Page 74 of The Trouble with True Love

He moved at once, rolling away and sliding off the desk. “I’ve got to go.”

Even as he said it, he was aware of all the times he’d said those exact same words to women before, of all the times he’d rushed to dress and raced for the door. This time, his reasons for dashing off were totally different—rather the opposite, in fact. The irony of that was not lost on him.

“It’s terribly late,” he felt it necessary to point out as he reached for his jacket and slipped it on. “And you need sleep. Try to get some, all right?”

“You, too.”

He laughed, a caustic sound in the quiet room.

“You always laugh at things I say when I’m not trying to be funny,” she accused, sitting up.

“Sorry,” he said and bent to retrieve his hat from where it had been pushed off the desk, a move that exacerbated the pain of his unrequited lust. “But somehow, I doubt I’ll sleep much tonight.”

He retrieved his cufflinks and turned away without looking at her. “Good night, Clara.”

He could feel her gaze on his back as he departed, but he kept walking, vanishing from view into the corridor. As he traversed the short distance from her office to the outer one of the newspaper, he realized he hadn’t even kissed her good-night.

He stopped. Any woman deserved at least that much, Clara especially.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t go back, not even to offer her such a simple consideration. Anarchy was inside him, and if he went back, her virtue would be utterly lost before any good-night kiss.

“Lock the door after I’m gone,” he called back over his shoulder, “and from now on, if you’re going to work late, then keep it locked. If you don’t, any scoundrel could walk in. God knows, I’m living proof.”

With that, he left the newspaper office, but even then, he did not depart. Instead, he crossed Belford Row, where he paused in the doorway of a darkened building and waited in the shadows, watching the windows across the street. With his body in agony, it seemed an eternity before she came into view, a lamp in her hand, but it was only after he had seen her lock the door and draw the blinds that Rex turned away and started up the street to find a taxi.

Chapter 16

It must have been the champagne.

Clara didn’t know how else to account for what had just happened. The passionate kiss she and Rex had shared in the drawing room upstairs had been sweet and exciting and so, so lovely, but that kiss was not anything like what he had had done to her tonight. His searing touch, her own rising tension and hungry, aching need, and then... waves of pleasure, shattering her again and again, like nothing she had ever felt before, or could ever have even imagined. It had all been wickedly shameful, and yet, she’d felt no shame. Even her usual shyness had been burned away by his hot caresses, and long after he was gone, she couldn’t summon so much as a speck of maidenly modesty.

No, the only thing she felt was a euphoric happiness that didn’t disperse even after she’d disposed of the empty champagne bottle in the rubbish bin out back and washed the glasses and returned them to the china cupboard. As she went upstairs, undressed, and got into bed, she felt gloriously wide-awake, and she was sure she wouldn’t sleep a wink.

In that, however, she was wrong, for she fell asleep almost at once, and when she woke the next morning, her theory about the champagne seemed the most logical explanation for her wanton behavior the night before. And whenever she thought of Rex’s scorching caress, euphoric joy rose inside her like champagne bubbles, a fact that made her meeting with Mr. Shaw even more difficult. Every time she presented one of Rex’s drawings, she was reminded of what had occurred, and though she did her best to present a brisk and businesslike demeanor, an occasional euphoric giggle did slip into her presentation.

Still, old Mr. Shaw was favorably impressed by what she had to say, and by Hazel’s plan and Rex’s sketches, so much so that the old devil not only approved the entire advertising plan, but also commissioned an additional series of advertisements for the new cold remedy that would run throughout the winter. This happy conclusion filled Clara with a sense of triumph and satisfaction she’d never experienced before, and for the first time, she truly appreciated just why Irene had been so passionately involved with the newspaper.

Clara had no opportunity to tell Rex about today’s success, however, or thank him for the enormous part his drawing talents had played in achieving it, for that afternoon, she learned that he had left town, a piece of news that turned her bubbly euphoria as flat as day-old champagne.

The bearers of this information were Hetty and Lady Petunia, who came to call on her at the newspaper office, and though Clara tried not to show any feelings about his departure one way or the other, she knew at once she hadn’t quite succeeded.

“There, Auntie Pet,” Hetty said only seconds after imparting the news, “I told you she’d be as disappointed about this as we are.”

“You are mistaken,” Clara rushed to reply, working to wipe any trace of emotion off her face, even as she wondered if last night’s episode had driven him away. “I’m not disappointed.”

That was not only a flagrant lie, it was also a rude thing to say. “Forgive me,” she added at once, grimacing. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. It’s only that I’ve been so hard at work, you see. We lost our editor, and then our advertising artist had to go to nurse a sick relative, and of course, with my sister away on honeymoon—” She stopped, appreciating that she was rambling. “It’s just that I shan’t have much time to see anyone for the time being, and it does no good to be disappointed about it.”

“But Rex going away is a disappointment?” Hetty asked. “Oh, Clara, do say it is! You must like him, at least a little.”

Thankfully, Lady Petunia intervened before Clara could reply. “Henrietta, that will be enough. You mustn’t press Clara and invade her privacy this way.”

“Sorry,” Hetty said at once. “Forgive me.”

“Not at all,” Clara replied, striving for something innocuous to say. “And yes, I do like your cousin. We have become friends, you see.” Even as she spoke, she thought of last night, of how she’d leaned down and kissed him, and of the sensations his caress had evoked in her, and she feared she was beginning to like Rex in a way that had nothing to do with friendship.

“Friends, hmm?”

Hetty’s amused, teasing voice lurched her out of her contemplations, and Clara realized something in her face must have given her away.

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