by Burke, Darcy
“Better how?”
“The pleasure is greater. In my experience anyway. If I merely tupped you with expedience, it would be less satisfying. Would you expect kissing or touching?”
She answered quickly. “Kissing, yes. And I’m not sure how you can do what I asked without touching.”
He smiled. “I meant more specific touching. Would you want me to touch your body, specifically your breasts and your… sex?” He’d been about to say pussy, but decided that was perhaps too base.
Her cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink, and he felt the heat too. Not in his face, but lower, much lower.
She didn’t look away from him, and her gaze seemed to strip him naked. Or maybe that was only his wishful thinking. “It seems like you should? I mean, I don’t know. Does that make it better? As you said, more intimate?”
“Yes.” He sounded like he’d been wandering a desert for a month. He drank more ale.
“How?”
Hell, she wanted specifics. He leaned slightly forward. “Your breasts are sensitive. I can arouse you by touching them—with my hands and with my mouth.”
Her nostrils flared. “You’d put your mouth on them?” She glanced down at herself, and he would’ve sworn her nipples had hardened, but of course he couldn’t tell through the layers of her clothing. More wishful thinking, perhaps. “What else?” she asked, sounding a tad breathless.
Emboldened by her interest, he picked up one of the dice and rolled it between his fingers. “See what I’m doing to this die?” he asked softly. “I’d do this to your nipples. You’d arch up into me, and I’d gently tug. Maybe you’d gasp. Maybe you’d groan. Maybe you’d beg for me to suckle you. And I would. Then perhaps you’d feel the sensation—the desire—deep in your sex.”
She didn’t blink. Her lips parted. Anthony nearly groaned with need.
“Then you’d touch me there?”
He nodded, unable to speak at that moment.
“And would you put your mouth there too?” The question weighed heavy with skepticism. She expected him to say no—he was sure of it.
“Shouldn’t I?” he asked, wondering if she would want him to.
Her eyes widened. “I don’t know. That sounds…scandalous.”
He laughed, a low sound deep in his throat that reverberated through his chest. He set the die down on the board. “All of this is scandalous, Miss Pemberton.”
She looked down at her lap. “Yes, of course it is. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“I’m not sorry you did. And yes, I would put my mouth on you—if you allowed me to.”
When her eyes met his once more, he saw heat and desire. His cock rose, straining against his breeches, and he was glad for the cover of the table.
“I would,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “I trust you to do what you think is best. What would feel best.”
She trusted him. Nothing else she could have said would have undone him more.
“Jane,” he growled. “Miss Pemberton.” He shook his head. “No, if I’m going to shag you, I’m going to bloody well call you Jane.”
She leaned forward, her gaze expectant. “Does that mean—”
He didn’t let her finish. “That means nothing. Yet.” Oh hell, he was considering it. More than that. He was planning it. He envisioned her lying in her bed upstairs, sprawled nude before him, a veritable feast for his taking. And he would do everything he’d just told her and more, starting with kissing her. “Have you ever been kissed?”
She shook her head.
How in the hell had she gotten a reputation for trying to seduce men when she hadn’t even been kissed? It was plainly obvious to anyone who took the time to speak with her that she was as innocent as could be.
Which meant he should keep his bloody hands—and mouth—to himself. And yet, if she was asking him and she was already off the Marriage Mart…
He finished his ale and was sorry there wasn’t more. His mouth felt eternally dry as he sat here across from the most alluring woman he’d ever encountered. Was that true? He’d encountered quite a great many women. Yes, but Jane was different. Jane had seen sides of him now that no one had.
He owed her. Still, that wasn’t a reason to take her virginity. He could kiss her, though, couldn’t he?
“You should be kissed.”
“Is that an offer?” A slight smile lifted her lips.
“Maybe. I’m still deciding. You are making it incredibly difficult to refuse you.”
“Oh, good.” She grinned then, and something in his chest loosened for the first time in a very, very long while.
“In the meantime, I believe there’s a backgammon game going on.”
“Is there? I nearly forgot. You were quite distracting.” She gave him a saucy stare.
“You think I’m distracting?” He shook his head with a short laugh. “You need to stop looking at me like that.”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” she said coyly.
“I think you do. And it’s your turn.”
She picked up the dice and held one in her palm while rolling the other between her fingertips. Her message was clear.
This was going to be a very long game.
Chapter 5
Jane looked around the drawing room of the Marquess of Ripley’s house in Hanover Square. It was every bit as elegant as she’d expected, and not a bit improper like the marquess. Or like he had been. Although, was he really “proper” all of a sudden because he’d married Phoebe? After all, her reputation had been ruined when she’d called off her wedding last year just before it began.
Oh, what did any of that matter! Reputations and standards were set by the elite and often had nothing to do with a person’s true worth. Jane now knew that from personal experience. Every time she thought of the rumor about her, she grew even more livid.
Phoebe swept into the drawing room, beaming as she’d done on her wedding day. “I’m delighted you came to visit!” They embraced, then sat together on the settee, turning toward each other.
“This house is magnificent,” Jane said. “I can see why you would prefer it to your house in Cavendish Square.”
Phoebe gave her a sheepish look. “Don’t tell Marcus, but I miss my garden room.”
Jane gently touched her friend’s hand. “Oh no!”
“It’s all right. He’s given me free rein to create one here too. There’s a sitting room that will work marvelously—after we have doors put in and several other refurbishments. And his garden is larger than mine.”
“Well, that will be lovely. I assume you’ll want your Gainsborough, as well as a number of other things from the house.”
Phoebe’s gaze took on a contemplative sheen. “Yes, I suppose I will. I didn’t have much time to think before the wedding.” She blushed faintly. “Everything happened so quickly.”
“Why delay? When you find the person you want to spend the rest of your life with, I imagine you want to begin immediately.”
“Exactly so,” Phoebe said, beaming once more. “Now, tell me about your cat.”
Jane nearly laughed at the absurdity of going from speaking of marriage to getting a cat, but what else could Jane discuss? The thought nearly made her want to weep, but she wasn’t the sort who wallowed in despair. Besides, she wasn’t despairing, not yet. She was angry about the rumor, but she was also entertaining a handsome, charming gentleman. Entertaining? Was that what she thought was going on?
“She’s adorable. So adorable, in fact, that I brought her sister home too. Daffodil and Fern.”
Phoebe’s brow puckered. “I thought it was a boy. I could have sworn you referred to it as a he.”
Jane froze. Had she? Forcing a laugh, she waved her hand. “I thought it was a he at first! Silly of me.” Phoebe squinted slightly, as if she wasn’t quite sure she believed Jane’s story, but that was asinine. Why wouldn’t she? Thinking the kitten was a boy was far more believable than thinking the kitten had caused all that noise the other day
.
Seeking to divert the conversation, Jane blurted, “I heard the most awful thing, and I need your help.”
Phoebe’s gaze flickered with alarm. “What?”
“Apparently, someone started an officious rumor during my first Season. They said I was fast.”
“Who would do such a thing?”
“I’ve no idea, which is why I need your help. I want to find out who did it and why.” She folded her hands in her lap. “They quite ruined my life, Phoebe. That’s why I’ve never wed, why when it seemed I might make a match, the gentleman invariably failed to pursue a courtship.”
“And yet the Duke of Seduction still wrote about you,” Phoebe noted. “So not everyone was aware of this rumor. I certainly wasn’t.”
Phoebe referred to the gentleman—the Marquess of Northam, who was now married to their friend Lavinia—who’d taken it upon himself to write poems about unmarried women in an effort to boost their popularity so they could make a match. The marquess was a gifted poet and musician. His ballads had been published and widely read, and they’d led to several matches. Including Phoebe’s, which had, unfortunately, ended horribly when her betrothed had showed himself to be a truly awful person.
“It’s possible Northam could have been aware of it and decided to write about me anyway,” Jane said. “He rather likes flouting convention.”
“So he does,” Phoebe agreed. Then she laughed. “It seems those men make the best husbands.”
Yes, it did seem to be the case, particularly in the instance of Phoebe’s husband. “Any ideas on who would have started something so hideous?”
Phoebe’s eyes widened briefly as she blew out a breath. “So many people, but why would they? I didn’t know you very well back then. Was there anyone you spurned or ignored?”
“I’ve thought and thought and can’t come up with a single person. That’s what’s so damnably frustrating.”
Phoebe looked past Jane, her brow furrowed as she was clearly in deep thought. Then she swung her gaze back to Jane’s. “You need to ask someone who would have known what was going on during your first Season—someone well connected.” She froze for a second then blinked at Jane. “Who told you about this?”
Blast it all, Jane couldn’t very well tell her it was Anthony. The omission burned Jane’s mind—she longed to tell Phoebe about him and the proposition she’d made. About how she was consumed with thoughts of the things he’d said to her yesterday, with a need she didn’t fully understand. “Anne’s betrothed’s cousin told her, and she told me.” That would be all but unverifiable by Phoebe, who would have no cause to speak with Anne since they weren’t close.
“I see. Chamberlain’s cousin shouldn’t have said anything.”
“I disagree. I’m glad to finally know that my unmarried state wasn’t my fault.”
Eyes narrowing briefly, Phoebe leaned toward her. “It was never your fault! Your mother never should have told you that.”
“Yes, precisely, and now I’ll have proof. When I find out who started the rumor and show that person to be a liar.”
“Is that your intent? Finding them will be hard enough. You want revenge?”
“I deserve that, don’t I?”
Phoebe exhaled. “Yes, but I’m afraid you won’t get it.”
Jane had hoped for a bit more support. “I will still try.”
“And I will help you.” Phoebe tapped her finger against her lip. “Whom can we talk to?”
“It seems to have been a rumor among gentlemen,” Jane said. “Could you ask Ripley?”
“Of course. It does seem he may have heard such a thing, given his reputation.” She briefly pursed her lips.
“Former reputation,” Jane corrected, prompting Phoebe to laugh.
“I daresay that’s still his reputation, but I don’t care. Most people will never believe he’s head over heels in love with someone, let alone with me, but they don’t have to.”
“No, they don’t,” Jane said quietly. All that mattered was that Phoebe believed it. And why wouldn’t she? One had only to look at Ripley to see he was utterly besotted.
“If Marcus doesn’t know, he could probably ask a few gentlemen.”
“Can you think of any women who might have heard of it?” Jane asked. “Someone well connected across Society and who wouldn’t have spread the rumor, since it wasn’t known by everyone.”
“What about Lady Satterfield? She knows absolutely everyone, and she’s as kind and generous as anyone I’ve ever met. She would never spread such gossip.”
“And neither would she tell me or my mother about it. She wouldn’t want to cause upset.”
“Exactly so. Yes, I think we should ask her. If Marcus can’t just put an end to the query posthaste.”
Jane was eager to learn the truth as soon as possible. “Is he here?”
Phoebe shook her head. “I’m afraid not, but I’ll speak with him as soon as he arrives and send word.”
Feeling a bit of relief, Jane gave her friend a grateful smile. “Thank you.” The relief was short-lived, however, as she realized she would likely have no occasion to speak with Lady Satterfield. It wasn’t as if Jane would socialize in those circles any longer. “I’ve just thought of something, unfortunately. How will I ever speak with Lady Satterfield? I haven’t received one invitation since I moved to Cavendish Square, and I don’t expect that to change.”
Phoebe scowled. “There are separate rules for men and women, and it’s bloody unfair. You know that I shall always invite you to everything we host—as will all our friends.” She gave Jane a pointed look. “And never forget that our friends include dukes.”
Jane appreciated Phoebe’s support. “I still don’t know how I’ll be able to see Lady Satterfield any time soon.”
“You will when I host a dinner party next week. We’ll have it at Brixton Park, and people can spend the night if they like. Maybe we should play hide-and-seek in the maze again.” Her eyes sparkled with something Jane was beginning to recognize—a special anticipation. And since she knew that last time they played hide-and-seek in the maze, Phoebe had met Marcus and kissed him for the first time, she could imagine what Phoebe was thinking.
And now Jane was thinking the same thing. She nearly asked if Phoebe would invite Anthony, but that would mean he’d have to be at home to receive the invitation. Which he wasn’t. In the end, she said nothing. Thinking of kissing Anthony in the maze at Brixton Park was ludicrous. He hadn’t agreed to anything. Still, she could hope.
They spoke for another hour or so before Jane took her leave. As she walked briskly back to Cavendish Square, she prayed Ripley would be able to solve the mystery. Then she just had to determine how to exact revenge on the scoundrel who’d ruined her.
Once home, Jane went upstairs to the guest room to see Anthony. She paused just outside, realizing she’d been first-naming him in her head since the day before when they’d played backgammon. When he’d told her she should call him Anthony because she’d been familiar enough with his person to do so.
And then he’d made them even more familiar by detailing the things he could do to her. Her body tingled. Driven to see him, she went to the door, which was half-open.
“Lord Colton?” She might first-name him in her head, but she wasn’t ready to call him Anthony. Yet.
“Come in.”
She did so, pushing the door a bit wider as she stepped over the threshold.
“Pardon me for not getting up,” he said wryly from a chair near the hearth, where he held a book.
She saw that both kittens were curled in his lap asleep. “You’re recovering. You needn’t stand even if you weren’t covered in cats.”
“I’m still a gentleman,” he said, closing the book on his finger to hold his place. Then he cracked a smile that made her pulse quicken. “Mostly.”
“The kittens really love you,” she said, moving to take a seat on the padded bench at the end of the bed.
“So it would seem. I’m
not sure I love them, however. They kept me up half the night attacking my feet again. I should wake them up and deprive them of sleep.” He glowered down at them in a look of mock disgust.
“Oh, you love them anyway. How can you not?”
He sighed. “I suppose.”
“What will they do when you leave?” she wondered aloud, and then wished she hadn’t said it. She didn’t want to think about him not being here. She’d become quite used to his presence. No, she liked it.
“Well, I still have another few days under your mandate.”
“And you’ll stay longer if necessary,” she said firmly, hoping he would heed her advice. And not just because she wanted him to stay. “How are you feeling today? That’s what I came to find out.” Also just to see him. But she wouldn’t say so.
“Better. My chest doesn’t ache quite as much. I can nearly take a deep breath.”
“Wonderful!” She was glad to hear it, even if it meant he would leave. “You look better.” The swelling around his right eye was much diminished today, and some of the more brilliant bruises had faded somewhat.
“You’re very kind. I still look like hell,” he said. “There’s a looking glass in the dressing chamber, you know.”
She laughed. “I know, but I stand by what I said. You didn’t see yourself the morning I found you on the step. The bruises may not have been as colorful, but you looked quite horrid.”
He grimaced. “I think it will be some time before I look normal.”
That was probably true. He certainly didn’t look like the gentleman she knew, even without his injuries. Brown whiskers covered his jaw and the space above his lip, and she found it oddly attractive. “The beard isn’t bad, to be honest,” she said.
He brushed his hand along his jaw. “I was thinking I need to shave. But you like it?”
The question made her belly flutter. “I don’t dislike it. I admit it’s a bit hard to tell because of the bruising.”
He smiled faintly, lowering his hand to the arm of the chair. “I’ll need to come up with a reason for my injuries when I return home. I don’t think I can keep from going out until they’re completely healed. I may go mad.”