Her pulse jumped and her mouth was dry. Was this it?
‘Hello? What have I here?’ The words were slurred and ran into each other.
Before she had a chance to reply, he’d hiccoughed, pitched forward, grabbed her nightrail, and torn it on his downward slide. Then he’d collapsed into a semi-drunken stupor onto the bed and proceeded to snore and snort for the hours of darkness.
She’d wriggled out of the remains of her nightwear, and put it to one side. Sitting on rough edges and torn threads was less than comfortable. Clarissa pondered dark thoughts of retribution. That nightrail was – or had been – beautiful, and even if it was intended, so her godmama said, to be taken off, she was sure Godmama hadn’t meant quite in the manner it had happened.
The watch had called six o’clock before she fell into an uneasy sleep. It hadn’t been many hours later before she was wakened by his groping arm and his … his … She shuddered. His thing. If she hadn’t been quite so worried what he intended, she could have sniggered over the list of names suggested for it. Staff, rod, cock … When her hand touched it, it wriggled, and reared up like an excited horse. Almost as if it had a mind of its own. It was one thing admiring it from afar, but close at hand – and hand was the operative word – it was something else.
Sniggering over caricatures and lithographs of a naked man and his appendages was not the same as seeing and feeling them unexpectedly. Last evening she’d been ready to become his wife and to touch and play as he directed. Now, in the cold light of day, and after his behaviour of the night before, she was less enthusiastic.
Clarissa sighed and hunted for her hairbrush. Really, this marriage business was a nuisance. Her maid had been told to leave them until she was called, as had Ben’s valet. So now Clarissa had to hook herself into her dress and try to do something with mahogany-coloured corkscrew curls that had a mind of their own. And the dratted fringe. Whatever she did it looked like a twig brush. It wouldn’t grow out tidily, and she had learned to live with it. However, she’d seen the looks gentlemen had given it, and Ben had been no different. Astonished and amused summed their expressions up perfectly. After a cursory tug and brush she ignored it. It would do as it preferred whatever she did. Eventually, she tied her hair back in a loose chignon, and pulled on a plain day gown with laces down the front. With a glance and a grimace in the mirror, she left the room and returned to the bedchamber. Thence to stop suddenly. Ben was sprawled across the bed on his back, naked as the day he was born. He’d kicked the covers down to his ankles and not one part of his front was hidden from view.
Oh, what a view.
Clarissa gulped and stared at the thick staff that stood proudly up from his body, and waved hello. Now she was able to study it carefully, and unobserved, she was both fascinated and, in a strange way, repelled. That was supposed to fit into her? Oh, it had felt large when she’d grasped it earlier, but not that size, and in the moonlight she had decided her vision emphasised the size rather than diminished it. Now she realised her mistake. There was no chance that could be accommodated inside a woman. Someone surely had their facts wrong?
‘Do you like what you see?’ Her husband was awake and watching her through hooded eyes. ‘Shall I show you more?’
Her hands went to her warm cheeks. Now was a time she could have done with a fan, and not for coy or flirtatious purposes either. His eyes, although still cloudy, had a look in them, which her governess would have called devilry, and Clarissa decided was studied wickedness. If she didn’t stand up to him now, she never would.
‘Why?’ She feigned nonchalance, and thought she may well have succeeded. ‘You have shown me nothing so far to make me wish to see more.’
His eyes cleared and dark lights of fire flashed. Then his mouth firmed in a straight line. ‘Really? I must be slacking.’
She shrugged. ‘Perhaps fine wines and brandy have that effect on you, my lord. Make you slack. You sampled enough to discover whether my words are true or not.’ Clarissa ignored his snort of outrage and his muttered oath and swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. She wanted no more than to reach for the glass of water next to the bed. However, she knew enough about men to know Ben would see it as a sign of weakness, and pounce on it like a cat with a mouse.
To give herself time, and to rid the room of the noxious smell of stale alcohol, Clarissa walked over to the windows, pulled back the curtains, and pushed up the sash, thence to let warm, fresh air and sunshine fill the room. It was lucky this room overlooked a pleasant and tidy garden, filled with scented flowers and not the road, where the aromas would certainly not be fresh and sweet.
Ben groaned. ‘Woman, you are trying to kill me.’
‘Fresh air never killed anyone, my lord. And if you persist in smelling like a cast-off from a tavern, you’ll need the benefits. To put it bluntly, you stink worse than any privy.’ She dusted her hands together and after a brief, very brief glance down his body, stared at his face. Her words seemed to have little effect on his body. Clarissa willed herself not to blush.
‘I do, do I? My poor wife. How shall we remedy that?’ Ben jumped off the bed and stalked stiff-legged towards her.
Out of the corner of her eye she noticed his gait made his cock wave about as if in welcome to her.
‘Perhaps you could bathe me and show me what’s needed?’ His tone was challenging.
Clarissa dug her nails into her hands. He would not trifle with her, and she would not rise to his bait. ‘Perhaps?’ She shrugged insouciantly. ‘But why should I bother? You have nothing to interest me, and on past showing, I have nothing that interests you. Why waste time? You drink yourself into oblivion, and I … I? I will …’ She ran out of words as he continued to move closer until he stopped a few inches in front of her. One more step and his body would touch hers.
‘You will?’ he asked silkily.
‘Go and have breakfast.’
Damn him.
She left the room at a most indecorous speed. His mocking laughter followed her as she headed down the stairs. Why on earth had she acted in that way? Oh yes, he’d annoyed her, and in truth intrigued her. Because if what she’d read happened, did happen, well …
Hot chocolate and a light breakfast should calm her, surely? And get rid of the strange tingles and shudders that had run through her when she’d stared at her husband. First, though, she needed to walk. Clarissa turned away from her original destination, and made her way along a narrow corridor to where a door led into the larger than average town garden. At least Bennett House had one. So many great town houses didn’t enjoy such a thing. The screech of the bolt which secured the door, as she withdrew it from its casing, made her think few people ever ventured into this outdoor space, even though it was there. She made a mental note to ask Ben to have the lock and bolt oiled, and inform the servants that the garden was for everyone. After all, how often would it be used otherwise?
The thoughts brought her up short. A wifely task? What was she thinking? She had no desire to act as a wife – complaisant or otherwise – hated town and had no intention of spending a minute longer in the metropolis than she had to. The niggly thought that perhaps she would have no say in the matter, she ignored. As she did the one that sneakily told her she’d love to be his wife … his proper, no-holds-barred, forsaking-all-others – for both of them – wife. Clarissa wrenched open the door and walked out into the fresh air.
The scents that wafted up into the bedroom didn’t