“The family drawing room is upstairs,” he explained. “It’s far more comfortable than the one on this level, though we can use it if you prefer.”
She hesitated only a few seconds more. “No, the one above is fine.”
Leading the way, he ascended the stairs, almost viscerally aware of her as she followed—pleasure coiling in satisfying tendrils at the knowledge that she was here in his house.
Her thin muslin skirts whispered around her ankles as she crossed after him into the drawing room, then again when she settled onto the long, comfortably upholstered sofa.
With a few quick movements, he poured drinks, balancing the snifters as he returned to her side. “Here,” he said, holding out the glass with its inch of amber liquid inside. “Drink this.”
She sent him an inquiring glance. “What is it?”
“Brandy.” Taking a seat next to her, he set his own glass onto a nearby side table before turning to press the second snifter into her palms. “Drink.”
“No, I can’t.” She shook her head and tried to refuse the libation.
“Yes, you can. It’s obvious you’ve suffered some kind of shock. This will take the edge off. Now, no more arguing. Drink.”
“But Jack—”
“Drink.” Cupping a hand around the base of her glass, he urged it upward. Finally giving in, she raised the snifter to her lips and took a tentative sip.
“Ugh!” She gasped, sputtering and coughing against the strong taste.
“Have another,” he told her as soon as her paroxysm died down.
“No. One was bad enough.”
“The next will be easier. Go on.”
Shooting him a sceptical look, she obeyed, cradling the glass in both hands as she swallowed another small mouthful. This time she didn’t cough.
“One more.”
“You’ll get me drunk.”
“Exactly.” He flashed his teeth in a devilish smile.
She laughed and drank more.
Beneath his watchful gaze, tension drained visibly from her shoulders. Reaching over, he picked up his own glass and took a swallow. “So, tell me what has happened to distress you?”
Her gaze dropped to the floor. “Nothing.”
Slowly, he turned the snifter in his hand. “Let’s try again. Where were you before we met on the street?”
She cast him a glance before raising her glass to quaff another sip of brandy. Her eyelids lowered as the alcohol slid down her throat. On an inhale, she opened them once more. “I went to see Terrence.”
A small frown pinched between his brows as he worked to place the name. “Cooke, you mean?”
She nodded. “There were things I wanted to talk to him about.”
His frown increased. “What sort of things?”
“Personal matters. The details are of no import.”
“If that is true,” he said in a smooth tone, “then you won’t mind sharing.”
Her gaze darted to his again, then shifted away.
As it did, a fresh thought dawned on him. “Was it about me?”
“No. Well, not specifically,” she hastily amended. “Not today anyway.”
“But earlier. So what did Cooke have to say? I assume it wasn’t flattering.”
“My lord, it isn’t—”
“Of any import,” he interrupted. “Yes, I know. Indulge me regardless. I assure you my feelings will in no way be hurt.”
She hesitated. “For one, he says you’re a gamester.”
Does he now? Jack mused, realizing the man must have been inquiring after him. But so long as Cooke knew nothing about his arrangement with Grace’s father—and Jack didn’t see how he could—everything would be fine.
“He’s right,” Jack admitted. “I do enjoy games, including ones that have nothing at all to do with cards. Go on, what else?”
“He…um…he may have mentioned that you have a keen admiration for women.”
“‘Admiration’?” Jack smiled. “Is that how he put it? I confess he’s correct again. I do hold the feminine half of society in great esteem. But then I believe you are already aware that I like women.” Reaching out, he traced his fingertips along the sleek line of her jaw, eliciting a delicate quiver. “Some women more than others.”
He caught her earlobe between his thumb and forefinger and gently rubbed the nub of flesh. “I suppose he suggested you and I part company?”
Breath sighed from between her lips. “He did say he thought you weren’t a good influence.”
And yet here she sits, alone in my house. The knowledge warmed him yet again.
“I’ve never claimed to be a saint,” he agreed again. “So is that all?”
She shook her head, a little tendril of hair coming loose from its moorings. Drawn to it like a hawk to flight, he twined his finger around the strand.
“He also asked me to marry him.”
He jerked, his knuckle inadvertently snagging in her hair.
“Ouch!” she cried.
Immediately he untangled himself. “Sorry. Did you say marriage? You didn’t accept, did you?” He forced down the wave of panic that caught him like a blow to the belly. My God, if that is the case, then I’ve badly mishandled the situation, as well as underestimated my rival.
“No, I didn’t accept.”
Relief poured through him.
She sipped her brandy. “But that’s why I went to see him at his hotel this afternoon. To talk.”
“His hotel?” Jack’s hand tightened at his side, wondering what other revelations she was going to tell him next.
Draining her glass, she held it out. “May I have more?”
For a moment, he stared, then tossed back the contents of his snifter in a single gulp. “I could do with a refill myself.”
Taking her glass, he stood and went to the sideboard. Removing the stopper from the crystal decanter, he added a splash to hers and a heartier measure to his own.
Resuming his seat, he placed her glass into her hands. “Go on. What happened at the hotel?”
Her cheeks flashed a brilliant red, a colour that had nothing whatsoever to do with the spirits she had imbibed, he realized.
“He didn’t make advances, did he?”
I am the only man allowed to do that, he thought, his jaw clenching. So help me, if Cooke touched her, I’ll hunt him down and rip him limb from limb.
A peculiar look crossed her features. “No, he didn’t make advances. Not to me.”
Thank heaven for that!
She drank again.
A new thought struck him. “If not to you, then…Lord, you didn’t walk in on him, did you? Did you catch him with another woman?”
Improbably, her skin flushed an even deeper red, so vivid it looked as if she was standing mere inches from a bonfire.
“Not a woman, no,” she whispered. “He…he…”
“He what?” he asked, a sudden speculation beginning to form.
“He was with…a…a man. And they were naked!” She downed more brandy, coughing when she took too hasty a swallow.
Reaching out, he patted her on the back, leaving his hand there to rub in slow, reassuring circles. “Better?”
Nodding, she drew in a deep breath and released a long exhale.
“I’m sure you were shocked,” he said.
“Never more in my life.”
That I can well believe. Poor girl must have gotten an eyeful.
Still, Jack couldn’t help but be relieved to know his rival wasn’t really a rival. Then again, from what she’d said, the bounder had proposed marriage to her in spite of his sexual preference.
At least in the essentials, I’m not that much of a fraud, he thought.
Perhaps his motives weren’t wholly pure, but with him she would have a real marriage. In his bed, she would be well pleasured and know the full extent of what it meant to be a woman fulfilled. Her father had told him to keep her happy and pregnant, and he vowed suddenly that he would do his best to make good on that pr
omise.
“Well, I am sorry for your distress,” he told her, continuing to stroke her back in easy circles. “But I cannot say I regret the outcome. If not for your unexpected discovery, you would not be here with me now.” He slid closer. “And I am very glad you are here. I’ve missed you these last few days.”
She met his gaze, her irises looking very blue. “You have?”
“Hmm hmm. What about you?” Lifting his other hand, he traced a finger over one fire-coloured eyebrow, then down her cheek and over to her lips. “Did you miss me. Even a little?”
Her eyelids trembled. “Yes. I did miss you. But I-I oughtn’t to have. I should go.”
“Should you? Why?”
Tiny frown lines appeared. “Because…because…” She paused as though she were searching for a reason and having a hard time finding one. “Because it’s getting late and I ought to be returning to the house.”
“It’s scarcely dinnertime.” He skimmed his knuckles over her jaw before roaming lower to the satiny column of her neck, then back up again. “Surely you could stay for dinner? You said yourself your aunt is away. I can’t believe you would prefer eating alone.”
Her frown increased. “No, but—”
“Then stay. My cook sets an excellent table. Delicious fare designed to tempt any palate. Tell me your favourites and I’ll send word to her to make them especially for you.”
Sliding his arm around her back, he bent and pressed his mouth to the base of her throat. “Do you like roast beef?”
“Ahh, I…”
“Too heavy, you’re right,” he stated, dropping kisses against her skin in a leisurely pattern. “What about venison? Unless you are worried it might be gamey. Hmm, I agree.”
Her eyelids fluttered, one hand coming up to catch in the fabric of his coat.
Working his way up, he paused and breathed a gentle gust of warm, brandy-scented air into her ear. She shuddered, a tiny moan escaping her lips.
“Partridge, perhaps? In a sweet vermouth with plump raisins and orange peel. How does that sound?”
“Delightful.”
He smiled, wondering if she was referring to the food or his kisses. He definitely hoped the latter.
“Or I know,” he whispered, brushing his mouth ever so lightly against hers. “Lobster and oysters. Light and delicate, with a taste as fresh as the sea. Shall we try that? I could feed them to you bite by delectable bite.”
Before she had a chance to answer, he traced the shape of her mouth with his tongue, then slid inside, as her lips parted to receive him. Leaning her back against the sofa pillows, he plundered the sweet, velvety depths of her mouth, exploring with sudden purpose, as well as with undeniable pleasure.
Maybe it was wrong of him, but he sensed he could not afford to let her leave tonight—not without forging a deeper bond between them. And what better way than to complete her seduction? His methods might be a tad unfair given the amount of brandy he’d let her consume, but she was destined to be his, whether she knew it or not.
So why not now?
Why not tonight?
His hand moved to her breast, fingers seeking the sensitive flesh inside her bodice. But as he began to delve beneath, she stiffened slightly and reached to deny him. “I…I thought you said dinner.”
“I did. And we’ll eat—after a while. We have plenty of time.” All night, he thought, taking her mouth with demanding persuasion.
Moments slipped past as she surrendered, responding enthusiastically to his kiss. Then just as suddenly, she groaned and tore herself away. “N-no, stop. I should go. I told you, I have to go.”
Pushing against him, she levered herself up and off the sofa. But after no more than a couple of steps, she faltered, weaving in a most alarming way.
Springing up, he hurried forward and reached her just in time to prevent a fall. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her tightly against him.
“Stars,” she cried, lifting a hand to her head. “I feel so dizzy. It’sh that brandy,” she accused in what she obviously wanted to be a stern rebuke. Instead her words came out slurred.
And adorable. She was definitely adorable.
“You’ve gotten me fosked.”
“Foxed, do you mean?” he repeated.
“Yes, fosked. All your fault.”
“Not all my fault, since I believe you are the one who insisted on that second glass, if you will recall.”
Her brows furrowed in clear confusion. “Oh, you’re right. I d-did, d-din’t I?”
“Hmm, and so you did.”
“I should go home.”
He shook his head. “You’re in no condition to go home, not right now. I suggest a lie-down for a few hours.” Or perhaps the entire night.
“M-maybe just a tiny while,” she agreed, trying to pinch her fingers together for illustration, and missing. “In a guest room.”
“There are several.” But he had no intention of taking her to any of them. She’ll sleep in my room. In my bed.
Bending slightly, he slid his arms around her knees and back and lifted her high against him.
Instinctively, her arms curved around his neck. “Are you carrying me?” she asked, her voice holding a note of amazement.
“You appear to be in need of assistance.”
“But I must be too heavy. What if you drop me?”
He met the surprised blue of her eyes. “Impossible. You’re as light as a feather. You feel just perfect to me, Grace. You are just perfect for me.”
And oddly enough, in that moment, he knew that she was. He might not love her, but she would make him a splendid wife. With her, he knew he would always be challenged and would never grow bored. They would make a fine family together, producing strapping dark-haired boys and pretty, long-legged, redheaded girls.
But, he reminded himself, first things first.
Cradling her tighter, he gazed into her eyes. “Ready?”
With a tremulous smile, she nodded, then leaned her head against his shoulder with a contented sigh.
Pleased, he turned and strode from the room.
* * *
CHAPTER 10
The sank into an ocean of feathers and satiny dark blue brocade, floating as the room spun slowly around her.
Or perhaps I am the one spinning? Now there was a funny notion. She giggled a little to herself and closed her eyes while she waited for the world to settle back on its proper axis.
A gentle hand stroked her hair, the feathery ocean rolling slightly as someone joined her on the satin counterpane. “Jack?”
“Hmm hmm?” he said in a rich, deep rumble.
She stretched, as comfortable as a cat and half inclined to purr, as his fingers glided over, then into, her hair. He massaged her scalp with the lightest of touches, her tresses coming loose as the pins popped free.
“Are you taking down my hair?” she mused aloud, feeling the long, heavy mass flow across the pillows.
“Just making you more comfortable.”
A faint metallic ping rang out as he set a handful of pins on the night table. Then his fingers were back, combing through the strands to smooth out any tangles. She couldn’t help but sigh with enjoyment, tingles dancing over her body in little electrical skips and pings.
“It’s even more beautiful than I imagined,” he said in a throaty voice. Wrapping a long strand around his fist, he lifted her hair to his face. “Glorious.”
“Aunt Jane says it looks like a forest fire.”
“On this particular topic, your aunt is singularly misinformed. The gods themselves would kill for hair like yours.”
Smiling, she let herself float as her eyelids drifted downward.
The touch of his lips against her temple and cheek brought her back to her surroundings. Opening her eyes, she gazed up at the ornate ceiling, then across to the richly carved bedposts, with their elegant hangings. “D’you always keep sush big, fancy beds for guests?”
His lips moved into a smile, pausing as he kissed he
r neck. “I’m a tall man. I like a long mattress.”
She frowned, knowing something wasn’t quite right about his answer, although at the moment she couldn’t figure out exactly what it was. But being a tall woman, she had no complaint with large beds.
My feet don’t even come close to the bottom in this one, she noted, stretching out her toes just to double-check. To her delight, she discovered nothing but more bed.
His fingers moved again, busy this time unfastening the buttons on the back of her gown. He was as efficient as a lady’s maid, she found, the fastenings already open before she half realized what he was doing. She blinked again and felt him loosen the laces of her stays.
She drew a deep, refreshing inhalation, her bodice sagging downward in a rather alarming manner. Only she was too relaxed at the moment to really be all that alarmed. Still, she decided she couldn’t let the matter go without offering some remark. “Why’d you do that?”
“Just making you more comfortable, remember?” he drawled in a voice that was as smooth and heady as the brandy she’d drunk. “Are you not more comfortable?”
She mulled over the question and realized that she was.
Deliciously, deliriously comfortable.
Except for my sleeves, she thought. She just had to get her arms free of the nagging confinement of her sleeves.
Without considering the ramifications of her next move, she worked her arms out of the garment. Glowing from her successful liberation, she followed her instincts further and stretched her arms over her head.
Out popped her bare breasts, her bodice and stays slipping down her torso. “Oops!” she said, giggling even as her skin flushed pink with embarrassment.
Instantly, her nipples tightened, both from the cool air in the room and the heat of Jack’s gaze—his eyes fastening like a beam of light on her exposed flesh.
She didn’t know what came over her next—or where her earlier inhibitions and misgivings went—but instead of attempting to cover herself, she lay still. Brazenly, she let him look his fill.
And look he did.
Abruptly, he swallowed, his Adam’s apple shifting up, then down, beneath the skin of his throat. A rueful gleam came into his gaze, one that seemed tinged with guilt. “You really are tipsy, aren’t you?”
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