“I’ll instruct our maids to pack.” Theadosia arched a winged eyebrow. “I presume at some point someone will inform me when we are to depart?” she murmured dryly.
“Yes, my pet,” Victor assured her, wrapping an arm about her thick waist.
James rose then, in an uncharacteristic public display of affection, bent and kissed the crown of Jessica’s head. “All will be well, little sister.”
Easy for him to say. It wasn’t his life in turmoil.
With a wink and a fond smile, he followed their sister and brother-in-law from the room, leaving the door cracked behind him for propriety.
The room remained silent for several minutes after their departure.
“Are you having second thoughts, Jessica?” Crispin didn’t accuse but seemed genuinely concerned.
Third and fourth thoughts, too. But it made no difference. How could it possibly feel worse to marry Crispin now that she knew she loved him? Shouldn’t it make the decision easier?
If he felt the same for her, it would’ve done.
“No.” Jessica met his gaze with courage and strength. As she’d determined earlier, he’d not find her a weak, feckless female. “And I do not believe you are the father of Miss Brighton’s child.” Straightforward and to the point. Instinct told her Crispin needed to know that truth.
“I am not,” he said, vehemence ringing in his voice. “And, if necessary, I can prove I remained in residence at my estate except for your sister’s Christmastide house party.”
She’d hoped for as much. Had, in fact, had similar thoughts, but to hear him proclaim his proof of innocence brought a flood of relief. Mr. Brighton could blather his lies about town, but Crispin had evidence to the contrary.
“Crispin, might I ask you something personal?” She brushed a finger over her eyebrow, behind which a minor ache had begun to make itself known. Adjusting the pillow at her back, she relaxed against the settee. If she were here, Mama would frown at her poor posture.
Heavens. Poor posture was nothing considering what had transpired these past few days.
Surprise lifted his eyebrows, but he nodded, his expression grave. “Of course. I’d have honesty between us, always. I believe honesty and trust are more important than love for a healthy marriage. Love and passion ebb and flow, but a union built on a solid foundation of trust will never crumble.”
When had he become so philosophical? And why did his words make her ridiculously emotional? A lump the size of the African continent formed in her throat, and moisture blurred her eyes for a second.
I shall not cry.
“What is it you wish to know?” Expectancy and kindness warmed his slate-gray eyes.
In for a penny, in for a pound. Jessica bolstered her courage.
“You claimed that if you’d not been betrothed to Miss Brighton, you’d have asked to pay your addresses to me. Forgive me, but I cannot help but believe you were being gallant, trying to alleviate the awkwardness of the moment.” Noble and chivalrous. Putting her needs before his own. Attempting to make her feel somewhat less than an unwelcome, unworthy, and an unwanted burden. “What else were you to say, after all?”
“I’m furious. I shall resent you for all of the days of our lives. Marriage to you is not of my choosing, but my damnable honor requires me to offer for you?”
“You are a kind man. A generous man,” she went on. Two more reasons why I love you beyond everything. “I’ve known that for several months.” But she’d also known him to be a rake, so she’d disregarded his more exceptional qualities.
Wasn’t that just like people—to focus on someone’s faults rather than the myriad of other noteworthy qualities they might have?
His steady gaze never wavered from her, nor did he attempt to interrupt. Another thing she appreciated about him. He listened to her. Really listened.
“You said what needed to be said at that moment to protect my feelings. I’m grateful.” Jessica offered a half-smile as she ran her fingers along the carved edge of the settee. “I truly am. But you must know by now, I’m no wilting flower. I shan’t dissolve into tears or become faint from hearing the truth.”
Blast. Babbling again.
“Jessica?” Did a note of humor resonate in his tone? Impatience mayhap? “What, precisely, are you trying to say?”
No more dillydallying or beating around the bush. Frankness and candidness. Yes, well, that was far easier to contemplate than actually to do. “I realize it’s none of my—ah—business,” she said, struggling for the right words. “Except for that, we are betrothed—in a fashion.”
“In a fashion?” Mockery toggled his hawkish eyebrows together, creating a deep groove above his nose.
She chose to ignore his sarcasm and went on as if he hadn’t interjected. With a little wave of her hand, she said, “But if you hadn’t been betrothed to Miss Brighton since you were a child, and if these difficult circumstances hadn’t arisen, compelling you to offer for me, is there a woman you would’ve chosen to be your duchess of your own free will?”
His ducal duty required him to wed and sire an heir. Perchance he’d have waited a few more years to traipse down matrimony’s convoluted path, after the dissolution of his betrothal with Miss Brighton, but he’d have done so eventually. Crispin wasn’t the caliber of man to forsake his duty to the Bainbridge dukedom.
Perhaps a woman had captured his heart.
A powerful wave of unanticipated envy stabbed her.
His lady love would be exquisite, of course. Sweet tempered—the epitome of grace and refinement. And beautiful. How could she not be?
She’d sing like a songbird. Jessica did not have a voice, to her mother’s chagrin.
No doubt Crispin’s lady rode magnificently, too. Jessica had never sat a horse.
Cataloging his sweetheart’s attributes while simultaneously listing her inadequacies made her rather ill. The tea threatened to curdle in her stomach, and despair lanced her heart.
If Crispin married her out of obligation, he’d never be able to make his true love his own, now that he was finally free of his commitment to Lilith Brighton. Life was most unfair. Or fate or providence or the divine powers. Whoever, or whatever, was responsible for this bumblebroth had no sense of justice.
But now he had an opportunity for true happiness.
She must forsake her own to allow him that chance. I must, even if it shatters my heart. Having never loved anyone except him, she couldn’t imagine how distressing it would be to adore him as she did, and yet circumstances required her to wed another.
How awful. Frustrating and infuriating. Heartbreaking. God, how she wanted to curl into a ball of misery and wail her anguish. How could her heart keep beating? Her lungs continue to draw air?
He gazed at her for so long, his sultry gray eyes charcoal-dark and those sinfully thick eyelashes partially lowered, she feared she’d overstepped.
Jessica, you dim-witted dolt. Of course she’d overstepped. Waded in, chest high. Chin high. She might very well drown in her foolhardiness. On her attempt at thoughtfulness and consideration. Because, above all else, she wanted Crispin to be happy.
It shouldn’t hurt so bloody awful to love someone.
And still, he remained unnervingly silent, his expression intense and reflective. The seconds expanded, and with every punctuating tick-tock of the clock, she increasingly wished she could retract the intrusive question.
She didn’t want to know.
Yes, I do.
No, it would hurt far too much.
I must know. Hers and Crispin’s futures depended upon it.
His subtle cologne wreaked havoc on her senses, and his enticing heat drew her to him. Even now, she felt herself leaning toward him, attracted as if he were a magnet. Why must he be so mysterious and sexy? She could scarcely cobble two thoughts together when he was this close.
At last, he spoke, guardedly, as if considering his words with great care. “There is someone. Has been for some time.”
; Jessica pointed her gaze to the floor for a second, lest he see the devastation in her eyes. Her blasted, so-easy-to-read eyes.
“A remarkable, intelligent, beautiful woman,” he went on. “I would’ve made her mine in a heartbeat, had I been free to do so.” His voice dropped to that husky tone that curled her toes and made her want to crawl atop him, nuzzle her nose in his corded neck, and run her fingers over the light stubble darkening his rugged jaw.
Such excruciating pain lanced her heart; he might’ve pierced her with a rusty, double-edged sword. Somehow, she husbanded her composure and kept from doubling over and clutching her chest. Jessica forced her focus upward to meet his gaze. She’d asked and had insisted upon honesty. Far better to have the truth out in the open.
“Does she know of your regard? Does she return it?” My, how composed she sounded, considering her impaled heart oozed blood. In truth, she was acting a rude snoop.
“I’ve never told her.” The corners of his beautiful eyes softened, and a small smile arched his mouth. That splendid mouth that had plundered hers mere days ago. “I hope she feels the same about me, but she’s never said so. There’s not been an opportunity for us to declare ourselves.”
The only thing standing between Crispin and this woman he loved was her. Well, the Brightons were a hindrance, but he had them well in hand. He had waited long enough to be happy.
“It saddens me that you have been stripped of a choice of spouse again, Crispin.” She clenched her fingers and somehow marshaled the fortitude for what she needed to say, fully aware of the consequences. She would lose everything.
Everything.
Yes, but it would be worth it, for he would gain everything.
“I release you from your proposal. I’d rather you found joy with her.”
Crispin’s heart nearly exploded with love and admiration, and he struggled to check a burst of exuberant laughter.
“My foolish, adorable darling.” He swept her onto his lap, grinning at her startled squeak of surprise. He kissed her forehead. “Darling, adorable fool.” Pressing his lips to her left cheek, he murmured, “Sweetheart.” And then he whisked his mouth over her neglected right cheek. “You, my sweet Jessica, are that woman.”
Clutching his arms, she blinked up at him, her wonder-filled eyes the color of the sea after the sun had disappeared from the horizon. “I am?” Her words came out in a hushed whisper. “Truly?”
“Truly, my love.” He brushed his mouth across her incredibly soft lips. “My only love. Ever.”
Did she understand what he was saying?
That he loved her?
Had for so very long.
And now, at last, Crispin was free to tell her. To tell her everything he’d secreted in his heart, and, by God, as soon as the vows were exchanged, he’d show her with his mouth and hands and body.
He’d worship every velvety inch of her, and when he finished, she’d have no more doubts that she, alone, was the woman of his heart. Had always been and would always be.
“I wasn’t simply being kind when I told you that I’d have courted you had I been free, Jessica.” He traced a finger down her satin-soft cheek. “From the first time I saw you, I knew you were special. But I could only admire you from afar. Wishing, always hoping but never expecting, that you might actually be mine someday.”
Nestling closer, Jessica wrapped one arm around his waist. She looped the other behind his neck and rested her cheek against his chest. “I noticed you, too. But as I said before, your reputation put me off. I didn’t want to be another silly, infatuated girl who’d succumbed to your charms.”
“My charms, eh?” He waggled his eyebrows as he crooked his finger and nudged her chin upward.
She gave his hair a slight tug, which also caused her generous bum to press into his loins. God help him. “You know full well, Crispin Harlow Benjamin Rolston, Duke of Bainbridge, what powerful affect you have on women.”
“Do I?” he replied in his most seductive voice. “Why don’t you show me?”
Their lips nearly touched, and as he spoke, he lowered his head, until but a hair’s breadth remained between them. Her vanilla-and-clove scent wafted around Crispin, warm and inviting. Sensual and sultry. Sweet and spicy, just like the incredible woman in his arms.
With a little sigh, Jessica angled her chin upward until their mouths met. This wasn’t the scorching, passionate kiss of a couple of days ago. This was two souls coming together, revealing what they’d hidden from the world and each other for so long.
He loved her. Loved this golden-haired, marine-eyed marvel of a woman. He spanned his hands across her narrow waist, worshipping her as he’d yearned to do for so long.
Soft and sweet and perfect, her mouth moved beneath his.
His adoration tempered his passion as he tenderly, reverently explored the sweet hollows, allowing his hand to roam the contours and curves of her lush form. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to keep her safe. To make her his.
Crispin lifted his head, taking in her heavy-lidded gaze and kiss-swollen, slightly red and damp lips. He stifled a groan and the urge to plunder her mouth once more. There’d be time for that later. After they left London behind.
The trip to Scotland might bloody well kill him.
Mayhap Brentwood could be persuaded to ride atop with the driver or, better yet, upon a mount. There was about as much chance of that happening as Brighton coming to his senses.
Eyes glistening with emotion, she pressed her palm to his jaw.
“I love you, Jessica,” he said simply. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”
There wasn’t any need to embellish the declaration with poetic phrases or nonsensical fluff. He loved her. I love you, Jessica. Those four words were more potent than anything else he could say. She’d made a home for herself in his mind, his heart, and his soul.
Her gold-tipped lashes trembled as a joyful smile wreathed her face. “I love you, too.”
A hint of the shy young woman he’d first met all those months ago in Colechester peered back at him, but an intrepid woman’s gaze held his. A strong, intelligent woman. A woman who knew her mind and who would make him the ideal partner.
He kissed her nose, running his hands down the fine pink silk covering her spine. “I suppose we ought to join the others and finalize the arrangements. I’d like to depart for Scotland before dawn tomorrow.”
She gave a small, regretful nod. “I wish we could marry here with our friends and family in attendance, but I understand why we cannot.” A frown marred her smooth forehead. “Do you think Mr. Brighton will continue to give us trouble afterward?”
“He may try, but there’d be no point.” Crispin helped her off his lap then stood, a distinct bulge pressing at the falls of his pantaloons. “I’ve had my solicitor send him a firmly worded note explaining point-by-point what crimes his daughter committed. They are serious, and it could be argued that she was an accessory to attempted murder.”
Jessica gasped and paled, one hand flying to press against the hollow of her throat. “Do you think Brookmoore intended to kill you?”
He lifted a shoulder. “I cannot say. But I am prepared to bring charges against him, and the evidence supports such a claim. Brighton will not want his daughter to go to prison or risk deportation or hanging.” He pulled his waistcoat and jacket into place. “If he’s wise, he’ll remove her to the country or marry her off to some ancient decrepitude who won’t mind she’s breeding.”
Crispin extended his hand, and Jessica placed hers in it. Helping her rise, he didn’t release the fine-boned fingers. He brushed his thumb over her ring finger. “I have something for you, Kitten.” He fished around in his coat pocket and withdrew a sapphire velvet box. After lifting the lid, he held it out for her to inspect the contents.
A soft sigh parted her lips. “Oh, Crispin.”
Two white diamonds sandwiched a square-cut, bluish-green-hued emerald.
“Will you put it on, please?” She extended h
er hand.
Once he’d lifted the ring from its white satin nest, he slipped the band on her finger. He held her fingers firmly in his. “Jessica, darling, will you marry me? Because I love you, and you love me? And nothing else matters?” Unfamiliar moisture blurred his vision. How he loved her. “Whatever the future brings, we’ll face it together,” he said huskily.
Her lower lip trembled as if she struggled to contain her emotions, as well. “I shall, Crispin. Gladly and unreservedly.”
The tread of swift footsteps reverberating in the hallway caused him to retreat a step, to put a respectable distance between them. Sutcliffe and his duchess swept into the drawing room, strain evident on their faces.
“Where’s James?” Jessica looked past her sister to the empty doorway.
“A messenger came ’round. James had to leave at once, but he vowed he’d be back as soon as possible,” the duchess said, appearing rather wan.
“There’s a message for you as well, Bainbridge.” Sutcliffe veered Jessica a guarded look. “From one of your investigators.” He raised the sealed paper.
Until that moment, Crispin hadn’t noticed the rectangle.
The duchess held out her hands as she crossed to her sister. “Come, my dear. Have a seat and permit the duke to read his message.”
Jessica placed her hands in her sister’s and allowed her to guide her to a bench before a bay window. The sky had cleared, and only a few slightly ash-tinged clouds marred the azure horizon. She shook her head when the duchess urged her to claim a seat. “I’d prefer to stand, please. But Thea, you should sit. You appear as if you might faint.”
The duchess gave a weak laugh. “I am a little shaken,” she said as she folded onto the tufted crimson cushion. “But I do not faint any more than you do.”
There was always a first time. In her delicate condition, the duchess shouldn’t be exposed to all of these disconcerting happenings. Except, if she were anything like her strong-willed sister, she’d not be toddled off to rest, content to let others handle any unpleasantness.
Seductive Scoundrels Series Books 4-6: A Regency Romance Page 29