“Please call me Garrett,” he corrected her gently, still holding the box of sugared plums in front of her.
She seemed uncertain at first, but finally took the white pasteboard box and opened the door wider. “Thank you,” she murmured, peeking into the box to see the sugared candies inside. She plucked out one and took a bite, closing her eyes as the flavor of the fruit and spice filled her mouth. “You always know the perfect gifts for me, don’t you?” she murmured, obviously enjoying the treat.
He closed the door behind him. “I apologize for my late arrival. I’ve just been in town a few hours, but I wanted …” You, he thought suddenly as Jane took his cape and hat and hung them on hooks next to the door. “I wanted to let you know I was in town and wondered when I might call on you for a drive …” He stopped speaking when she turned around to look up at him. The cheek below her purpling eye was red, apparently from a slap or punch, he couldn’t be sure which.
Jane inhaled sharply when she saw his reaction, lifting a hand to cover the right side of her face, as if she had forgotten about the darkening bruises. “I’ve been keeping some ice on it,” she murmured, embarrassed at being seen with a black eye.
Garrett angled his head as he regarded Jane’s bruised face. “Frank told me what happened,” he said quietly, reaching out to take her into his arms. “I’m so very sorry, Jane.”
Jane relaxed against the hard muscle and bone of Garrett’s chest, wrapping her arms around his neck as he held her close. In only moments, the entire front of her body was pressed against his. She breathed in the scent of citrus laundry soap and sandalwood and tobacco and him. “There is nothing for you to be sorry for, Garrett,” she finally answered, leaning her head back to look up at him.
Garrett shook his head, taking in the sight of her eyes, with the slight upturn at the outer corners under dark brows that arced up and out, giving her an almost exotic appearance. Her long straight nose and high cheekbones were like porcelain. And that mouth, with the full bottom lip that was split with a slight line down the center, and the bits of sugar left from the candy—Garrett found he couldn’t resist a kiss. His lips took hers, gently at first, and then less so as he parted hers with his tongue and used the tip of it to taste her teeth and her tongue, the sugar and spice a delightful combination. Her tongue finally joined his, and he allowed it to plunder his mouth. Desire welled in him. Yes, this was the woman he wanted for the rest of his life. He couldn’t imagine having to go another day without her.
Pulling away slowly, Garrett breathed deeply and allowed his gaze to lock onto hers. Her eyes seemed somehow unfocused, but he waited a moment until she seemed to have her wits about her. “Jane, I …”
“Please, don’t leave me,” she whispered, her eyes suddenly bright. “I do not think I could spend this evening …” She allowed the sentence to trail off, afraid if she said it all, he would think her wanton.
Garrett stared at her a moment, shaking his head before lowering his forehead to rest on hers. It was, perhaps, the best invitation he could hope for, he considered. “I won’t,” he whispered back. He reached up to take her hands from around his neck and hold them in his own. “But I have something to ask of you,” he added as he lowered himself to one knee.
Jane watched in surprise as held onto her left hand and fumbled in his coat pocket.
“Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” he asked quietly, holding up the gem-studded gold band.
Her right hand moving to her chest, Jane stared in surprise at both Garrett and the ring, her breath held until she finally smiled. “Oh, yes, of course,” she breathed. She bent over a bit, wanting to take Garrett’s head into her hands so she might kiss him, but he held onto her left hand, sliding the ring onto her fourth finger. She lowered herself onto her knees and happily kissed Garrett, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Garrett wrapped his arms around her, a sense of profound relief and … happiness, he decided, flooding him. “If I get a special license tomorrow, we could marry whenever we want,” he suggested as he stood up and pulled her up to stand in front of him, his arms wrapping around her so they interlinked at the back of her waist. “This week, even.”
This week! she thought in surprise. Jane nodded in agreement and glanced about the room. “I must talk to Frank …”
“He already knows,” Garrett spoke quietly, his arms still held loosely around her back.
Jane’s mouth opened in shock. “When?”
Smiling, Garrett walked her over to a pair of wingback chairs near the fireplace. “Before I came up. I had to get his permission to ask for your hand,” he said as he placed her in front of the chair so she could sit down. He took the other chair.
“And, he is not … angry?” She couldn’t imagine Frank would just allow Garrett to marry her and take her away. She had been his employee for eight years!
Garrett thought about what to tell her, wondered if it might not be better to let her believe the sudden proposal was all his own doing and not because Frank had encouraged it. He still would have asked for her hand, he realized then, but the timing was all Frank’s idea. “He is not. He was quite pleasant about it, in fact. I think because he’s been expecting this. And because he feels somewhat responsible for what happened to you tonight.”
She looked up sharply at that, a look of confusion on her face. “He cannot be everywhere at once in this place,” she commented, knowing she was making excuses for her adoptive father.
“You are supposed to be under his protection, though,” Garrett countered, his seriousness coming through in his voice. “But, if it’s agreeable to you, I shall be your protector starting right this very minute.”
Jane regarded Garrett for a moment, realizing his offer was more than that—he was making a promise to her, one a man wouldn’t normally make until his wedding day. She nodded her agreement. “I would like that very much,” she murmured, her facing coloring up a bit. She licked her lower lip, tasting a grain of sugar still caught there. As she leaned back in the chair, she admired the stones on the gold band. “I have a bit of savings … for a dowry,” she offered suddenly. “And,” she motioned around the room, “All the furnishings and decorations are mine to take from my rooms here,” she added, her manner becoming more businesslike.
Garrett reached over and took her hand. “Frank has already seen to your dowry,” he said with a grin, admiring her thought that she should bring something to the marriage. “But I should be very happy to help pack up everything you wish to bring. Or, if you prefer, I can hire some help to do it all.”
Awed by the bit of information about a dowry, Jane nodded. “Where … where will we go?” she asked in a whisper.
“The Duke of Chichester’s estate in Sussex, of course,” Garrett answered quickly. “I’ll be the estate manger there for … probably the rest of my life,” he said with a grin.
Her eyes widening, Jane nodded. “Will we live in that house you’ve been rebuilding?” The idea of living in a large house, with gardens and lawns and a huge circle drive, had always appealed to her, a girl who, when growing up, had a glimpse of living in such a house given her mother’s station as the daughter of a baron.
Well, now there is a good question, Garrett considered. He hadn’t yet spoken to Joshua about living arrangements. Until the west wing rooms were complete, he was sure his employer would be fine with the two of them occupying the dowager cottage. It was a small house, but well-maintained and cozy. And private. He had brought the floor plans along on the trip intending to show Jane where they might eventually live and as the means to determine what furnishings might fit or still be necessary to complete the small house. “We could,” Garrett answered with a nod, still deep in thought. “Or, if you’d like to be mistress of your own home, we could live in a cottage located on the estate. All your furnishings would fit, I’m sure,” he offered as he glanced around and realized he rather liked everything she had in her parlor. “It has a front room that coul
d be a parlor, and there’s a bedchamber, and a day room that could be a nursery …”
Jane’s head jerked up at that, her mouth forming an ‘o’ with those perfect plump lips, made redder than usual from their earlier kisses.
Perhaps the bedchamber won’t be large enough, he considered, but to add onto the cottage wouldn’t be a problem. There was already a construction crew on site finishing the interior of the west wing. He couldn’t remember much about her current bedchamber except what they had done in it the last two times he was in there. I took her virtue in there, he remembered, a twinge of … something … passing through him.
Jane stared at him in awe. “The cottage sounds …” quaint, she thought, wondering if it would be like those she had read about in storybooks. But another thought struck her and her brows furrowed. “I don’t think I know … how to be married,” she said suddenly. “I have no reference, no guide, no one to teach me what is expected.”
Garrett realized then that, having been an orphan and living at The Jack of Spades all this time, Jane hadn’t experienced a life with traditional role models. But if she didn’t do anything more than spend her nights in bed with him, he thought he could be quite satisfied with her as his wife. There would be servants for everything else. “Neither do I,” he answered with a grin, his mind filling with images of her writhing beneath him as they made love the second time in her bedchamber. “But I think we can figure it out together.”
Jane stood up and reached out a hand. “There is one thing I think I would enjoy very much as your wife,” she murmured, her blue eyes suddenly darkening. Garrett took her hand and stood up slowly, his eyes locked on hers. She led him to her bedchamber, a small room just off the parlor. A four-poster bed filled half the elegant space, its deep scarlet counterpane and quilts already turned down. A wardrobe, dresser and cheval mirror, all in matching cherry hardwoods, lined the walls.
Garrett took a deep breath, aware of the change in his bride-to-be. “And what might that be?” he wondered at first, before he was suddenly aware of his arousal and the scent of hers.
Jane stood before him, undoing the tie of her dressing gown. With a flick of her wrists, the gown was off of her shoulders and falling to the floor, forming a satin puddle at her feet. She stood naked before him, one leg bent a bit, her upturned breasts tipped with dark areolae and hardened nipples. Before he could say or do anything, she moved to stand in front of him, slowly unbuttoning his waistcoat and untying his cravat. Garrett watched, barely breathing as she unwound the neckcloth, her taut nipples grazing the fine lawn fabric of his shirt as she did so. Spreading her hands, she pushed his waistcoat off of his shoulders, guiding it with one hand as it finally fell to join the cravat on the floor. Then her fingers were pulling up on his shirt until it was free of his breeches, and her hands were spread over his chest, the pads of her fingers slowly caressing his hot skin. They moved to circle his nipples, smoothing over the skin so lightly, Garrett was sure he could feel the whorls of her fingerprints branding him. And then her thumbs brushed over his pebbled nipples, eliciting a gasp from him that might have been his first breath since her seduction began.
Jane’s mouth replaced her thumb on one nipple, suckling and nipping until his arms, up until then having felt like lead weights at his sides, moved to grasp her hips and pull her hard against his arousal. Fingers moved to undo the fastenings of his breeches while she felt him remove his boots and stockings. And suddenly, his turgid manhood was pressed into her belly, its pulse so hard she was sure it matched the heartbeats hammering in her ears.
One of his arms moved below her bottom, and in an instant, her feet were off the floor and her long legs were winding around his thighs, her arms were wrapping around his shoulders, and she was being carried to the bed as his lips took purchase on one of her hardened nipples. The rippling sensation crashed through her, forcing his name from her lips as she felt herself falling and then landing on the soft mattress of her bed. Her legs were still wrapped about his waist as he bent down, one arm holding his body up and over her.
In the dim lamplight of the bedchamber, his eyes were dark, nearly black, but his touches were light as his fingers moved to caress the skin of her thighs. A knuckle moved into the soft, wet folds of her womanhood, moving around the throbbing bud that could send her into ecstasy even before he thrust himself inside her. He watched her face as he circled the nub, gently pressing and rubbing and circling until Jane arced her back and cried out his name. His mouth moved over her other nipple, circling and laving until she begged for him, her mewling sending him into madness.
He felt her fingers wrap around his hardened manhood, felt her thumb pass over the wet tip and grip him, guiding him to her wet, velvet sheath. And then he was pressing into her, as slowly as he could manage despite the urge to simply thrust his entire length into her at once. He gasped, barely able to prevent his release as he slowly withdrew and then pushed in again. Thinking he should pause to give her time, time to open more fully for him, to simply take in a breath, he was about to do so when her hands gripped his buttocks and pulled him hard against her. He filled her completely, a groan escaping his throat as she closed around him, the pulsating tightness surrounding his cock and threatening to take away his control.
He pulled out a bit and pushed into her again, growling when her body bowed against his, deepening his thrust. And then a finger moved to stroke the back of his manhood as he attempted to pull out. His body shuddered as he pushed back into her, startling him. He knew he could no longer hold on and simply gave into his body’s demand.
The release was startling in its intensity; he was sure he saw stars at the edge of his vision as his entire body seemed to contract in response to the orgasm.
So much more than pleasure, he thought as he became aware of his name being whispered and her name coming from deep within him and her arms moving around his shoulders to pull him down, his face nestling into the space between her neck and shoulder.
The last thing he saw before allowing sleep to take him was her face relaxed and smiling as her heavy-lidded eyes closed.
The last words he heard were, “I love you.”
Chapter 16
His Grace Visits Lady Charlotte in Her Bedchamber
Despite having lived with the wound on her back for five days, Charlotte still caught herself attempting to do things that caused her a great deal of pain. Her maid, Parma, had helped her undress, carefully undoing the fastenings of her dinner gown and removing petticoats and stockings without requiring her to move her arms too much. The bandage that covered her stitches (and wound about her chest to form a sort of makeshift corset) wouldn’t need to be changed until morning, so she opted to don a satiny nightgown and robe, hoping the thin, slick fabric would provide some comfort while she attempted to sleep on her front.
Now she found herself at odds. She had dismissed Parma but was ready to brush her hair, a task she did every night prior to bed. But whilst trying to lift the brush to the crown of her head, she felt the stitches pull and stopped the movement, hissing as the sudden pain radiated from between her shoulder blades.
A knock sounded at the door to her bedchamber. “Come,” she called out, thinking perhaps Parma remembered her stitches and had returned to help with her hair. In the vanity mirror, however, she was stunned to see Joshua’s reflection as he leaned against the already closed door. Rising quickly, she turned and performed a curtsy, the movement causing her robe to open. “Good evening, Wainwright.” The greeting came out a bit breathy, her surprise at seeing him evident in her expression.
Joshua gave a leg, his own robe staying closed quite tightly about his middle. He regarded Charlotte for a moment, his breath no longer under his own control as he drank in the sight of her in the shiny cream satin, the fabric clinging to her feminine curves and draping suggestively along her thighs and across the tops of her bare feet. “I thought I might provide some assistance,” he finally said, his suddenly husky voi
ce sounding foreign to his own ears.
Charlotte colored up, her face taking on a pinkish flush in the golden light from the lamp and fireplace. It took all her resolve not to run to him, to wrap her arms around his neck and press the front of her body against what she knew was a hard body of muscle and bone. “How very kind of you, Your Grace,” she replied. When she saw him wince, she realized almost immediately her error in referring to him as ‘Your Grace’ rather than ‘Wainwright.’
“I would prefer you call me Joshua when we’re alone,” he stated as he moved toward her.
What happened to ‘Wainwright’? she found herself wondering. ‘Wainwright’ is only proper. Duchesses call their dukes by their surnames all the time. “Joshua,” she repeated, as if attempting to say the name for the first time. She watched him approach. Whatever is he doing in my bedchamber? she wondered, remembering the doctor’s instructions. He knew she couldn’t lie with him, knew the stitches in her back would be there for nearly a week. “I was … trying to brush my hair,” she whispered, inhaling sharply as he finally stopped mere inches in front of her.
Joshua allowed his lips to curl up on his good side. “And were you succeeding?” he asked in a whisper, knowing full well her mass of blonde curls hadn’t yet been combed out. If so, the silky strands would be wavy and appear as spun silk, just like his mother’s. He reached for the hairbrush, his body impossibly close as Charlotte realized what he intended.
A frisson passed through her body. “Not in the least,” she replied, regarding him warily. She lowered herself back onto the vanity chair and faced the looking glass, watching Joshua’s reflection in the mirror as he very slowly drew the hairbrush through the lower half of her hair, his hands holding up entire sections so any knots would come out without causing pain. When he started the strokes farther up on her head, Charlotte closed her eyes as the bristles caressed her scalp, the feeling so sensual she nearly moaned. Her body felt boneless as he continued to stroke, slowly pulling the brush from the top of her head through its entire mid-back length.
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