid his hand beneath her chin, turning her face to him. “You needn’t be frightened of me, Clara. I will uphold my part of the agreement, but I will not marry for practical reasons alone. I will not tolerate a marriage in name only. We will be husband and wife both in public and in private.”
A tremble rippled through her. “I understand.”
His hand dropped away from her, and he stepped back. A faint consternation flickered across his features, as if he didn’t quite know what to make of her response. “I shall make the arrangements. We will be married next week.”
Chapter Seven
Ladies and gentlemen.” Lady Rossmore climbed the steps to the stage of the Hanover Square ballroom and clapped her hands, raising her voice above the din. “May I have your attention, please? I welcome you all and would like to begin a demonstration of an automaton created by the esteemed inventor Mr. Granville Blake.”