Page 55 of Betting on a Duke
“Yes,” she cried, feeling him deeper inside her than she everthought possible.
His hips moved fast. She tried to keep up, but her body was reaching that pinnacle. She felt it first, tingling in her breasts, then her lower belly as it traveled down to her core. Her legs began to tremble and weaken. The sounds of their heavy breathing, the bed squeaking, and their hips slapping hit her oddly, and she almost laughed. Except at the precise moment Samuel thrust inside her and stopped. His hands gripped her hips, holding her and keeping her from moving. He looked her in the eyes, and she couldn’t look away. Not when he looked at her with a raw intensity and animalistic need.
“Come with me,” he said as his eyes glazed over, his body bowed back, and he moaned and groaned. It was the most magnificent sight she’d ever seen. Samuel at his most vulnerable, surrendering himself to her, body and soul. It was then she realized the euphoria Samuel was experiencing was happening simultaneously with her own. She felt her insides pulsing around his manhood, witnessed darkness descend and stars shoot across the room. All while her body shook until her legs collapsed on the bed, her arms flung out to the side, and she inhaled shakily, trying to return to her body. Samuel collapsed beside her and pulled her close to the front of him. He kissed the back of her neck and sighed. “I think a little nap before dinner is warranted.”
“My sentiments exactly.” She shivered, and without a word, he pulled up the counterpane that somehow had been pushed to the foot of the bed.
He wrapped his arms tighter around her and lightly brushed his lips across the top of her head. “Sleep. We have time before we need to get ready for dinner.” Words she wanted to say stayed unsaid as she drifted into a deep sleep.
Pain like she had never experienced or expected tore through her belly. Her belly with her and Samuel’s baby inside. Her time had come, and she had two women attending her who hated her and did anything her husband told them. Mrs. Johnson, her dour-faced maid, and Mrs. Fitzhugh, the nasty housekeeper.They shared no words of encouragement each time the contractions overtook her. How many hours had she labored? If only a midwife had attended her, she would know if the labor was progressing normally or even what to expect. Clarice was so frightened. She thought she and the baby might be dying. How could the miracle of birth hurt so much? Sweat poured off her, soaking her nightgown, which made her shiver. Was she supposed to sweat and be cold?
She wanted her mother, which brought tears to her eyes and heaviness to her chest. Why couldn’t she have come to her? She knew why. Chesterfield didn’t want a scandal, nor did he want to acknowledge this child as his. So what was going to happen to her baby? Another wave of pain and a hard tightening of her belly came, and this time she felt the need to push; she could feel the baby coming. The hardest thing was staying quiet and not screaming out. It went against nature not to scream at such pain piercing one’s body, but she refused to make a sound and be called weak by Mrs. Johnson and Mrs. Fitzhugh.
“I see the head,” Mrs. Johnson said as she moved her head between Clarice’s legs. “Open those thighs wider, like you did for your lover, so your bastard can be born.” Anger flared through Clarice, so when the next contraction came and she felt the urge to push, she bore down hard and long until she experienced instant relief, and the cry of a baby reached her ears. At the sound of the crying, she tried to get up.
“Stay down, you stupid girl. The afterbirth needs to come out. Unless you would rather it stay in and kill you?”
“I want to see my baby.”
Mrs. Fitzhugh said, “Per Lord Chesterfield’s orders, you may not see nor hold the bastard.”
Out of the corner of Clarice’s eye, the housekeeper held the baby, and as she wrapped it up in a blanket, Clarice saw that it was a boy. Her heart soared. A boy. Samuel had a son. She gasped with surprise as something came out of her body. The afterbirth. “Please let me see him?” she begged, though she hated to do so.
“No,” Mrs. Fitzhugh snarled and exited the room, taking Clarice’s son with her.
“Come back! Come back, I want my son,” Clarice begged repeatedly until she had no voice left. She was alone in her chambers, in a bed that needed changing, wearing a blood-stained and wet night rail. The only light in the room came from the smoldering remains in the hearth. Clarice rolled onto her side, holding her stomach, and somehow managed to roll off the bed and land on her shaking legs. She shuffled across the room to the washstand, removed her night rail, and stuffed it between her legs when she felt a gush of blood. Using cool water, soap, and a piece of linen, she bathed herself as best she could.
In her wardrobe, she found strips of cloth, ones used for her monthly courses. She dressed in a clean, warm night rail and robe. She took the coverlet that had been removed from the bed so it wouldn’t get ruined and spread it out on the floor in front of the fireplace. She swayed from weakness but focused and managed to place several logs in the hearth before she collapsed on the floor, rolled herself up in the coverlet, and blackness descended.
“Come back!” she yelled as she abruptly sat up in bed, her body trembling and covered in sweat. She scanned her surroundings and was stunned by what she saw. She’d swear she was back at Chesterfield Manor in her old chambers, reliving the labor and delivery of her son.
“Clarice.” The bed dipped as Samuel, fully dressed, sat down and looked at her with concern. “You were dreaming, and from the sounds of it, it was a nightmare. Do you want to talk about it?”
“Did I say anything?” Dear God, she hoped not.
“Mostly moaning and groaning, and right before you woke up, you yelled, ‘Come back.’ If you’re not up to dinner with the baron and baroness, I can send our regrets and have our meals brought to the room.”
“No. I just need some time to get ready.” At that moment, she realized she was naked and exposed. She clutched the covers to her chest, which made Samuel smile. “It’s too late for modesty, my dear.There is no part of your body I haven’t seen or touched.”
She nudged him. “Stop it. Could you please bring my things over?”
“Already done,” he said, then his eyes shifted to the foot of the bed, where her gaze followed and settled on her clothing.
“Thank you.” It was one thing to be naked and in bed together, and quite another for him to be fully clothed while she was not. She reached for her chemise, pulled it over her head, tossed the covers aside, and stood as the fabric fell just below her knees. She tied up the laces while Samuel picked up her day dress and helped her into it. His hands adeptly laced up her back.
“Your stockings and boots are by the chair. I had the housekeeper bring a brush and some pins for you. They’re in the dressing room, where you’ll find a table and a mirror.”
“Thank you.” She moved to the chair, sat down, and pulled up her stockings to tie the ribbon around her thigh. Then she slipped on her boots and laced them. She entered the dressing room and sat at the table. She removed the remaining pins that hadn’t fallen out in bed from her hair and brushed it. Free of tangles, she gathered her hair and twisted it into a simple knot, securing it with several pins. With one last look in the mirror, she decided she was ready for an informal dinner. She covered her stomach with one hand as it tumbled around. Would the baron and baroness be able to guess what they were doing? Would they think less of her if they did? Oh dear, she hated all this uncertainty nagging at her. With luck, she and Samuel could be married by this time next week.
Except the memory of her dream troubled her. Was it her mind’s way of telling her she needed to confess everything to Samuel? Had the guilt of keeping it from him caused her nightmare? Tonight, after dinner, she would tell him. Taking a deep breath to gather her courage, she stood, smoothing out any creases in her dress as best as she could, and then walked out of the dressing room. The moment her eyes met Samuel’s, her entire body relaxed. Everything about himbrought her comfort when she needed it most.
His dark eyes swept over her. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
“Come.” He held out his hand. “The dinner bell just rang and I’m famished.”
They held hands all the way to the dining room, where the baron sat at the head of one side of the table, with the baroness on his left. Samuel waved off a footman and helped Clarice into her seat beside the baroness. Then he walked around the table and took a seat opposite her.
