Chapter Ten

One long, worry-filled week later, Clarissa accompanied Francis to the Covent Garden parish church. His employer, Reverend Randolph, an austere-looking elderly man, waited to marry them. The simple service, witnessed by the minister's wife and the church warden, took little time.

Before Clarissa could comprehend, she was a married woman, she was outside the church again and on her way to Guy's Inn for the most casual of wedding breakfasts.

Clarissa could barely believe she had secretly married a man…a curate…by license at St Paul's Church last evening. Not just any curate, but the masculine Reverend Francis Brody. The only man in the world she truly trusted. Her new best friend.

She felt dazed, but happy with the turn of events as she walked along the pavement, her hand through the crook of Francis's arm. The rough wool of his coat over his hard muscles beneath exuded a pleasant warmth.

As soon as their meals were set before them, she leaned forward to tell him her news. "The whole cast of the show will be leaving town for a week to give a special performance for one of the Royal Dukes at another gentleman's country estate. Our understudies will deliver the London performances in our absence."

Francis swallowed. "Congratulations. I'm sure the duke will be suitably impressed by your performance."

"Thank you. We depart in the morning."

Francis blinked in surprise at her. "You're leaving London tomorrow?"

She nodded and extended a hand to pat his. "And will return in a week. You won't have time to miss me." She winked and took up her knife and fork to attack her roast.

He briefly closed his eyes before leaning back in his seat. "That will give me time to find new accommodation for us."

She wrinkled her nose. She would miss Francis's comfortable bachelor rooms. "We cannot remain where we are?"

"It's for gentlemen tenants only." His face looked bleak.

She set down her cutlery. "I'm sorry to be the cause of your moving. Will you miss the place?" She squeezed his hand in sympathy, feeling guilty for causing such upheaval in his life.

His lips curved into a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Not at all. We'll be creating a new life together somewhere else."

"I look forward to that," she said. And to her surprise, she did.

Their meal finished, they walked home. She was keen to get out of the brisk breeze that blew from the Thames, and back to their cozy haven from reality.

Once there, Francis pulled her into his arms and kissed her cheek. "Good night, wife," he murmured. "Sleep well."

She rose on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "Good night, husband." Warmth filled her heart at their easy familiarity. Their marriage of convenience was going to be a success. They were good friends already.

Snug in her bed and the belief that their marriage was off to a good start. They could live together in harmony. Clarissa slipped into a deep sleep.

Next morning, Francis insisted on escorting her to the theatre in time to meet the hired carriages departing for Kent. They were just about to leave his rooms in their daily attempt to creep from his lodgings unnoticed. Her hand turned the doorknob and the door began to open.

Francis pushed it closed and pulled her into his arms. "Aren't you going to say goodbye to your husband?" he growled.

Clarissa laughed. "Of course." She set one hand on his shoulder, and stretched up to kiss his cheek as she had done last night.

He leaned down, his mouth on a path to kiss her in the same avuncular way as last night.

A sudden yearning, to know exactly how his mouth felt on hers, gripped her and urged her to tempt her saintly husband. She turned her head. His warm, full lips, which had fascinated her for days, landed directly on hers.

She gasped and pulled back. They were as tantalizing as she had imagined. Her eyes locked onto his and found them full of hope.

He tilted his head slightly to one side in enquiry.

Curiosity and excitement filled her. She swayed closer, enticing him to respond.

Then his mouth lowered to meet hers. One brush of his lips against hers. Two. Three. Tingles exploded across her mouth and she drew back with a sigh of wonder.

She sought his eyes again. They were dark pools of warmth, holding her gaze. Something pulsed between them and her body tensed.

Francis leaned down, his head inching towards hers. To kiss her again?

Her heart skipped a beat. Mesmerized by his eyes, eager for his touch, she moved to meet him.

His hands cupped her cheeks.

"Kiss me, Frank," she breathed.

Their lips met on a sigh. Like a homecoming. Her fingers threaded into the hair at his nape, delighting in its softness.

He deepened their kiss. She answered his questioning lips, returning the pressure. Her heart pounded against her ribs. His hands came to rest at her waist and drew her closer.

Their mouths opened in synchrony. Then his tongue greeted hers, and introduction over, furthered their acquaintance. Warmth flooded her body.

His embrace tightened and his muscular body engulfed her. She pressed closer, wanting more, until her sensitized breasts were flattened against his chest.

While their mouths performed their own mating dance, their hands explored each other's form. Frank's hands travelled lower and flexed on her buttocks, pulling her against his hardened member. Heat pooled at the apex of her legs. She moaned in response to the unfamiliar need.

Frank broke their kiss to trail his mouth down her neck, pushing aside her winter garments to access more skin. Eagerly she helped him. His hands were on her breasts, massaging them through her clothes. A spike of arousal arrowed low in her belly. She panted in want.

Suddenly, his urgent hands ceased their actions. Breathing hard, Francis leaned his forehead against hers. "I think we had better leave now or I won't let you go at all."

Stunned by the passion of their kiss, Clarissa nodded her head, incapable of speech. In a haze of sensation and fuzzy thoughts, she let him lead her to the theatre and insert her into the carriage in a forward-facing seat beside a window. She'd been so excited about her trip, but now, she suspected all the excitement she'd ever need lay in Francis's capable hands.

***

Submerged in her thoughts and emotions and sensations, the carriage rocked ferociously as it sped towards Kent.

If she had known a man's touch could create fireworks like that in her body, would she have kissed more of her admirers? Or was it only Frank Brody who could elicit such a response? She hummed at the recollection. She suspected it was only him.

The carriage lurched over another bump in the road and Clarissa clung to the leather strap beside her head for dear life. Around her, other members of the cast tried to sing, despite the rough road they travelled through the bleak winter countryside. Meanwhile, she tried to resolve her confusion.

As each milepost passed, Clarissa daydreamed about their future happy life in London, with her performing a new role while Francis continued with his parish duties. She envisaged late evenings spent together in front of a cozy fire.

But Francis had mentioned sometime in the last few weeks that his brother-in-law would appoint him to a living he held, after the present incumbent's retirement. She couldn't yet imagine herself doing good deeds amongst the poor anywhere.

She dismissed that idea entirely. She had a career to pursue and no time for a real marriage and a family. She had vowed to herself when Aunt Dora put her on the stage that, unlike her mother, she would put career before marriage and men.

And marriage with a man of the cloth had certainly not been in her plan!

The journey ended at an enormous country house built in the Palladian style. Clarissa left the vehicle, shaken by the carriage ride and by her thoughts.

But as the week progressed, her feelings for the Reverend Francis Brody only became clearer. The memory of him grew in her mind with each passing day—kind, generous, and irresistible—consuming her thoughts and tugging painfully in her chest. She woke every morning, aching for his gentle smile as he cooked her tea and toast.

She found herself wishing she could catch the woody-sweet scent of his cologne. She longed to hear his deep, clam voice, to feel his solid body beneath her hands and to feel the steady beat of his heart against her cheek.

By the end of her time away, she was anxious to see her Frank again. Although they were the epitome of the saying that opposites attract.

She was falling in love with a clergyman!

Ridiculous! She still could not see herself as a rector's wife, with her role confined to doing good deeds and raising their children. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Was a comprise possible?

If only there had been time for them to discuss this, but Francis had been engaged in church business most of the week and when he was with her, she wanted only to savor their precious time together.

A continuation of their current life in London—her acting and Francis working for the church—but with some way to express her intense feelings for him without jeopardizing her career. She wanted to propose this to him.

Surely this would be possible? Didn't some married actresses continue to perform? Mary Robinson had done so. Many more had not—like Mrs. Jordan, who had retired from the stage to live as the Duke of Clarence's common law wife.

One day in the far future when she had achieved her ambitions, could she see herself listening to his sermons, begging him to seduce her, and then bearing and raising his children? Her mind hurriedly skittered away from these thoughts. Maybe? But not yet.

Back in London, Clarissa hurried to Francis's rooms to wait for him, ready to tell him that she was falling in love with him. She paced the sitting room while she waited. He should be home by dusk.

Butterflies circled and plunged in her stomach. Had Francis been as pained by their time apart as she had? Would he want to set their marriage on a new footing as desperately as she did?