Wilde Child EPB

by James, Eloisa

  His gaze went from hard to molten, and he rolled onto his back. “All yours.”

  Joan moved forward on all fours and stopped. “Thaddeus.”

  He instantly turned his head.

  “I really mean it about marrying you. I don’t care about being ruined. I don’t care if there’s a scandal. I believe that our marriage might be destroyed if your father carries out that campaign. It would cause an explosion, whether or not you won the law case, which I’m sure you would.”

  “I understand your point of view,” he said.

  They stared at each other mutely, a distant creak from a wooden floor and a loud cricket making themselves heard. She swallowed. “In that case?”

  His face had gentled, his eyes far too knowing. “I’m still yours.”

  Something had happened between them: some line crossed or breached, she wasn’t sure. By declaring herself—and she meant it—a new cord bound them together. They were closer, rather than farther apart.

  But just at the moment there was another world to discover. She edged closer and put a hand on his ribbed stomach. Just below his navel, his tool thumped against his skin again. “Out of your control,” she said, letting her fingers slide in that direction.

  “Generally speaking, yes,” he agreed.

  Obviously, there were nuances to the situation, ones she could learn later. She moved her fingers sideways, like a crab dancing.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  “That my fingers are crablike.” She glanced up; his eyes were surprised. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t very romantic, was it? Seductive, I mean.”

  Delight spread over his face. “It didn’t live up to all those pouts by which you ruled the ballroom, no.”

  Joan had forgotten that she wasn’t wearing clothing, but suddenly she was achingly aware of the weight of her own breasts. Her legs were tucked to the side, like a mermaid, but the pressure of her legs together made her private parts flare with heat. As if, having been introduced to the act, she . . .

  No, that was ridiculous. She could feel herself growing pink.

  “I’m going to assume that your thoughts have moved from animals to humankind,” Thaddeus said. He picked up her hand, hovering just above his belly button, and released it squarely on top of his cock, as Ophelia would have called it. Or rather, as Shakespeare apparently called it.

  Her hand closed greedily to see if what had felt thick and strong was—

  It was. He was. His gasp was the most delicious thing she’d ever heard.

  Joan discovered she was smiling.

  Had she claimed him before? Not like this. Here, this moment, with Thaddeus’s head flung back and his intent eyes closed in pleasure, all because her hand slid over satiny tender skin?

  Claiming.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The following evening, back in Lindow Castle, Joan asked her maid a precise series of questions about pregnancy. She knew the basics, of course.

  But nine months? Ten months? Time had a different rhythm at the moment because deep in her gut, in some knowing part of herself that she hadn’t been acquainted with before, she was certain she was with child.

  In nine or ten months, there would be a little girl or boy who needed married parents. She knew that much, if only because of her own childhood. The errant Duke of Eversley, Thaddeus’s father, needed to be taken in hand.

  Thaddeus was made to be a duke . . . it was his destiny, to be grandiose about it. The question of the dukedom had to be settled now. Lady Bumtrinket’s grim predictions floated through Joan’s head and she pushed them away. Thaddeus had to become the man he was meant to be, because if marriage to her lost him the dukedom, it might destroy their future.

  Joan descended the staircase in her favorite gown, silk dotted with exquisite hand-painted flowers. The bodice was very low, and trimmed with a pleated silk ruffle starched to frame her neck.

  Thaddeus waited for her at the bottom of the steps. He looked up at her expressionlessly, but the stillness of his face was no longer imperturbable to her. He would always be there, waiting for her.

  “Don’t look at me like that!” she exclaimed, reaching the bottom step.

  A smile reached his mouth, this time. “How so?”

  “As if you’ve seen me naked,” she whispered, so that the two footmen Prism had assigned to the entry wouldn’t hear her.

  Thaddeus shot them a look, and they melted back through the green baize door.

  “I have seen you naked,” he pointed out. “I would rather lose every memory I’ve ever had than the memory of last night.”

  Joan’s smile wobbled.

  Thaddeus’s sultry eyes were intent on hers. “I would give up every single memory, Joan. But not those that lie in our future.” He drew her against his body and tipped up her chin. “May I?” His voice was an erotic murmur.

  She nodded, and his mouth came down on hers. He took his time, lavishing her face with kisses so that by the time he breached her lips, she had her arms wound around his neck, and she was on her toes.

  When his tongue finally slipped between her lips, she whimpered, a small sound that died in the large entryway but burned between them. He hardened against her, and memories of the night before rushed through her head, making her shiver. “Me, also,” Joan whispered.

  Thaddeus pulled back, his eyes the dark blue of twilight and slightly dazed. “You what?” He sounded short of breath, and Joan let herself savor the triumph of it for a moment.

  “I wouldn’t ever want to forget last night,” she told him.

  They were kissing again, hot and fast. “I can’t get enough of you,” Thaddeus growled, tearing his mouth away.

  The baize door opened, and a footman diffidently reappeared, sidling along the wall.

  Thaddeus ignored him. “You won’t allow me to announce our betrothal?” His voice was achingly soft. “I haven’t yet asked your father for permission to marry you, but I believe he will not cavil.”

  “Absolutely not,” Joan replied. “No dukedom, no wife.” Then she kissed him again because she couldn’t stop herself.

  He took her arm and drew her toward the great doors to the drawing room. The footman sprang forward and pulled open the door; Prism, standing just inside, bowed.

  Thaddeus looked at her. “Truly, no?” He sounded surprised, nonplussed. Likely no one said no to him.

  “No,” Joan said, enjoying the moment.

  “Damn.”

  Prism announced them as they walked into the room.

  “We’re like an old married couple, speaking in one-word sentences,” Thaddeus murmured.

  “I will help you with your father,” Joan said. “I can help.”

  “I’d like to kiss you again,” Thaddeus remarked. “By way of thank you.”

  “Absolutely not!” Joan replied. “And I said it before: Don’t look at me like that!”

  She turned away, willing away a blush. For such a proper future duke, Thaddeus had remarkably suggestive eyes. More of her siblings had descended on the castle during the day. Her older brother North and his wife, Diana, were talking to Sir Reginald, and her parents were chatting with her adopted brother Parth and his wife, Lavinia.

  “There’s Jeremy,” Thaddeus said, a happy note in his voice, looking to the other side of the room where Lord Jeremy Roden, who was married to Joan’s older sister Betsy, was talking to Aunt Knowe.

  “You are an odd pair to be such close friends,” Joan said. “Jeremy is so grumpy—well, not when he’s with us, of course, but in general. I always feel as if he’s on the edge of an outburst. And you’re so calm.”

  “He is a good man,” Thaddeus said. “The best.”

  A half hour later, when everyone had been greeted, curtsies and hugs exchanged, Joan found herself on a sofa with Betsy. “Thaddeus, huh?” Betsy said, giving her a wicked smile.

  “He oughtn’t to marry me,” Joan said. Thaddeus was across the room talking to Jeremy. “Didn’t he once tell you that I was inelig
ible?”

  “He did. Several times.” Betsy chortled with laughter. “Obviously, he’s changed his mind.”

  “I won’t make a good duchess,” Joan said, smoothing her blue skirts. She wasn’t certain, though, and Betsy just smirked at her, amused and unbelieving. “A duchess oughtn’t to be illegitimate.”

  “You don’t care who your father is,” her sister pointed out. “You never have. If you don’t care, society won’t either.”

  “They have, and they do,” Joan retorted.

  “But you don’t care. Duchesses set the tone,” Betsy said. “I didn’t understand it myself, but now I do. It’s a person’s inner confidence that matters, Joan. No one can say that you weren’t raised to the role. Aunt Knowe made sure every one of us could run Lindow Castle.”

  Joan chewed her lip. “That’s true.”

  “I was invited to Eversley once but didn’t pay a visit. Have you?” Betsy asked.

  “The Duchess of Eversley,” Prism announced.

  Thaddeus’s mother paused in the doorway, looking somewhat stricken. Thaddeus was far down the room, so Joan said, “Excuse me, Betsy,” rose, and went to meet Her Grace, who was wearing a gown of changeable pink silk taffeta, with a pink-tinted wig.

  “Good evening, Your Grace,” Joan said, dropping into a deep curtsy.

  “Goodness me, I didn’t realize so many people were joining us,” the duchess said, looking uncertain.

  “Not people, only Wildes,” Joan corrected her. “You’re wearing an enchanting gown this evening.”

  “I thought I had a distinct resemblance to a rose beetle,” Her Grace confided.

  Joan laughed before she could stop herself. “I don’t see any beetlelike characteristics! Where is your hard shell?”

  “I am short and round,” the duchess said. “Rose-colored, obviously. I have antennae.” She gestured upward toward three ostrich feathers that had been painstakingly hand-painted in shades of pink.

  “Mother, I believe that rose beetles are colored a metallic green,” Thaddeus said, appearing at Joan’s shoulder. “They are named for the food they prefer, not for their appearance.”

  “Disappointing,” the duchess commented.

  “On the other hand, the elephant hawk-moth is England’s most common moth,” her son said. “Its coloring is distinctly pink to allow it to blend in with willow herb plants.”

  “Willow herb is a weed,” his mother said. “I don’t like to compare myself to an elephant. Round and small is acceptable; but an elephant’s girth is disheartening.”

  Percy the pig, who was a beautiful, distinct pink, came to mind, but Joan thought better of mentioning it, only to find the duchess looking at her and bursting into laughter.

  “We had the same thought, didn’t we, Lady Joan? My girth does remind me of that delightful piglet of yours. I visited Percy this afternoon, and was somewhat surprised to find him wearing a pleated collar that gave him a fetchingly Elizabethan air.”

  Joan grinned at her. “My smaller siblings decided that he needed adornment. Percy is a great favorite in the nursery. I do hope that Diana brought her son Peter along with her. He’s three years old and the right age to appreciate an affectionate piglet.”

  “Your gown is lovely as well,” Her Grace said.

  “It was made from one of my stepmother’s favorites,” Joan told her. “The fabric came from France, before she married my father. One of the earliest memories I have of my stepmother is the first ball held at Lindow Castle in her honor, when she wore a sack gown in the French style, this gown. When sack gowns went out of fashion, we had it remade into a robe à l’anglaise.”

  “How prudent,” the duchess murmured, her eyes approving. “Dearest, do bring me over to greet the new guests,” she added, turning to her son.

  Joan curtsied and returned to the seat beside her sister, who gave her an impudent wink. “‘Her Grace’ has a nice ring to it,” Betsy mused. “I should talk to your darling Greywick. After all, I do know him. A bit. He courted me for at least two days.”

  “Don’t embarrass me,” Joan said.

  “Would I ever do such a thing?” Betsy asked demurely.

  “Yes, you would,” Joan replied.

  Betsy had the knack of behaving like the most proper lady in the room, but she could also pivot straight into mischief. Just now she was looking across the room with a distinctly naughty glint in her eye.

  “Have you seen Viola?” Joan asked, catching her sister’s arm before she launched across the room.

  “We only arrived at Lindow in time to bathe and change for the evening meal. Why isn’t she here? Prism told me that the baby hasn’t arrived yet. Everything is all right, isn’t it?”

  “Aunt Knowe wants her to rest because her ankles are swollen,” Joan said. “I’m sure she’s hoping to see you; she’s frightfully tired of being confined to her bedchamber with her feet up.”

  Betsy squinted at her. “That was positively Machiavellian, Joan. But successful.” She got to her feet. “Tell everyone where I am, won’t you?”

  Later, after Betsy sent a message down saying that she would dine with Viola and Devin, Joan walked into the dining room on Jeremy’s arm. Betsy’s husband was one of those tall, brooding men whom Joan found frightfully attractive in the abstract.

  But not compared to Thaddeus.

  He walked ahead, his mother on his arm. She’d seen those shoulders unclothed. And his back, the way it narrowed to his hips. And then . . .

  An elbow bumped her, and she turned to meet the amused eyes of her brother-in-law. “Does Greywick know your—ahem—appreciation for his figure?”

  She elbowed him back. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Jests aside, you couldn’t do better,” Jeremy said. “He’s a good man to the bone. I suppose if you take him, I’ll feel a little less guilty about stealing Betsy from under his nose.”

  “You don’t feel guilty,” Joan retorted. “I wasn’t out yet, but I wasn’t blind. You hid out in the billiard room because you knew how much Betsy loves the game. You could find her there day and night. Likely unchaperoned.”

  “Something like that,” Jeremy said, a contented, tender look on his face. “I give you fair warning, young Joan. I remember Thaddeus from our schooldays. If that man wants something, there is no stopping him from getting it.”

  Joan thought about that and then smiled up at Thaddeus. “Sometimes I think the Wildes were brought into the world for one thing.”

  “Which was?”

  She waited until he had seated her in a chair before she said, “Convincing would-be spouses that their opinion is not irrelevant, exactly, but . . .”

  “Immaterial?” he suggested. “I will admit that Betsy took a great deal of convincing. Luckily, I knew how to play billiards, or I might never have succeeded. I’ll advise Thaddeus to find your fatal flaw, the billiards in your life.”

  Joan laughed. Thaddeus had already found it: He had instantly supported her foray onto the public stage.

  “I gather he’s in no need of advice,” Jeremy said, a wry crook to his mouth.

  “Hush,” Joan said. A footman shook out her napkin and handed it to her. “Thank you, Putter.”

  A chair scraped beside her, and she turned, startled to find that Thaddeus was seating himself beside her. Shouldn’t he be seated beside his mother? “I like the remade gown,” he said, as if they had never been parted. “Does scarcity of fabric explain the fact that your nipples are very nearly exposed to the air?”

  “I’ll have you know that some robes à l’anglaise are designed precisely for that reason,” she said loftily.

  Behind his shoulder, she saw Prism leading one of her brothers-in-law toward her, only to find the seat occupied so he veered away. “You aren’t supposed to sit here,” she told Thaddeus, a giggle escaping her.

  He raised an eyebrow. “I want to sit beside you. What if someone tried to paw you under the table?”

  She laughed outright at that. �
�The room is full of Wildes.”

  “They’re very inspiring,” he said, leaning over to murmur in her ear. “Gentlemen by training but . . .”

  Joan followed his eyes and saw that Parth was seated beside his wife, and not only had an arm around her, but had just dropped a kiss on her ear. North was similarly entranced by his wife, who was impishly scolding him while he smiled down at her.

  “Do you suppose that North knows what a fool he looks?” Thaddeus asked.

  Joan glanced at him. “He doesn’t care.”

  “True.”

  “I have an idea of how to deal with your father,” Joan said.

  “What?”

  “We’ll travel to the estate. Then I’ll dress all in white, tiptoe into his room and inform that I’m his guardian angel, and he’s risking damnation.”

  Thaddeus broke into laughter. “You refused to marry me, and therefore you cannot travel to my father’s house. You can’t have it both ways, Joan. The only way to perform the role of an angel is to marry me, or at least accept my proposal.”

  “Nonsense, I could bring a chaperone,” she said. She poked him. “We’re partners.”

  He blinked, as if the concept hadn’t occurred to him. Hadn’t she told him that already? But she couldn’t remember exactly whether the concept had been aired.

  “Where does your father live?” Joan asked. The very idea of letting Thaddeus out of her sight made her feel restless and unhappy. Infatuated. In love.

  “One of our estates,” Thaddeus said. “Eversley comprises three estates, not counting a vineyard in Portugal that makes terrible wine and a fishing retreat in Scotland.”

  “I’ve never been to Portugal,” she said.

  “No traveling together unless you marry me.” Thaddeus turned to his left, edging his chair back so that Joan could see across him. “Lady Knowe, I have a question to ask you.”

  “Are you certain you want to ask me this question?” Aunt Knowe said, twinkling at him. “I can think of a question or two you might want to ask my brother. I couldn’t help overhearing snippets of conversation.”

  Joan felt herself turning pink. “I haven’t agreed to marry him.”