Rushed to the Altar by Jane Feather

large, square hall with a beautiful frescoed ceiling and ornately gilded molding. A magnificent horseshoe staircase rose from the rear to a galleried landing. “How is his lordship this morning?” He handed his hat, cane, and cloak to the retainer. “Is he receiving?”
    “He is always happy to receive you, Lord Blackwater.” The man laid his burdens on a highly polished settle and glanced curiously at the earl’s companion.
    Clarissa had instinctively drawn the shawl close around her shoulders as she’d stepped into the street but now Jasper twitched it out of her grasp and away from her body. “You won’t need this, it’s always too warm in the viscount’s apartments.” He handed the shawl to the retainer, who took it without a word, but with a surreptitious glance at the expanse of white skin its removal revealed.
    Clarissa felt as naked as if she had no clothes on at all but she resisted the urge to adjust the lace of the gown’sneckline to cover her nipples, telling herself firmly that she was in costume for a charade, no more, no less.
    “I’ll announce myself, Louis.” The earl moved towards the staircase, easing Clarissa in front of him with a hand on her arm. The warmth of his fingers penetrated the thin muslin of her elbow-length sleeves. “There’s no need to be nervous, Clarissa, I won’t leave you alone with him.”
    “I’m not,” she denied, realizing that in truth she was more curious about this devious, degenerate old man than nervous. Besides, he was a bedridden invalid; what harm could he do her?
    Jasper opened a set of double doors along the landing. They gave onto a thickly carpeted antechamber. Clarissa looked around, noticing the richness of the furnishings; the gold and silver ornaments, some elaborately carved; and the array of delicately painted porcelain figurines. “Is the viscount a collector?”
    Jasper glanced around the room. “He’s always been an acquisitive tyrant. Much of the treasure in this house, and particularly the gold and silver, he brought from India, and God alone knows whether it was honestly acquired. I would guess not, myself.” He crossed to another set of doors in the far wall and knocked once.
    “Stay in here until I call for you.” He opened the doors and stepped into the room beyond.
    Clarissa wandered around the antechamber examining the objets d’art. They were ornate and beautiful for the most part. A gold pedestal urn in particular caughther eye for the elaborate engravings that adorned it. She examined it closely and then jumped back with a startled gasp. Innocent though she may have been, she’d have to have lived in a silent order in a convent all her life not to recognize the obscenities depicted. The figures were engaged in multiple forms of carnal intercourse, each one connecting to the one in front. Fascinated now, she bent closer, turning the urn as she followed the progress of the figures around the pedestal. She was so absorbed she didn’t hear the door opening again.
    “Amusing, isn’t it? Hard to believe such positions are actually possible.”
    She stepped backwards guiltily, her cheeks flushed as if she’d been caught in some unsavory activity. The earl was standing so close behind her she stepped on his foot, her body coming up hard against his.
    “I beg your pardon . . . forgive me . . . I didn’t hear you,” she stammered, trying to move sideways away from him, but he put an arm around her, pinning her in place against him.
    “Don’t move, I’m enjoying this.” There was a chuckle in his voice and his breath was warm on the nape of her neck. His hands slid up from her waist, lightly cupping her breasts, his fingers moving over the dark red nipples above the lace.
    “
No,
please don’t,” she exclaimed, her body stiffening. “Let me go, my lord,
please.
We had an agreement.”
    “Did we? I don’t remember agreeing to anything more than putting the matter on hold for a while.”
    “So, you’d stoop to rape,