Tempting the Marquess

by Sara Lindsey

  As long as he kept it to caring he would be all right, he told himself. Caring and wanting. That was where he drew the line. He would not cross over into loving or needing. Never again.

  He looked into her eyes, and then drew her up against him.

  “I want you. Only you, Livvy.”

  “Truly?” she whispered.

  “Truly.”

  “I want proof.”

  She wanted proof? He imagined Livvy’s fingers on his cock and was instantly hard.

  “Livvy—”

  “Don’t ‘Livvy’ me. If that Callista woman saw some proof of your desire, and you claim that desire is for me, I should be able to see the proof as well.”

  Christ.

  She was going to be the death of him.

  “The proof is there,” he said through gritted teeth. “You’re just too innocent to know it.”

  She pouted.

  The sight of those full berry pink lips was his undoing.

  He took her hand and held her palm over his pounding heart, then guided it down over the buttons on his coat to the falls of his breeches. His erection jerked and leapt against her palm as if it could break through the fabric barrier separating them.

  Jason dropped his hand.

  By some miracle, hers stayed put.

  “Is that proof enough for you?” he demanded hoarsely.

  “This means you want me,” she breathed.

  It was part statement, part question.

  If he answered her truthfully, there could be no going back.

  He closed his eyes, praying for the strength to push her away yet again. It would be for the best.

  But when he opened his mouth, he found himself saying, “Yes.”

  Chapter 12

  “Wherefore are these things hid?”

  Twelfth Night, Act I, Scene 3

  He wanted her.

  Her.

  Olivia Jane Weston.

  It was almost too much to believe. And yet the proof was in her hand. Lord, but she felt wicked. It didn’t feel bad, either, this wickedness; it felt glorious.

  She ran her hand up the hard length of him, marveling at what lay beneath the fine wool of his breeches. Unaccountably, touching him seemed to affect her body as well. She could feel her nipples jutting out, pressing against her corset. And the place between her legs throbbed.

  Jason stood as still and stiff as a marble statue. He seemed scared to move for fear she would stop touching him. Foolish man. She did remove her hand, which made him groan in disappointment, but she wanted to touch the rest of him. She smoothed her palms over his shoulders, feeling the heat of his body through the layers of clothes. She began sliding her hands down over his chest.

  “Olivia,” he rasped.

  “Livvy,” she instructed.

  “Livvy, you need to stop.”

  She didn’t listen. Her hands trailed lower, deliberately avoiding the hard ridge of aroused masculine flesh, to play on his muscled thighs.

  “Olivia, stop!”

  Her arms dropped to her sides, and she stepped away from him, stung by his dismissal.

  He caught her hands in his.

  “No, love, you misunderstand. I want you to touch me. I want it more than I want to breathe, but this is too public.”

  Love.

  How was it that a casually uttered endearment could be so thrilling?

  Love.

  How many times had she read, heard, said the word without thought. On his lips, those four simple letters combined to form something new.

  Something holy.

  Something she prayed was just a little bit true.

  “You—You don’t think I was too brazen?”

  He looked like he was in pain, but he managed a chuckle. “Despite what tales you were told in the schoolroom, I cannot believe there are many men who object to brazen women. So long as that brazenness is restricted to one man, that is.”

  “I suppose, as I have already begun, I shall have to restrict it to you, my lord.”

  “Jason,” he corrected her.

  “Jason,” she sighed in agreement. “You know, I don’t think I want to touch you after all.”

  “Have you decided to be sensible, then?”

  She shook her head. “Not unless you have. That wasn’t quite what I meant to say. I do want to touch you, but first I want to draw you.”

  He inhaled sharply.

  She rose up on her toes and whispered in his ear. “All of you.”

  His hands tightened on hers.

  “Are the guests leaving yet?”

  “Not for a while. It’s not yet midnight.”

  He swore. “Now will you admit that guests are a nuisance?”

  His impatience made her feel like the most desirable woman alive.

  The thought gave her pause. Why had she felt the need to add the bit about being alive? Was she trying to remind herself that she would never be able to compete with Laura?

  She strove to keep her tone light. “I should be insulted. You will recall I am a guest.”

  “Very well,” he agreed. “All guests are a nuisance except those who want to draw me.”

  “I don’t know. I think most of the women here would draw you, given the chance.”

  “You are a provoking minx. I amend my statement. All guests are a nuisance save those who want to draw me and are named Olivia. Are you satisfied?”

  She shrugged. “If you are.”

  “I am not satisfied in the least, but we must return to the party. If we have not already been missed, we soon will be.” He wound her arm through his and they began walking toward the Great Hall.

  “Will you dance with me?” she asked, hoping he wouldn’t notice the slight begging note in her voice.

  He shook his head. “I don’t dare. I might lose control and ravish you right then and there. And even if I somehow managed to restrain myself, everyone in attendance would know in a moment that I wished to do so.”

  “I don’t think my aunt would be pleased by that.” She laughed.

  He didn’t join her. Instead, a pensive frown clouded his face.

  Oh, there went her stupid mouth again. Why had she brought up her aunt? She had been so close to a marvelous adventure, and now she had given Jason the perfect reason to back out.

  She knew he didn’t care for her in the way she had come to care for him. It hurt, no denying that, but he still had a long way to go in terms of opening his heart again. And as much as she’d wanted to be the magic woman who healed all his hurts and helped him love again, that was the stuff of romantic dreams.

  Jason was real. He was not one of the perfect men in her novels. And yet, in many ways, she thought he was a hero.

  She could easily see why Charlotte and Edward—and even Charles—looked up to him. He was strong, but he was kind and caring, too. He tried to hide these noble qualities, of course, but he likely believed showing emotion was a sign of weakness. She knew from observing the men in her life that they were often possessed of such ridiculous notions.

  She dug in her heels.

  “Jason Traherne, if you are having second thoughts, I’ll—I’ll—”

  “Shh.” He pressed a finger to her lips. His hand moved to toy with one of the curls at her temple, twisting it around his fingers. “I passed second thoughts ages ago. I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve fantasized about you and the equal number of times I’ve told myself not to.”

  “As the female in question, second and all other numbers of thought are my prerogative. If I am not having them, neither can you.”

  “If you say so, it must be true.” He ran his knuckles down her cheek. “In any case, you still have time to change your mind.”

  She shivered with pleasure at his touch. “I am quite resolved. I plan to draw you until you are satisfied with the results.”

  He groaned. “Now look what you’ve done. I can’t possibly go back to the party like this,” he said, gesturing at his tented breeches.

  She gig
gled at the sight, and he swatted her backside in retaliation.

  “You are a cruel, lusty wench,” he bemoaned, “but it is probably all to the good for us to go in separately. You go ahead. I’ll rejoin the party shortly.”

  “But what about our plans?” she asked.

  “Our plans? For what?”

  In addition to being ridiculous, men were also infuriatingly dense creatures with memories in proportion to the smaller size of their brains. It was fortunate they made such excellent drawing subjects.

  “For tonight,” she hissed at him. “Where are we to meet? And when?”

  “You seem to have forgotten that our chambers adjoin. We shall have little trouble locating each other. Come to me once you have dismissed your maid.”

  “In your chamber?” she squeaked.

  No, no, no. She refused to share his bed with a ghost.

  “I suppose I could be troubled to walk the few steps to yours, if you wish,” he offered.

  In Laura’s room? That would be even worse! She thought quickly. “A bedchamber just seems so . . . so ordinary.”

  He didn’t bother to hide his amusement. “Heaven forfend we should be ordinary! Where would you prefer, my little adventuress? The library?”

  He was joking, she knew, but it sounded perfect to her.

  “Yes, the library. What time?”

  “Once the guests have gone, I will wait there for you. Come to me when you are able.” He pushed her forward. “Now take yourself off before I decide to challenge myself to a duel.”

  Once she had gone, Jason headed for the nearest washroom. He was so aroused from his encounter with Livvy and the prospect of what might happen later that night, he only needed a minute for things to come to a head, as it were. He just hoped his efforts would be enough to keep his desire in check for the remainder of the party. If he was lucky, and if by some chance his sanity returned, maybe it would be enough for the evening and he could forget these fantastic notions of a late-night rendezvous in the library.

  And perhaps he needed to stop fooling himself. This thing with Olivia was not going to go away just because he found lusting after her inconvenient. But he had told Livvy the truth. He was having serious doubts as to the wisdom of all this. He had always thought himself a man of honor and morals and scruples. Was he willing to abandon a lifetime of virtue for a bit of pleasure?

  Absolutely.

  There you had it.

  How low the mighty had fallen.

  He would not allow her to become fallen, though. He could have pleasure of her, and she of him, without her getting ruined. She would just go to her marriage bed a little more informed.

  The thought of Livvy getting married sent a bolt of white-hot rage racing through him. The violence of his reaction left him shaken . . . and ashamed.

  As he had told Edward earlier, he had no intention of getting remarried, not just to Livvy, but to any woman. If he wasn’t going to put his ring on her finger, was it really fair for him to begrudge her finding some other man to do it? No, of course it wasn’t fair, but he did all the same. At the moment she belonged to him, and Jason was not a man who shared what was his.

  He entered the Great Hall, his eyes involuntarily seeking her out amongst the crowd. She was not hard to find. Most of the women present were married or widowed, and Livvy’s light-colored dress stood out amongst the deeper hues of their gowns. A beacon of her innocence.

  He quashed down on the guilt that rose up in his throat. It wasn’t as if she didn’t want his attentions, he reminded himself. And in any case, she would still be innocent when she left Arlyss. She would have a much clearer idea of the relations between men and women, but she would remain a virgin. On that point he remained firm.

  An unfortunate choice of words. He was already beginning to feel the flutterings of arousal. Damnation. He was as randy as a goat. And he was not happy to see that Charles had been Livvy’s partner through the dance. The two of them were too close for his liking. Would Olivia turn to him once she and Jason were through? Assuming, of course, that they ever actually began. It was not a thought he wanted to dwell on.

  He forced his mind—and his gaze—in another direction and saw Callista determinedly making her way to him through the crush. Bloody perfect. He hoped she had enough common decency not to grope him publicly with her husband nearby. Then again, if Vernon ran him through with a sword or put a lead ball in him, he would have to take to his bed until Olivia was safely gone.

  “My lord,” Callista simpered, batting her lashes at him. “I had begun to believe you had disappeared.”

  No such luck, he thought glumly.

  He bowed. “Lady Vernon.”

  “So formal with an old friend?” she chided.

  To make a scene or not to make a scene, that was the question. He wanted to tell Callista that not only had they never been friends, they never would be. How the mild-mannered vicar and his meek mouse of a wife had produced such a hellcat for a daughter was beyond him. She had been wild as a child and had only become worse with age.

  Her marriage to the elderly baronet had elevated her position in Society, and she had become so proud and bold as to believe the rules of polite society no longer applied to her. He decided then that he would not give her the dressing-down she so richly deserved. She would bring about her own downfall soon enough with her grand airs and her loose tongue.

  “Was there something you wanted, my lady?”

  She sulked at his insistence at formality.

  “You haven’t yet asked me to dance, my lord,” she said, lowering her gaze to his groin. “I’m certain we would both find the activity invigorating.”

  She took his hand and began leading him over to the other dancers.

  Jason spoke in a voice low enough that only she could hear. “I will dance with you, Lady Vernon, because there would be talk if I turned and walked away from you now, and I don’t want to cast a blight on my stepmother’s party. I told you earlier not to touch me again. As this was not a particularly complicated request, I must conclude that you are either abysmally stupid or, more likely, you have deluded yourself into thinking you are irresistible. In either case, I trust I will not have to tell you again.”

  Her eyes blazed with anger as the musicians began to play a cotillion. At least he’d be able to keep trading her off to the other men who’d had the misfortune to join their set.

  He bowed.

  She curtsied.

  They joined hands and stepped toward each other.

  Or rather, he stepped toward her. She gave more of a leap and landed on his toes with as much force as she could muster. Damn, but that had hurt!

  Jason shot her a warning glance.

  Her eyes were fixed on his crotch.

  He sighed.

  It was going to be a long night.

  Olivia crept to the library, her heart pounding so loudly she couldn’t hear if she was making any noise. Over the sound of the beating drums was her mother’s voice spouting phrases like “most improper” and “ungrateful child,” and “banished to your room forever.” If her mother ever found out what she was doing . . . She shuddered, refusing to finish the thought.

  Her mother was not the type to understand about adventures. She would understand about falling in love, though, and maybe about needing to grab what you could while you could.

  There, she had admitted it.

  She was in love with Jason.

  When she’d overheard Lady Vernon, she had been devastated. Her worst fears about allowing herself to care and ending up heartbroken had seemed to be crashing down on her. But she had worried for nothing. She had been right to trust Jason with her heart. He wouldn’t hurt her, at least not intentionally.

  Livvy had no illusions that Jason was going to suddenly fall in love with her before she left. And as he certainly wasn’t going to be in London for her Season, once she left, she could not look back. But she knew she would and she wanted to be able to do so without regret.

&nb
sp; Life was short. In the past year she’d nearly lost both her sister and her brother-in-law. She didn’t know if she would ever fall in love again. Maybe someday, if she could see her way to somehow falling out of love with Jason, but there was no knowing for certain.

  The future was hazy.

  The present was clear.

  She was prepared to live in the moment and take whatever Jason would give her.

  She took a deep breath and opened the door to the library. She swallowed hard. Jason lounged on the wooden settle beneath the window wearing the red silk banyan she’d seen him in the night of Edward’s episode. Only the faintest sliver of moon remained in the sky, and the only light in the room came from the golden glow of the fire and the few scattered candles Jason must have collected and lit.

  She had thought him beautiful in the moonlight, like a fine marble statue of antiquity, but by firelight he was perfection. The flickering flames cast dancing shadows on him, gilding the olive tones in his skin and highlighting the sable undertones in his raven hair. On his chest, in the vee of flesh exposed by his robe, she saw dark, crisp curls, the same color as the hair on his head. Her mouth nearly watered at the sight of that naked skin; at the knowledge that she could reach out and touch him with no barriers to get in the way.

  He rose in one fluid motion and walked over to her. His feet were bare, as were his muscled calves. This time he wasn’t wearing anything under his banyan.

  Knowing how he felt about her hideous monstrosity of a wrapper, she had dismissed her maid once her gown and corset were off, telling the girl she would finish undressing herself. She wore only her chemise, stockings, slippers, and a shawl she’d wrapped around her shoulders to ward off a chill, though the last seemed a foolish precaution, as she was burning up inside. She should have felt shockingly underdressed. But faced with Jason in that loosely belted silk robe—really, she could undo the knot at his waist with little more than a tug—she felt as though she was wearing a ridiculous amount of clothing. Which probably accounted for her sudden desire to strip it all off and launch herself at him.

  “You came.” He sounded pleased and not a little surprised.