Tempting the Marquess

by Sara Lindsey

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about. I brought you a gift.”

  “Yes, I know,” Jason said impatiently. “Apparently my stepmother failed to explain the custom properly. To begin with, the children who take part are generally a bit younger than you are, but I’ll make an exception as you’re a Saesnes and don’t know any better. Now, you say the little verse you’ve been taught, wish me a happy new year and show me the skewered apple you’ve got behind your back, and I’ll reward you with a few coins. Come along, then, for I’ve enough bad luck without you collecting calennig past noon.”

  “A skewered apple? Is that what you wanted? And you wish me to recite? Perhaps I should have consulted my aunt.”

  Jason frowned. “Katherine didn’t put you up to this?”

  “No.” She chewed nervously at her lip. “I’m afraid I hadn’t realized impaled fruits were in fashion this year.”

  He couldn’t contain his laughter. When he had himself back in control he explained. “In Wales the traditional offering is called calennig, an apple with three twig legs, studded with cloves and stuck on top with a sprig of evergreens. Children carry them from door to door, offering good wishes for the coming year, and in return, they are given a bit of food or some money.”

  “Well, I imagine it must smell nice,” Miss Weston said, “but it seems a silly sort of present. I suppose it’s not sillier than mine, though.”

  She handed him an exquisite watercolor sketch of Edward and Charlotte dressing up the dogs. The excitement and pure childish joy of the moment was captured perfectly on their faces, and yet it was not a sentimental piece. She was a true artist with a remarkable ability for capturing the essence of her subjects.

  He could not help but wonder how she would draw him.

  “You are very talented. This is beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” She ducked her head as if embarrassed by his compliment. “It’s nothing really, just a hobby of mine.”

  “It is I who should thank you, but I am afraid you have me at something of a loss. I have nothing to give you in return.”

  Her cheeks turned a glorious shade of crimson.

  “There is actually a favor I wanted to ask of you.”

  He should have known. In his experience, women rarely bestowed gifts without expecting some sort of recompense. He stifled a sigh.

  “So you have a gift in mind, do you? Well, what’s it to be? The family jewels? No, wait, I know! You want permission to reorganize the library here.”

  “As a matter of fact, that wasn’t at all what I wanted, but if you’re going to poke fun at me, I’ll be on my way. I’m pleased you liked the drawing.”

  She marched resolutely toward the door, her chin held high.

  Jason caught her slender wrist in his hand and halted her departure. “I beg your pardon, Miss Weston. I’m in an odd mood today, but no offense was meant. Please, tell me what you would like and I will do everything within my power to see that you get it.”

  She raised her eyes to his. Today they were a stormy gray blue. What shade would they be at the height of passion?

  She drew in a breath, then released it, letting the words tumble out of her.

  “I want you to kiss me.”

  Jason took a step backward, shaking his head. That was the problem with letting his mind wander where it should not. For a moment he’d thought she’d said . . .

  “I know it sounds forward, asking you to kiss me—”

  Oh, dear God, she had said it.

  “—but under the mistletoe, that was my first kiss—”

  Jason half listened to her, focused more on the odd feeling of pleasure stealing over him. He didn’t think he had ever been a girl’s first kiss. That was the sort of nonsense women remembered forever. He felt a measure of satisfaction that he had, however unintentionally, left his mark on her.

  “—so you must see how dissatisfying it was—”

  “Eh?” Jason knew he had missed an important point. Surely she was not still speaking of their kiss.

  “Well, it wasn’t exactly the sort of kiss one reads about in novels, you know.”

  He cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I don’t.”

  “Oh.” Her disappointment was palpable. “I did so want a real first kiss.” She gave a wistful sigh. “Perhaps Sir Charles will know more about it.”

  Over his dead body, Jason thought. “Perhaps you could explain it to me. I’m not sure how first kisses ought to differ from regular kisses.”

  “Would you describe the kiss under the mistletoe as a regular kiss? Because it wasn’t at all how the books describe kissing. My stomach wasn’t fluttery and my knees didn’t go weak. I didn’t feel the least bit like swooning.”

  “I see,” he mused, wondering how to go about this situation. He was going to have to kiss her. If he didn’t, she would go to Charles, and that puppy would never be able to stop with a kiss. Then Jason would have to call him out to defend Miss Weston’s honor or (and somehow this seemed the worse scenario) Charles would refuse to fight him and choose instead to marry Miss Weston. No, Jason must be the one to kiss her.

  He knew how he wanted to kiss her, but it wasn’t how he ought to kiss her. Her first kiss should be sweet and tender. He cupped her face in his hands and tilted her head back.

  Her skin was soft as silk under his fingertips. He wanted so badly to run his hands over her body. To trace the lush curves of her breasts, down past the gentle indentation of her waist and over the swell of her hips.

  He ached to crush her to him.

  To force her to feel the hunger she aroused in him.

  To awaken a matching passion in her.

  He could do none of those things.

  Not here. Not now. Not ever, he reminded himself.

  She had asked him for a kiss. He was a grown man. A widower. Surely he could handle one innocent little kiss without too much difficulty.

  “Close your eyes,” he instructed.

  Her lashes fluttered closed, forming dark crescents against her pale skin, and she pursed her rose pink lips as tightly as she could.

  He wanted to laugh, but the sight of her, so vulnerable and trusting, made it difficult to breathe. His hands shook with need and lust and other, deeper emotions he wanted desperately to ignore. She was trembling, too.

  Was it fear? Anxiety? The same gut-wrenching need consuming him? He was tempted to ask her. All in an instant he wanted to know what she was thinking, what she was feeling. He wanted to know what she’d had for breakfast that morning and whom she had inherited her artistic talent from. He wanted to know how she took her tea and what she was afraid of and every last detail about her, from her favorite color to her middle name.

  The thoughts tumbled over each other in rapid succession, overwhelming him. He couldn’t handle this. Couldn’t handle her. But he couldn’t let her go.

  He brushed a thumb across her lips. “Easy, now.”

  He didn’t know whose benefit the words were more for. He lowered his head and kissed her. It was like no kiss he’d experienced before. This was like a prayer, a benediction, reverent and holy. His blood heated and energy crackled in the air around them. This meeting of lips was simple and innocent, yet earthy and elemental.

  It was . . . sweet.

  Her lips were soft but firm beneath his, matching his light pressure. She slid her hands up around his neck, threading her fingers through the hair at his nape, pulling him closer. A little sigh of pleasure escaped her, and he quickly took advantage of her parted lips, gently catching the bottom one between his teeth. He sucked and nibbled, pausing now and again to run the tip of his tongue over the satiny flesh of her inner lip. She tasted like elderberry wine, sweet with a tantalizing hint of spice, and every bit as heady. . . .

  Jason wrenched away, breathing hard. He didn’t know what had just happened to him, but he sure as hell hadn’t liked it. All right, he had liked it. He’d liked it so much his body felt ready to explode, but such a loss of control could not be counten
anced.

  He would not lose his head over a woman, no matter how desirable she might be. Nor would he lose his heart, or whatever bits still remained of it. And now he was condemned to a torturous hell of wanting and watching but never having.

  He didn’t fool himself that he’d forget her as soon as she left Arlyss; the memory of that kiss would be seared on his lips and memory for much longer. He hoped it had damn well been worth it.

  “Oh!” Her fingers came up to touch her lips. After a long moment, she asked, “Was that a real, proper first kiss?”

  “Yes,” he said, pleased with his restraint. At least one thing about that kiss had gone right, even if the rest of it had turned his whole world the wrong way up. “That was a proper first kiss.”

  “Thank you very much then. I had best be going.” Her voice sounded a bit wobbly as she turned to leave.

  Jason sighed. “Livvy, what’s the matter?”

  She turned back to face him and he saw that her eyes were bright with tears.

  “That’s the first time you’ve called me that.”

  “Now that we’ve kissed, using your Christian name seems a fairly light transgression,” he remarked.

  “No, I like it . . . Jason.”

  “Won’t you tell me what has upset you? I fear I am responsible.”

  “Oh, no, it isn’t you. It’s me. I know kissing is supposed to be pleasant, and now I’m worried there is something wrong with me. Maybe I have some sort of defect. . . .”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t enjoy kissing,” she exclaimed.

  Perfect. While he’d heard choirs of angels singing hallelujahs, she’d felt nothing. She might as well have picked up the letter opener from his desk and stabbed him in the gut . . .

  “I don’t mean to say that it was unpleasant exactly—”

  And then twisted the knife.

  “—it just . . .”

  “—wasn’t like the books,” he finished for her.

  She nodded and wrapped her arms about her middle, looking dejected.

  Christ.

  “Maybe you aren’t attracted to me,” he suggested, though the thought was depressing. “Physical desire is surely a required element for one of these book kisses.”

  “Of course it is, but I am hardly in the habit of seeking out kisses from men I find undesirable.”

  Her admission was a salve to his wounded pride, but salve was a poor remedy for a knife wound.

  “I know it must sound stupid to you,” she said, “but I always imagined kissing would be magical.”

  Whereas he had never really thought much about it. Until today. Until she had shown him how special a simple kiss could be.

  “Other people certainly seem to enjoy it,” she continued. “I know I have no right to ask, but . . .”

  “But?” he prompted.

  “Maybe two people have to be in love for the magic to happen.”

  “I don’t think so.” No, he knew so. Because there was no way he was in love with Miss Olivia Weston.

  “But was it different with your wife? Different than kissing me, I mean.”

  “Yes,” he replied truthfully, “but I kissed other women before I was married, and it was different with each one.”

  “But wasn’t it better with her than with those other women?”

  Jason forced himself to think of Laura, bracing for the rush of pain that always accompanied such recollections.

  “Yes,” he said slowly, “but the initial giddiness of being in love enhances all your feelings. And then, by the time that wears off a bit, you’ve grown used to each other and there’s a sort of comforting familiarity. After a fashion, kissing becomes an unspoken language.”

  “I see,” she whispered sadly.

  Bloody hell. He couldn’t stand another moment of this. He desperately wanted to take her in his arms and prove to her just how pleasurable kissing and all that ensued could be.

  It wouldn’t be difficult. He could tell she had a passionate nature. If he hadn’t stopped the kiss when he had, she would know that about herself. Of course, if he hadn’t stopped the kiss when he had, they would also probably have been rolling around naked in front of the fire by now.

  He was tempted.

  As he’d said, it wouldn’t be difficult.

  But neither would it be wise.

  Mind battled body and for today, at least, mind won out.

  He was going to let her go.

  But he could satisfy one craving.

  “What’s your middle name?”

  She must have thought it an odd request, but she answered him anyway.

  “Jane.”

  “Olivia Jane Weston.” He tested out the feel of it.

  “I’ve always thought Jane suited me better than Olivia,” she confided. “Olivia sounds like a rather grand, exotic person. The sort of person one would write novels about. Jane is a more ordinary name. A Jane would read books about the Olivias of the world and dream of having grand adventures.”

  “Do you dream of grand adventures?”

  “I used to. But if there is one thing I have learned in the last year, it’s that life is the grand adventure. It is up to each of us to make as much or as little of it as we wish. Holding a new baby in your arms can be as thrilling as riding an elephant. Not that I’ve ridden an elephant, mind you, but I used to dream of it.”

  She smiled shyly, seemingly embarrassed by this heartfelt outpouring of emotion. She was just opening the door to leave when he found his voice.

  “You’re wrong, you know. Olivia suits you. You just don’t know yet how extraordinary you are.”

  “Oh!” She gasped with pleasure.

  The sound wrapped around his chest like a vise.

  Her hand fell away from the doorknob and she turned back to him. Her eyes, at once cautious and hopeful, searched his face.

  “Truly?” Her voice was scarcely more than a whisper. “You aren’t just saying that to be kind?”

  “Kind?” He let out a little humorless laugh. “Do I strike you as a kind man?”

  Jason meant the question to be rhetorical, but Olivia nodded.

  “You are kind,” she insisted. “I will concede you are disagreeable and churlish much of the time, but you are kind, too. Would an unkind man come to the rescue of two mistreated dogs? Would an unkind man tender such care on his son as I have seen you do with Edward? Would an unkind man have gone to the trouble of finding a great Danish dog for Charlotte? I know the puppy was from you because Aunt Kate would have found a way to put off getting a dog until Charlotte fixed her mind on something else. You care deeply when you let yourself.”

  Her earnest belief in him was as misplaced as it was unsettling. In her bright, shining eyes, he was some sort of hero, like in one of those rubbish novels she went on about. He ought to tell her there would be no happy ending for him, but he didn’t have the heart. And, for just a little while, he wanted to live in her realm of fantasy and imagine that, just maybe, there could be.

  Chapter 10

  “As the old hermit of Prague, that never saw pen and ink, very wittily said to a niece of King Gorboduc, That that is, is.”

  Twelfth Night, Act IV, Scene 2

  Twelfth Night

  He thought she was extraordinary.

  Four days later, the idea still thrilled her.

  She didn’t even mind her kissing defect.

  Not much. Thinking back, she was almost certain there had been a moment when Jason kissed her when her knees had felt wobbly. Maybe she just needed more practice.

  Even if she never grew faint or felt like her heart would pound out of her chest, Livvy thought she would be happy to kiss Jason Traherne for the rest of her life. Because he made her feel extraordinary.

  As she dressed for the party, Olivia was a jittery bundle of nerves. Would Jason like her dress? It was new, and quite the most adult dress she had ever owned.

  Aunt Kate had decided that new gowns were in order for the
occasion, so they had gone to Haverfordwest one day with Charles. It was too short notice to order custom gowns, but both she and Aunt Kate had found dresses that needed only a few alterations. Livvy’s was of fine white muslin with silver embroidery and lace trimmings round the neck and on the short sleeves. The gown was banded under her breasts with a lavender satin sash that tied in a bow at the back.

  The bodice was lower than she was used to, but once she was certain that she would not tumble out and humiliate herself, Olivia decided she was quite pleased with the effect.

  Aunt Kate had lent her a strand of pearls with a diamond clasp and a matching bracelet. She wore no other jewelry aside from the tiny brooch pinned to her garter. She couldn’t leave it off and risk someone finding it, and in any case it had become a talisman of sorts.

  The brooch somehow was at once the least of her troubles and the biggest problem of them all. After a passing glance in the mirror had revealed the vacuous grin of a besotted woman, Livvy had admitted to herself that if she wasn’t already in love with Jason, she was well on her way there. And why shouldn’t she be? He found her extraordinary. Yes, she, Miss Olivia Jane Weston, was extraordinary.

  But in realizing this, Livvy also realized she needed to speak with Jason about the brooch and Laura’s diary. It was wrong to keep confidences from the man she thought she might love. She couldn’t tell him about the diary, though. He might demand to see it, and Charles hadn’t agreed to that yet. She understood his hesitation; his relationship with Jason would surely be changed. No, she could not tell him about the diary, but the brooch was another matter. The only person he would be angry with over that was her.

  And he would be angry, there was no doubt about that.

  She just had to trust her feelings were not one-sided and hope her eardrums could withstand the vocal outpourings of his fury. After he ranted and raged for a bit, he would forgive her transgression. He must, he simply must.

  Perhaps in time he might even come to believe, as she did, that Laura had led her to find the brooch and the diary. That Laura wanted happiness for Jason and had somehow brought them together.