Читать книгу Date with a Regency Rake: The Wicked Lord Rasenby / The Rake's Rebellious Lady - Anne Herries, Anne Herries - Страница 11

What on earth had she done? Clarrie wondered. Broken all her resolutions, and some she hadn’t even thought she’d need to make, for a start. Betrayed by her own body, tricked by her own desires, she had placed herself in a position of real peril. She had thrown herself—quite literally—at this man, when only moments before she had been terrified of abduction, and protesting her innocence. Clarissa turned to look bleakly out of the window. How stupid her plans had been. How poorly she understood her own true nature. A few hours in his company, and here she was launching herself at Kit like one possessed. If she persisted in such brazen behaviour, he would tire of her far too quickly and return to his pursuit of Amelia, and then she’d have sacrificed herself for nothing.

Leaning her hot cheeks against the cool of the glass, Clarissa realised that her scathing denunciations of romantic heroines had been naïve in the extreme. Here she was with a notorious rake, and succumbing to his charms—nay, hurling herself wholeheartedly at them— with nary a thought for the consequences. Stupid, stupid Clarissa!

As if that wasn’t enough, she had walked with eyes wide open into this impossible situation. A situation, she was forced to acknowledge, of her own making. She had asked for an adventure. It was natural to assume that adventures involved surprise, and foolish of her to suppose that one so impetuous as Kit would do anything other than rise immediately to her challenge.

What on earth was she going to do? Return home and forget her plan? Clarissa had no doubt that Kit would take her back if she wished. He might be a rake, but he was an honest one, she was sure of it. He said he would not abduct her against her will and she believed him. But to return home was to put an end to everything. She would have failed in her attempts to save Amelia. And she would never see Kit again. Never. At the thought, a huge chasm seemed to open at her feet. Never share a joke with him. Never test her wit against his. Never see that smile, so rarely given, of genuine amusement, which lit up his face, changing him from devilish to absurdly, overwhelmingly handsome. Never taste his lips on hers. Never feel his hard body pressed against hers.

Reminding herself that she had no intention of succumbing to more intimate advances did not prevent Clarrie from craving more of the forbidden fruit she had already tasted. Surely a few more kisses would be no compromise? Surely a few more hours, a few more days in his company, would satisfy her, and suffice to save her sister? Suffice to subdue this fire. Surely a better acquaintance with Kit would cure her of this irrational infatuation? A surfeit of his presence would ensure she saw him in a more rational light, and would have the happy consequence of doing Amelia good too.

Lost in her thoughts, Clarissa stared unseeingly out of the window. Kit watched, judging it best to give her this time to adjust her thinking, refusing to attempt further persuasion. She would come, of that he was certain. She would accede to his terms. He had neither the desire nor the need for an abduction. She would come. He was sure of it.

Checking his watch, he tugged the bell by the fireplace, summoning the landlady. ‘We will dine in twenty minutes. You’ll oblige me by bringing some writing materials immediately, and some brandy too.’ The woman curtsied and left.

‘Dine?’ The words startled Clarissa from her musings.

‘Yes. I know it’s early, but we have a long journey ahead of us. If you’re not hungry now, you should be. And I’m ravenous.’

‘But we can’t be much more than an hour from town. I’d rather wait if you don’t mind, Kit.’

‘We’re not going back to London. I had credited you with more wit than that, Clarissa. You demanded an adventure, but you also demanded secrecy you may recall. You may not be particularly well known in town, but I am. How can we conduct any sort of private liaison with the eyes of the world upon us?’

‘Yes, I suppose—that is, I had not thought …’

‘You had not thought? I find that difficult to believe. Well, you can think now. We are not going back to London unless it is to abandon all. And if we are to continue, we must dine. So Clarissa, for the last time, do you wish to continue?’ He was growing weary of her prevaricating. Had she not been so very tempting, he would have readied them both for the journey home with no regrets. But he was finding her inordinately tempting.

And he wanted, more than he realised, for their liaison to continue. ‘Well?’

It was yes. It had to be yes, she knew that. But some instinct for self-preservation made her stall. ‘What about Mama? I can’t just disappear. She’ll be beside herself with worry.’ Actually, Mama would probably indulge in a fit of the vapours, then simply assume Clarissa had forgotten to inform her of a visit to Aunt Constance, but that was neither here nor there.

‘You can write her a note. You forget, I am already familiar with your ability to deceive. How else did you manage to escape your mama’s tender care for two evenings in a row, and on your own? I am sure you can think of something to allay her fears.’

‘Yes, but why the need for haste? I don’t understand, Kit, why could you not have informed me in advance of your arrangements, then I could have been prepared, packed a bag, told Mama some tale. Surely there was no need for such a rush?’

‘Where would be the adventure then? You wanted a surprise, something memorable—you were most specific. Isn’t the unexpected part of the thrill?’ Kit had been sitting by the fire, watching her from a distance, but now he moved to stand beside her at the window. His voice became huskier as he looked at the small, defiant, and strangely alluring woman at his side. ‘The kisses you bestowed so willingly a few moments ago, my lovely Clarissa, simply confirmed what I already knew. I wish to have the preliminaries of our liaison over as soon as possible in order to enjoy the fruits of my labour more quickly. Your charms, as I am sure you are perfectly well aware, are considerable, and I wish to wait no longer than necessary to sample them more fully. I was persuaded by our kiss last night you know, although your reminder was very pleasant—I thank you.’ A brief, ironic bow accompanied this last remark.

‘I’m sorry, I hadn’t meant to—I don’t know what came over me.’

‘No? Well, whatever it was, I’m grateful. But it might be best to save it until a more convenient time. You won’t have to wait long, Clarissa, never fear. Nor will there be any gainsaying me when it happens. Once I have fulfilled my part of the bargain, I won’t let you renege on yours.’

The glint in his eye was uncompromising. She had known it from the start, he was not a man to cross. Yet she had tried to ensnare him. He had pulled the ground from beneath her feet, but still she fought to recover it, as a general rallies his troops even at the eleventh hour. ‘You are premature, my lord. I won’t go back on my promise, but I must remind you that you have an obligation to fulfil first. My adventure, lest you need reminding.’

‘Strangely, Clarissa, I need no reminding at all. Your adventure has already started. Had you not realised?’

‘I had not mere abduction in mind, and well you know it. I particularly remember, for ‘twas but last night, that we said it should be fun. Lest it has escaped your notice, this is not fun for me, and I am not enjoying myself. So you must try harder, sir, or you will have failed.’

‘This is no mere abduction madam, I assure you. No matter what you may think of my morals, or lack of them, I pride myself on my finesse, as you will find out when the time comes for me to bed you. No, this is but the preliminary to the fun you are so intent on receiving.’

He was angry, frustrated at her refusal to give an inch, unused to being cross-questioned. It made him all the more determined that she would comply. With an effort, Kit bit down on his temper, deciding wisely that an explanation would be more likely to result in cooperation.

‘We drive tonight to the coast, and thence we board my yacht, the Sea Wolf. You seemed so interested in the plight of the French refugees that it seemed only fair to allow you to experience first hand the kind of daring rescue mission required to deliver them from the fate that surely awaits them. It is an illicit undertaking which I confess I am intimately familiar with.’

‘Why, Kit, I had no idea you were involved in such work when we discussed it last night. How exciting. And how very noble of you.’

‘Don’t be deluded, Clarissa, there is naught noble in my motives. ‘Tis a sport to me, is all, but I hope it will be an exciting adventure for you. Especially since we’ll be clapped in gaol if we’re caught. I trust you will find the experience fun enough. Now, you may write your note to your concerned mama to ensure you are not looked for. Then we must dine and be on our way.’

Silencing the words of protest forming on her lips with a swift, brutal kiss, Kit grasped Clarissa’s chin and looked straight into her troubled eyes. ‘I will brook no further discussion. Write your note and we shall dine. The innkeeper’s wife is famed for her table, we would not wish to disappoint her.’ A smile curled his sensuous mouth, but did not reach his eyes. ‘And you will need sustenance, my dear, if you are to make the most of your adventure.’

Clarissa vouchsafed no answer, but she sat obediently to write her note, consigning her worries about the future to the back of her mind. Her adventure was indeed about to begin. She might as well make the most of it, now that she was committed.

As Kit had promised, the landlady’s cooking was a delight, but the neat’s-tongue, the platter of delicate sole and the side-dish of artichokes sautéed in butter might as well have been cooked in ashes, for all Clarissa could taste. Conversation was desultory, both Kit and Clarissa being distracted by their own reflections.

Despite his earlier threats, Kit had no wish for an unwilling companion, and no taste for a resistant lover. Watchfully, he poured himself another glass of the excellent claret and waited for Clarissa to come to terms with the situation. She had been bested and she was not happy to have been forced to relinquish the reins, but she was yet determined on her course. She would go along with his scheme, he knew that, yet her real intentions were still unclear.

She was a puzzle, this beautiful woman before him, and one he wished to unravel. Her claims to virtue and the preposterous tale she spun him last night about wishing to enjoy herself before settling to the boredom of matrimony, Kit dismissed out of hand. She was no innocent, that was for sure. And if perchance there was some unsuspecting dotard waiting in the wings to wed her, he was sure she would continue in her scheming, wanton ways, whether she was married or no. Her plotting would come to light in the end, and he would deal with it then. For the present, he resolved simply to enjoy himself as much as possible.

Rather to his own surprise, Kit found himself reconciled to postponing their physical union for the present, content enough as he was with Clarissa’s company. She was challenging. Her habit of speaking without thinking, of never saying quite what he expected, even her frankness, all were a refreshing change. And she seemed to understand him too—her attack on his rakish reputation had so nearly reflected his own cynical view of himself as to make him wonder if she could somehow eavesdrop on his very thoughts.

To be plain, he wanted to know more of her. Once they were bedded, he doubted not, he would become bored. Putting Clarissa from him when their kiss got so out of hand, when she had rubbed so sinuously against the throbbing evidence of his desire as to almost overset him, had not been easy. But passion was enhanced by anticipation, so postponement there would be—for a day or so, at least. Pouring the last of the claret into his glass, Kit looked up to find Clarissa’s green eyes fixed on him with resolution. ‘Speak, fair Clarissa, I can see you are pregnant with words. I am, as they say, all ears.’

This was said with a lurking smile that she found reassuring, as he had intended. She was in no danger for the present. Returning the smile tremulously, Clarissa pushed aside her plate. ‘I take it, sir, that there is no point in my wasting time trying to persuade you to delay this undertaking?’

A shake of the head was her reply. Well, she had resigned herself to this. She knew she had taken a risk when setting out on this whole preposterous journey, and she had been foolish enough to ignore the warnings her Aunt Constance had delivered as to the perfidious nature of the man before her. Beguiled by his physical attractions, drawn on by her desire to know him better, Clarissa had fashioned her own fate. And now she would pay for it. But at least if Kit was aboard a boat sailing for France, he would not be in London waving his plentiful purse under her sister’s nose.

And, oh, she so much wanted to go! There, she had admitted it to her deepest soul. The Earl of Rasenby understood her desire for adventure very well. He could not, in fact, have selected a more enticing trip. To sail out to sea on his yacht, to be part of a rescue mission, perhaps to be chased by the customs men—it was so much like a romance she could not resist. And she would not, simply would not, behave like a simpering miss when faced with the challenge. If she must go—and she must, she must—then she would go with flags flying and battle colours held proudly aloft. Kit would not intimidate her. On the contrary, she would make sure to enjoy every minute of it.

Kit watched in amusement, reading Clarissa’s face fairly accurately, surprised and more than a little impressed at her courage in the face of adversity. He had thwarted her, but she would not submit easily to his will. ‘Well? Your eyes give your thoughts expression, but really I would rather have them spoke plain, lest there be any misunderstandings between us. Are you ready to commit to our adventure, Clarissa?’

An answering smile, tinged with something—fear? Again, he repressed the urge to reassure. She did not need it. He would play along with her only so far.

‘Yes. You give me no choice, Kit, but I will not pretend to go unwillingly when you are offering something that interests me so much. In fact, I’m already looking forward to it. How long shall we be gone?’

The question, almost casual, did not fool him. The lady was already planning her escape. ‘One night only, if the winds are with us—and they usually are. Two at most, I believe. Had you something of longer duration in mind?’

‘No, no, not at all.’ Short enough a time, but surely sufficient for things between Amelia and Edward to flower? Resolving to put Amelia and Edward and everything else aside for now, and to extract the most from the situation which would surely be the adventure of a lifetime, Clarissa gave Kit a direct and steady look. ‘You could not have picked anything more exciting for me, you know. I was not in jest last night when I told you that I find the idea of rescuing these poor émigrés completely enthralling. Since reading Mrs Wollstonecraft’s account of the revolution, their plight has moved me. I’ve never been to sea before, though—I hope I’m not taken poorly.’

He made no comment on her reference to the infamous and now dead Mrs Wollstonecraft, being unsurprised at her sympathies with that lady, but stored the information up with which to annoy her later. He enjoyed pitting his wits against Clarissa, so rare it was to find a woman with a brain worth testing. Sea sickness, however, had not occurred to him as a possible issue. Immediately it was brushed aside. ‘I am very sure, Clarissa, that if you decide not to be sick, then you will not be. I imagine there are few things—or people—you cannot subdue to your wishes.’

‘What a strange thing to say. If you knew more of me, you’d realise just how constrained and burdened with other people’s wishes my own life has been. I am not used to indulging myself, you know.’

‘Well, if I am your chosen indulgence then I am flattered. But be aware, Clarissa, that I am not an indulgence to be abused. Once and for all, I remind you of your promise. When we go forward from this inn, you are not just committed to a trip to France. You will pay for it with that delectable body of yours. And you will not pretend that the payment will be anything other than desired by us both. Are we understood?’

The urge to tell the truth passed fleetingly across her mind, followed quickly by the urge to admit that she would be delighted to pay with her body. Both urges were suppressed. There could be no question of it, and she would deal with denying him later. But the lie that her tremulous agreement required sat heavy on her conscience.

Kit noticed, but ignored it. Time was against them. Checking his pocket watch, he rang the bell and demanded the bill. Clarissa, clad once more in her less than adequate spencer and gloves, was ushered out through the passageway and into a closed carriage. A hot brick was placed at her feet, and a fur rug tucked around her legs.

‘I will ride alongside. There are not usually highwaymen on this stretch of road, but I prefer not to take the chance. Try to sleep for a while, we have a journey of some hours ahead of us.’

‘Kit?’

‘Yes?’ The terse voice was intimidating. He was impatient to be off.

‘I trust you.’

‘What am I to take from that?’

‘To keep me safe. To share the experience with me—properly, I mean, don’t just bury me below decks. To leave me unmolested for the while. I trust you.’

‘Then you are a fool. Rakes, my purported innocent, are never to be trusted. But I will allow you to be right, just this once. You may trust me thus far. But no more.’

‘Yes, but you will keep me safe. For now.’

Leaning back into the warmth of the carriage, Clarissa was unaware of the anger she had aroused in Kit. And confusion. The urge to tell her he would keep her safe always had been unaccountably strong. Once more, Kit’s instincts warred with his mind, as he told himself she was merely a very clever actress playing him like a professional. ‘For now’, however, was the only reply he vouchsafed.

The door of the chaise was banged shut. The ostlers let go of the horses, and the carriage leapt forward into the dark of the falling night, the tall man astride his powerful black stallion riding alongside. Clarissa was left to her own reflections, but the long day and her lack of sleep the previous night took their toll. Exhausted, the gentle rocking motion of the carriage soothed her and, to her surprise, Clarissa drifted into a sound sleep.

The carriage was stationary when she woke, and she could smell the salty tang of the sea air. Rubbing her eyes and casting off the rug, she descended to a scene of ordered but frenetic activity. They were at a small quayside. The boathouse, doors open and an oil lamp blazing inside, was waiting to shelter their carriage. There was a stable at the back for the horses, but no other sign of buildings, and the track they had come ran through deserted marshland.

On the quay she could see Kit, wrapped in an enormous black greatcoat, barking out orders to two men, one on the deck of the sleek yacht, and one beside him on the jetty. It was a cloudless night, and the stars were bright, much brighter than they ever were in London, where lights dimmed them to a soft glow. Here in the middle of nowhere they glared like so many burning braziers lighting up the heavens.

Shivering in the cold wind, Clarissa picked her way carefully down the jetty, avoiding the coils of rope and boxes of supplies stacked ready to be taken on board. Calling out a final instruction to the man on deck, Kit came towards her smiling, his eyes shining with anticipation as he trod with cat-like grace on the boards. He was obviously in his element here.

‘Take care not to trip on those nets. When we’re not out on these night runs, John and I—that’s my captain, on the deck there—take the Sea Wolf out on fishing expeditions. You’d be surprised at what we catch. And, of course, fishing provides an excellent cover, should we meet a customs cutter. Are you rested?’

Shivering now, for the cold was biting, Clarrie looked up into Kit’s face, her own eyes reflecting his gleaming anticipation. ‘Yes, thank you, I slept almost the whole journey. Please, will you show me around? And tell me everything? I want to make the most of this trip, for it’s unlikely I’ll ever get the chance of another. Tell me about your yacht.’

Laying a small gloved hand on his arm and making to urge him forward, she was treated to one of Kit’s rare, genuine smiles. ‘Very well. But wait here for a moment. You are ill equipped for the cold; I have a cloak in the boat house.’ Returning quickly, he fastened the enveloping wool around her throat. ‘There, that should keep out the chill, although you must take great care not to trip on it, especially when we’re on board. I would hate to lose you to the sea!’

Laughing as the wind whipped her hair from under her bonnet, she snuggled the soft folds around her and turned back towards the gangway. ‘Since I can’t swim I would be lost indeed, and you would lose out on your payment. Even I am not such a prize as to risk a wetting in a rescue attempt.’

‘I’m beginning to think that you’re more of a prize than I realised. But rest assured I wouldn’t get wet myself. I would send John in. Or more likely I’d pull you back with the boat hook I use to haul less alluring catch on board.’

‘Well, I’m flattered indeed to be held more attractive than a fish, my lord,’ Clarrie said with a grin, but her words were lost in the sudden gust of wind that swept in from the sea.

‘Tide’s on the turn, Master Kit,’ John said, ‘we’d best be going.’

The Sea Wolf, riding high against the jetty, was straining at the ropes that held her. The constraining hawsers creaked. John was looking anxiously at Kit, keen to be away. He had a bad feeling about this trip, and it wasn’t just because of the close call with customs a few weeks ago. Someone was informing on them, he knew that. Bringing a woman on board, obviously one of Master Kit’s flighty pieces, was a new departure, and one he could well have done without. He didn’t hold with women on board unless absolutely necessary. They got in the way, to say nothing of bringing bad luck.

Standing at the foot of the gangway, Clarissa was shaken by a sudden attack of nerves, unable to move, one hand on the rail, but both feet still firmly on shore. Boarding this ship was madness. What was she thinking? The wind ripped across the bay, making the yacht pull, anxious to get away now that the anchor was up. The riggings creaked and moaned, and the gangway shifted, to Clarissa’s eyes, treacherously.

‘Last-minute qualms, brave Clarissa?’ Kit’s words were mocking.

The taunt was sufficient to urge her to action. With a defiant toss of her head and a silent prayer, Clarissa put first one foot, then the other on to the slippery walkway, and boarded the Sea Wolf. Feeling none too steady, for the deck rocked and swayed even though they were still berthed, she stood still for a moment, trying to find her balance. Aside from a curt nod, Captain John ignored her, making his resentment at her presence clear.

Carefully clutching the cloak around her, and taking care to avoid the plethora of ropes, boxes, and goodness knows what else that made the deck an obstacle course, Clarrie found her way to stand by Kit at the wheel. A distracted smile was all she received, for they were in the process of putting to sea. John was casting off, making the ropes safe, loosing the sails, and in an instant the yacht responded to her freedom and leapt towards the open sea, riding the waves effortlessly.

As they left the cove behind, tacking to catch the wind, the waves rose higher, the spray soaking their faces, the Sea Wolf tilting up, then down, in a rhythmic, lulling motion that filled Clarrie with a wild joy. Lifting her face to the wind, she looked up at the stars with a strange, exhilarated expression on her face. This was what freedom must feel like. Freedom from all the trammels of her mundane life. Freedom from her mama, from Amelia, even from her staid Aunt Constance. Freedom from her past and her depressing future. There was only here and now. This man. This open sea. These stars.

A gust of wind blowing directly over the starboard side jolted the yacht, and would have knocked her over but for an iron grip on her arm. Looking up to thank Kit, Clarissa caught an unguarded expression of pure, unadulterated lust on his face and blinked at the sheer force of it. She blinked again and it was gone, replaced by his usual sardonic expression.

‘You should go below. The crossing is likely to be fast but vicious, and I have to give my full attention to the Sea Wolf—I have not the time to be constantly making sure that you are safe.’ Nor the time to be constantly distracted by the wild joy on the beautiful face beside him, if truth were to be told.

Deflated by his cold words, Clarissa turned to hide the hurt on her face. She had expected to stay above decks in order to see and experience everything to the limit. Being confined below was not her idea of an adventure. But she was too sensible to argue, for she could quite see that the stormy conditions were likely to be taxing. Quelling an instinctive protest at the command, therefore, she bit her lip and turned obediently towards the stairs.

Her obvious disappointment was too much for Kit to bear. He felt like an ogre stealing sweets from a babe. He had been watching her face more closely than she had realised, gratified to see the look of unadulterated pleasure that suffused it when the yacht set sail. Gratified and aroused to perceive his own feeling of joy at the freedom of the open sea reflected there. And disturbed, too, for it was not an emotion he had expected to share with a woman. And now she was thwarted yet uncomplaining.

‘Clarissa.’

She turned at his call, a hopeful smile curling her full mouth, her skin bright with the sting of salt, her curls entrancingly dishevelled around her heart-shaped face.

‘Kit?’

‘Once we are settled in to the journey, I’ll hand over to John, and you can come back up on deck, then, if that is what you wish.’

She clapped her hands with excitement, leaving him in no doubt.

‘Contain yourself. If the weather worsens, you must stay below. Now go, before I change my mind.’ He turned from her as she made her way gingerly below decks, before he could call her back regardless of the danger. Having Clarissa by his side at the wheel felt just a bit too right for his own comfort. Some space between them was a sounder idea.

The spartan cabin was built on practical rather than luxurious lines, with few fixtures other than the bunks that doubled as seating. Not a place for seduction, that was for sure. In fact, Clarrie thought with wry humour, as the yacht rolled with the waves, they would like as not end up on the floor, even had they managed to cram two bodies on to the narrow bunk. Still, having nothing else to occupy her mind for the while, she gave some time over to imagining how such adversities could be got over. She had just concluded that with determination two people could overcome such difficulties as a narrow mattress on a heaving yacht, when the door opened and Kit entered, bringing with him a cold gust of air.

Blushingly thankful he was not privy to her thoughts, Clarissa stood rather hurriedly, her foot catching in an uneven board, and fell unceremoniously on to the opposite bunk. Lying sprawled there, presenting Kit with her deliciously rounded posterior, Clarrie managed a soft laugh at the indignity of the situation. Her attempts to scramble to her feet were hampered by the continued rocking of the boat, and her sense of humour finally got the better of her. She succumbed to laughter, and lay for a few moments helpless, face down on the bunk.

‘Kit, help me up, for goodness’ sake. Now I know you’re no gentleman, standing there and watching me.’ Another abortive attempt had her on all fours on the bunk.

‘You present such a very attractive picture that I’m loath to move, Clarissa. Your position may be uncomfortable, but I should tell you that it displays your curves very well.’ Extremely well, in truth. His body was reacting rather vigorously to the display. Had it not been for the circumstances …

Restraining an urge to lift her dress above the bottom so pertly presented and thrust himself into her sweetness there and then, Kit reminded himself that John was above decks, and they were in the middle of the English Channel in a storm. That there was a cargo awaiting them in Normandy. That there was likely to be an excise cutter waiting for them on their return. That Clarissa was a perfidious, scheming actress. That … None of it worked.

Like an automaton, he moved towards the tempting bundle sprawled in front of him and grasped her by the waist, pulling her rear into his hard body, noting her laughter change to a surprised gasp, and then a soft, accepting moan. Clarrie wriggled slightly against him, causing him to throb almost uncontrollably. His hands tightened on her waist to pull her close, and his breathing quickened, coming in harsh gasps in the confines of the cabin. Steadying his knees against the base of the bunk, he allowed one hand to trace the line from her tiny waist along the curve of her spine, and to cup one soft buttock through the wool of her dress, aware, from the soft panting of her breath, that she was as aroused as he. Bracing himself more securely, Kit moved to the hem of her dress, preparing to lift it up over her in order to grant him the access he craved. He met with no resistance.

The sea saved her. A violent movement that sent them both sprawling, as John called urgently for help. Kit was gone at once, leaving Clarrie alone again. Alone with her feelings—of despair at her easy submission, of anger at herself for her lack of resistance. But most of all, the one that really scared her, a feeling of deep frustration at the unconsummated act. Clarrie could fool herself no longer. When Kit decided to take her, there would be no question but that she would submit. No matter what the consequences.