Love Is Blind

  Adrian stopped walking, his head whipping around, and anxiety claimed him. "What?" he asked, then said quickly, "Clarissa, Blanche means nothing to me. I have not seen her in ten years!"

  "Oh, that is all right, my lord. I am not saying this because of her. It is just... I know you proposed only because of our being caught that night. I do not want you to marry me only to prevent a scandal."

  "Do you not want to marry me?" Adrian asked, his voice harsher than he intended.

  "Oh, yes," Clarissa said, too quickly for it to be a prevarication, and he felt himself relax until she added, "But I would not choose my happiness over yours. I would rather suffer the scandal than--"

  Her words ended on a gasp of surprise as Adrian caught her arm and hustled her out of the busy gallery. He led her to the next door in the hallway,

  opened it, saw that there were people inside, and closed it abruptly to glance around. It seemed to him that he had to prove to her both that Blanche meant nothing and that he did indeed want to marry her, and not only to prevent a scandal. Certainly the events of that night had rushed things along faster than he'd expected, but Adrian was sure he would have asked for her hand eventually. He needed her to understand that, and knew of only one way to assure it. However, he needed privacy to do it as well.

  Adrian glanced up and down the hall, then pulled her to the next door, opened it, saw that room, too, was occupied, and moved to the next. When that room also turned out to be occupied, he glanced around with frustration and spotted the wardrobe. The hall was empty but wouldn't be for long, so he rushed her toward the wardrobe.

  "What are we doing?" Clarissa asked in confusion as he opened both doors and pushed the clothes inside out of the way to make a small space. Rather than answer, Adrian checked outside once more to be sure the hallway was empty, then stepped into the wardrobe, tugged her up with him, then pulled the doors closed.

  "Adrian?" Clarissa said uncertainly, but that was all she got out before his mouth covered hers. He kissed her with all the passion she stirred in him, all the passion stored up from days of watching her laugh, talk, walk, and smile.

  Obviously confused and startled, at first Clarissa

  was stiff in his arms, but then she released a little sigh

  and melted against him, her arms creeping around

  his neck.

  Adrian groaned as she began to make little mewling

  sounds of pleasure and stretched against him like a cat. Those sounds and movements had driven him wild each of the two previous times they'd kissed. The first time he'd been terribly aware of his mother just on the other side of the French doors, and that had given him the strength to end their kiss and send her in to return tot party.

  The second time had been in her room, and there had been no one on the other side of die door, nothing to force him to remain in control. Despite his protests at the time, Adrian had gladly gone wild and begun to do all the things he wanted to do to her ... and he would have done them if the fire hadn't interrupted. Now the two of them were in a wardrobe, and he was forced to maintain some control or risk making love to her up against the inner wall. Which was certainly not the best option for deflowering a virgin.

  Sadly, his body didn't seem to care. As Clarissa continued to sigh and mewl and stretch and rub against him like a cat, his body responded, growing hard and erect, and he found himself rubbing back. Adrian told himself that was all they could do, kiss and rub, but his hands didn't listen, and one moved down to catch her by the bottom, pressing her lower body closer against his, while his other hand found one breast and squeezed.

  "Oh, Adrian." Clarissa gasped, and Adrian was moved to break their kiss to let his lips travel to her throat as he slid one leg between hers in the narrow confines, settling her there so that she rode his thigh. It elicited another moan that made his erection surge in his breeches.

  Adrian suddenly wished to God they were already married. If they were, he'd take her home right now

  and . . . His mind suddenly went blank, his body stiffening as Clarissa's hand found his erection and investigated.

  "What is it you have in your breeches, my lord? It keeps poking me," she murmured breathlessly.

  All Adrian could get out was a small whimper. He wanted to beg her to touch him harder, to reach into his pants and take him in hand without cloth to hinder her. Another part, however, was aware that they were in a damned cupboard, and he wanted to plead with her to leave off touching him before he lost control. "How long until the wedding?" he asked. Clarissa paused, breathing heavily, and tried to work it out. A moment later she said, "A week, my lord." "Oh, God. So long," Adrian muttered. "Not so long; it just feels that way." Adrian stiffened. The comment had come from a third voice. For a brief moment, he thought someone was in the wardrobe with them, but then he realized that it had come from outside. It was dark in the cupboard and he couldn't see Clarissa, but Adrian had no doubt a look of abject horror had claimed her face. She had gone stiff against him.

  Adrian hesitated, then whispered, "That wasn't your father's voice, was it?"

  But before she could answer, the person on the other side of the cupboard chuckled. 'Yes."

  Cursing, Adrian disengaged himself from Clarissa as much as he could, straightened his shoulders, and opened the cupboard door. Stepping out, he half expected to find a glove slapping his face and to be offered swords or pistols at dawn; however, what he found was John Crambray leaning against the wall opposite, looking vastly amused.

  Adrian managed a chagrined smile. "Sorry," he muttered. "Clarissa thought I was marrying her only to save her from scandal, and I was trying to prove to her that I want her for herself, scandal be hanged."

  "Is that what you were doing?" Clarissa asked with surprise. She had followed him out of the wardrobe.

  Adrian opened his mouth to answer, then got a look at the state of her and quickly set to work trying to straighten her clothes before anyone saw. John Crambray immediately began to help, tending to the bits of hair Adrian had unintentionally pulled from the coiffure on top of her head.

  'Yes, that is what I was doing," he said as they worked. "Why else would you think I pulled you into the cupboard?"

  'To kiss me," Clarissa said simply, and Adrian blinked, glanced at John Crambray's amused face, then sighed.

  'Yes, Clarissa," he said. "But I kissed you to prove that I want you. To reassure you that this is not just some act of chivalry on my part."

  "Oh." She looked bemused and then asked, "Well, why did you not just say so, my lord?"

  "From the mouths of babes," John Crambray said with amusement. Then he explained, "Because men do not think like women, Clary. Women talk, but men do. It is why they use the term 'man of action.'"

  "Oh, I see," Clarissa said. But it didn't really sound like she did.

  Adrian sighed to himself and stepped back to peer at her. Her gown was straight, but her father appeared to be having some difficulty with her hair. It looked nothing at all like it had before the wardrobe.

  Lord Crambray peered at Clarissa's hair, frowned then glanced at Adrian. "Do you know how to fix this?" he asked.

  "No." Adrian grimaced. Brightening, he realized, "But my mother may. Wait here and I shall go and bring her back."

  John nodded, then turned to speak to Clarissa as Adrian hurried away. Adrian found his mother still seated with Lady Lydia and Mary, and he explained the problem to her in a whisper. She stood at once and headed out of the ballroom, but when Adrian turned to follow, Lydia murmured, "She shall have her spectacles again soon." Adrian froze and turned back. "Excuse me?" "I sent a message to Crambray to have her spare spectacles sent to us here in London. They should be here soon." She smiled. "Then she will be able to see properly and know just what she is marrying. Clarissa seems happy now. I wonder how happy she shall be en she can see properly."

  "She shall still be happy," Mary said firmly. Getting to her feet, she took Adrian's arm. "Come, let us join Clarissa and your mother." Adrian allow
ed his cousin to lead him out of the ballroom, his mind awhirl. Clarissa would have her spectacles soon and would be able to see him? He blanched with horror. She would see him.

  "Are you all right?" Mary asked as soon as they were out in the hall. 'You turned white when Lydia said Clarissa would have her spectacles back."

  Adrian didn't respond. He didn't know what to say. No he wasn't feeling all right. He felt sick, actually. But he couldn't tell Mary that.

  It seemed he didn't have to. His cousin squeezed his arm and said quietly, "Clarissa will love you just as you are, Adrian."

  He wanted to believe her--he really did--but pain and fear were clawing at his chest, and he asked, "Where's Reginald?"

  "I believe he went in to play cards with some of the men," Mary said. Curiously, she asked, "Why?"

  "I must speak with him," Adrian answered, and patted her hand. "Thank you, Mary. Now, there are Mother and Clarissa ahead. I shall find you again once I have spoken to Reg."

  Mary nodded absently. "But what happened to Clarissa's hair?"

  "It got a little messed up, and Mother is helping to fix it," Adrian explained. He frowned as he saw that Clarissa's hair actually looked worse now than it had before.

  "You thought your mother could help?" Mary asked with horror. She came to a grinding halt.

  Adrian frowned. 'Yes. She's a woman; she knows more about this than ... Why are you shaking your head?"

  "You must never let your mother near Clarissa's hair. She is hopeless with such things." Mary turned back toward the ballroom with a sigh. "I shall ask Lady Guernsey if her maid would be willing to help."

  Adrian watched her walk off, then glanced back at Clarissa and the others, frowning at the way his fiancee's hair was now piled high atop her head and leaning like the Tower of Pisa. There had been only a couple of wisps loose and in need of fixing when this had started. John had somehow managed to make it

  look a little worse, and now his mother had definitely made it even worse. He would take Mary's advice to heart and be sure not to enlist his mother's aid for such things in the future.

  Shaking his head, Adrian turned to make his way to the room where he knew the men and a few women were playing cards. He spotted Reginald at once. His cousin crowed as he approached, obviously having just won a round.

  "Reginald, I need to talk to you," Adrian said, moving behind his chair.

  "Go ahead," Reginald said, as he continued to rake in his winnings.

  "In private," Adrian murmured apologetically.

  "Can it not wait until I have finished this game?" Reg asked.

  Adrian hesitated and debated the matter. "No," he

  said finally.

  Reginald heaved a sigh and got to his feet. "Deal me

  of this hand. I shall be back directly." "Thank you," Adrian said as they moved across the room to talk.

  "Any time, cousin. Now, what is so important?" "Lydia sent for Clarissa's spare spectacles from home," Adrian said grimly. Reginald stared. "And . .. ?"

  Adrian frowned as he pointed out, "She will be able to see me."

  Reginald raised his eyebrows and repeated, "And...?"

  "Well, I cannot let that happen," he pointed out, "If she sees me, she--"

  "Adrian, think," Reginald interrupted. "She is going

  to see you eventually. You did not plan to carry on where Lydia left off and keep her blind indefinitely, did you?"

  "No, of course not, but--"

  "But what?" Reginald asked.

  "I need more time."

  "For what?"

  Adrian hesitated, then said, "Mayhap if she comes to love me before she sees me ..."

  Seeing the pity in his cousin's eyes, Adrian turned away. He swallowed hard, trying to remove the lump that had suddenly lodged itself in his throat. He was a grown man, but felt like a six-year-old threatened with losing his best friend.

  . "Adrian." Reginald placed one hand on his shoulder and eyed him solemnly as he turned. "First, your face is not as bad as you think. Second, I do not think Clarissa would care even if it were. And third, if she does, and if it affects her feelings for you, then 'tis best to know now, is it not?"

  Adrian's shoulders slumped with defeat. "Mayhap."

  "All will be well." Reginald patted his shoulder, and turned away. "Go enjoy her company. You are finally able to see her without elaborate plans and sneaking about, and now you're worrying about other things. Go kiss her senseless!"

  Adrian watched Reginald return to his game, then gave a sigh and walked out into the hall. His eyebrows rose as he saw that Clarissa, her father, and his mother were all missing. At first he assumed that meant that they had fixed her hair and returned to the party. Adrian decided to find her, but then he heard his mother's voice, followed by Clarissa's. Pausing, he peered up the hall. The door to the room right next to

  the wardrobe was open, and it hadn't been before. Moving up the hall, he peered inside. His eyes widened incredulously.

  "What on earth have you done to her?" he gasped, hurrying into the room. Catching Clarissa by the d, he pulled her out of the clutches of the two people who were in the process of utterly destroying her coiffure. "Is it as bad as it feels?" Clarissa asked unhappily, e hand moving over her hair.

  "No, of course it is not," Lady Mowbray said quickly; but she was biting her lip and couldn't seem to look at Clarissa without wincing. Adrian wasn't at all surprised. Her lovely hair had become a tangled mess, tucked and stacked and wrapped here there and where else. It bore absolutely no resemblance to style at all, but looked more like someone had dropped a bird's nest upside down on her head. He shook his head. "Mother--"

  not 'Mother' me, Adrian. I am not the one who messed it up in the first place. Dragging the poor girl into the wardrobe--a wardrobe, for heaven's sake--and messing it up?"

  an ground his teeth together, but merely said, "Where is Mary? She was going to ask Lady Guernsey if her maid would help with this."

  - she? Well, isn't she clever?" Lady Mowbray

  sounded impressed, but frowned. "But she has not

  come with a maid. Besides," she said with a defeated

  sigh "I doubt even a lady's maid could do much to reput this mess we've made. I fear Clarissa's hair needs a

  proper brushing out and redoing."

  "Hmm." John Crambray pursed his lips and said, "Well, 'tis growing late anyway. Perhaps you had best

  take Clarissa home in the carriage, son. Have my driver take you home afterward; then send him back for myself and Lydia."

  "Yes, of course." Adrian glanced at Clarissa, relieved when she didn't appear to be terribly upset at the turn of events.

  Adrian's mother and Clarissa's father saw them out. Lord Crambray then had a word with the driver before turning to lead Lady Mowbray back into the house.

  Chapter Ten

  "I am sorry," Clarissa murmured as the carriage began

  Adrian glanced at her with surprise. "For what?" That your evening had to end because of my hair." A small laugh burst from his lips. "That is nothing for you to apologize for. I messed it up in the first

  Clarissa nodded, apparently accepting that it was his

  fault. She didn't look upset, he noted, and she cleared

  her throat and asked, "Did you mean what you said?"

  "When?"

  "That you are not marrying me to avoid scandal, but

  actually wish to wed me."

  Adrian smiled faintly. Clarissa's face was all screwed

  up as she squinted and tried to see him. It was obvious

  his answer was important to her. 'Yes, I meant it."

  Clarissa bestowed a smile on him that was like sun-s

  shine after a hard rain. Adrian had to swallow or choke on the sudden lump in his throat.

  "I am glad, my lord. I wish to marry you too. It is not just the scandal for me either," she assured him solemnly.

  Adrian let slip a little sigh. She looked so beautiful and sweet and--

  "Are you goi
ng to kiss me again?"

  Adrian's thoughts scattered like leaves in a breeze. "What?"

  "I like it when you kiss me," Clarissa explained. "And I would not mind at all if you wished to kiss me again. So ... will you?"

  "No," he said abruptly.

  She looked hurt. "Why? Do you not want to--?"

  "Of course I want to," Adrian said dryly, and her hurt look disappeared.

  "Then why will you not kiss me?"

  Adrian frowned. "Most ladies would not ask such things."

  "I am not most ladies," Clarissa replied. "Besides, Father always said, 'Do you not ask, you will not know.' And I want to know. Why will you not kiss me if we both want you to?"

  Adrian scowled, but of course she couldn't see his scowl, so it didn't cow her in the least. Letting out an exasperated breath, he decided to tell her the truth. She'd asked for it, after all. Besides, it might encourage her to be more circumspect. "Because if I kiss you, I will want to touch you."

  "I like it when you touch me," Clarissa answered promptly.

  "But if I touch you," Adrian went on, "then I will want to make love to you."

  "I think I might like that, too."

  Adrian raised an eyebrow. 'You think?"

  "Well.. ." Clarissa hesitated and then asked, "Was what you did to me in my room the night of the fire lovemaking?"

  "No," Adrian answered, his voice harsh as he recalled the event. It seemed so long ago, and yet like only a moment. He could remember the taste of her, the way she'd moved beneath his seeking hands and mouth. God, he had an erection again just at the thought! He realized with disgust that he had no control around her at all.

  "It was not?" Clarissa said with a frown. "Then what was that?"

  "I... It..." Adrian scowled, at a loss for how to explain. "Yes, it was, sort of. But it was not. .." He paused and glared at her. "Has no one explained these things to you?"

  "No." Clarissa tilted her head and then shrugged. "Never mind, my lord. You need not speak of it if it makes you uncomfortable. I am sure Lydia will explain things to me the day of the wedding."

  Adrian blanched in horror. The woman would terrorize Clarissa with tales that would leave her a quivering mass of fear and anxiety; he was sure of it. He would have the devil of a time soothing and comforting her, and the whole night would be one long, awkward, fear-ridden trial. He could not let Lydia explain things to her. Someone else would have to do it.