by Jenna Jaxon
He seized her hands, startling her afresh. “Do not be ashamed, Mrs. Easton, I beg of you. I hope you have noticed these last few days of the house party—no, even before that, when first we met—that I have come to have the greatest respect and admiration for you. Gratitude as well for your friendship with Georgina.”
“Lady Georgina is a dear, dear friend. I would do anything within my power for her.” The pleasurable tingles where he held her hands had begun anew.
“You are one of the kindest spirits I have ever known.” He pulled her a step closer. “I have been waiting for the right moment to tell you just how much I admire you.”
His gaze warmed her as much as his words. She could fall into those big blue eyes and be lost forever. Willingly. Oh, dear, was she doing it again?
“Lord Brack.” She leaned back, pulling her hands from his and winding them firmly around her reticule. “I fear a headache has come upon me suddenly. Likely brought on by that potent Wrotham ale.”
“Mrs. Easton—”
She started toward the area where the horses and carriages waited. “Perhaps that is why ladies are seldom supposed to indulge in it.” She must get away from this place, before she was truly lost. “Will you please see me to the carriage? I believe it is time I returned to Lyttlefield Park.”
“Allow me to escort you back.” He fell in step beside her but didn’t offer his arm.
Perceptive man. If she touched him again she would completely lose control and quite likely abandon herself to him here and now. And while that prospect had a wild appeal to her at the moment and in this place, in the light of day it simply would not do. “Thank you, my lord, for the offer, but I cannot allow you to leave the festivities on my account.” The short drive back to Wrotham Park alone would give her time to cool this unusual desire for him. If she remained here, in the wild sensuality of the night, she might ravish Lord Brack on the spot.
“I believe it has concluded.” He swept his hand toward the now-ragged circle where the locals were milling about.
Indeed, the festival seemed at an end.
“It would be my greatest pleasure to see you home safely.” He chuckled. “Even though the robbers in the area have been apprehended, a lady at night alone is never a wise choice.”
Although this might be the one exception to that rule. “Very well then.” Elizabeth resisted a sigh. He’d got what she called a “stubborn man face” on—Dickon had shown it to her enough times that she recognized it on other gentlemen. She would simply have to keep a vigilant distance from this most attractive man. “I thank you for your kind offer.”
His joyful smile did nothing to buoy her confidence.
She steeled herself for the touch of his hand. “Should we wait for the others, perhaps? They will be needing the carriage as well.” If others accompanied them, surely she’d be less inclined to think heated thoughts about the gentleman seated across from her.
“The distance is less than half a mile. We will send it back directly we arrive.” He tapped on the roof, and the coachman started the team. “If you are in distress, we must get you home so you can have some tea as quickly as possible.”
“You are truly kind, my lord.” Elizabeth relaxed against the soft leather seat and smiled at the personable young man. He would make any woman an excellent husband in due time. It might even be her, if only she were ready to give up her love for Dickon.
She firmed her lips into a pleasant smile. Even though Charlotte and Georgie had been actively advocating a match between her and Lord Brack, that didn’t mean she was ready for it. Such a major change in her life must take more sober consideration than a few days’ acquaintance, delightful though the gentleman might be. She had Dickon’s children, Colin and Kate, to think of, after all. There was no need to rush into marriage.
Not even to satisfy the hollow ache deep in her core that suddenly yearned to be filled by the man in the carriage.
Chapter 2
Jemmy leaned back in the carriage, wishing for more light. He’d give anything to know what Mrs. Easton—Elizabeth, as he already called her to himself—was thinking right now. But the shadows fell across her lovely face, masking any inner thoughts that might help him to gauge her reactions.
The leather seat creaked as he eased his position. Perhaps the darkness was a blessing. While it shielded Elizabeth’s face, it also very effectively hid the lingering effects their passionate encounter had caused in his groin. His breeches had tented as soon as that indecent pagan kiss had taken place in the circle. Not from desire for Nora Burns—God, no—but from his fantasy that he was the Harvest Lord and Elizabeth his Corn Maiden.
Best not think along those lines at the moment. At least not until he was safely away from Elizabeth. Mrs. Easton. Damn it. He thought of her as Elizabeth. His Elizabeth, although after rushing his fences like that tonight he’d surely set himself back in his campaign to make her his wife. Perhaps some simple solicitude would help offset his blunder.
“Are you cold, Mrs. Easton? There’s a carriage blanket here.” She looked pale whenever the moonlight flashed in through the window, illuminating the sweet, heart-shaped face that so often wore a worried frown.
“No, thank you, my lord. I am fine. And we are almost at Lyttlefield Park.” She smiled, and his member leaped afresh.
Earlier in the year, Jemmy’d had no notion of wanting a wife. At just twenty-nine, he’d returned from a grand tour, not only of the normal places in France, Italy, and Germany; he’d also taken excursions to Egypt and Greece as well. He’d waited years for the war to be over, and he’d insisted on a complete tour before coming back home. Just arrived in London in May, he’d come to Town this Season to sow his final wild oats. Of course, he’d managed his share of that in various places across Europe and now throughout London as well, with several delectable birds-of-paradise.
Lady Cavendish’s house party had been one more stop in a summer dedicated to passion and frolic, a way to see his sister again with his father none the wiser—until he had met Elizabeth Easton. When Georgie had introduced her as a widow, he’d immediately assumed the woman desired a casual romp. To say he’d been grossly mistaken was to put it lightly.
“Here we are, Mrs. Easton.”
The carriage rolled up to the manor house door, and Jemmy jumped down, waving away the groom and handing Elizabeth down as gently as if she were a porcelain doll.
“Thank you so much, my lord.” She smiled, a dimple appearing in her right cheek.
Oh, to have that dimple to kiss at will.
Jemmy offered his arm, not at all certain she’d take it. Although their kiss earlier had steamed with passion, she’d broken from it and him rather abruptly.
Elizabeth placed her hand lightly through the crook of his arm, and he thrilled to the delicate touch. Heat curled around his cock as though she’d gripped it instead.
From the moment he’d been introduced to her, the woman had entranced him. Her beautiful face, lush figure, and pleasing voice had attractions of their own. Her sweet nature, however, had enchanted him. A very womanly lady who had been someone’s perfect wife.
She’d mentioned both her husband and children that first evening in August, dispelling any idea she’d come to the party with a mere dalliance in mind. Despite the initial disappointment, he’d discovered he didn’t care. He’d been drawn to her as a cold man is drawn to a roaring fire. Even when she’d hinted she still grieved for her late husband, a war hero, Jemmy had found hope. A woman who had once loved so deeply would likely need that physical love once more.
Tonight, he’d been sure of it. Her passionate response to him had given him even greater hope that she was at last ready to forget the past and think about a future with him. Unfortunately, he had to admit, accepting his arm didn’t necessarily indicate she would accept further advances. His body simmered with the memory of her mouth, craving more.
As they entered Lyttlefield Hall, the butler claimed their wraps.
“Can you fetch
tea for us, Fisk? Mrs. Easton and I are chilled to the bone.” Jemmy steered Elizabeth into the drawing room, where earlier so much excitement had occurred. Perhaps a quiet cup of tea would put them both back into a more affable mood.
“I am afraid I am too tired even for tea, Lord Brack.” She still gripped her reticule tightly, her gaze darting repeatedly toward the door. Seeking escape. “I will give you good night and thank you for a lovely day.”
“I am sorry your headache is no better, my dear.” He might as well sneak that endearment in while he could. “Don’t you think hot tea would make a world of difference?” Desperation made him grasp any straw that presented itself to keep her here.
To his dismay, she shook her head and smiled sadly. “I think the only thing that will rid me of this pain is an early night.”
“Then let me come with you.”
Eyes widening, she stumbled back a step. “What do you mean?”
Putting every ounce of charm into his smile, Jemmy offered his arm once more. “Only that I beg to be allowed to escort you to your chamber. I would have this day and your company last as long as possible.”
The tension in her shoulders melted away as she relaxed toward him. “You are very kind. Thank you so much for your excellent company all day.” She cast her gaze down, then back up at him through long, golden lashes. “It would be lovely to extend it a little more.”
Grinning at his victory, Jenny enjoyed the thrill of her small hand as it perched, light as a hummingbird, in the crook of his arm. Oh, that they were bound for the same chamber.
“Do you stay long here at Lyttlefield? I believe the party is scheduled to last through Monday.” He’d accepted an invitation to Braeton’s Hunt Ball next week but might stay on here if Elizabeth elected to remain. “Have you other engagements, or do you return to your parents in London?”
“I will leave for London on Tuesday. I suspect Charlotte will have much more to do now to accomplish another move and plan her wedding by December. Such a pity she will have to repack nearly everything to move only a mile or so down the road.” Elizabeth shook her head at the daunting task. They mounted the steps, and she tightened her grip on his arm.
The slight pressure filled him with desire once more. Desire to seize her lips, devour that red, luscious mouth, and more. If only they’d had more time out at the festival. “I will be truly sorry to see you leave.” He laid his hand over hers as they neared the landing. “I fear I can never have enough of your company.”
A nearby sconce threw light on her cheek, revealing a blush. “Lord Brack—”
“Why did you break our kiss?” He stopped her, needing to know. “I have waited for months for that kiss, and then it was over before I even knew it had begun.” He stroked her cheek, soft as a flower petal, with the back of his hand. “Did you not enjoy it?”
A quick gasp, and she released his arm. “Of course, I enjoyed it.” One stricken look at him, and she turned away, striding quickly toward her room with short, jerky steps.
“Then why did you end it?”
He caught her at her chamber door, the last one at the end of the corridor.
“I . . . I was thinking about my husband.” Her voice had lowered to a whisper. “That wasn’t fair to you.”
A pang of jealousy shot through his breast, but he dismissed it. It had likely been her first kiss since the man’s death, therefore a normal reaction. “Let me see if I can make you forget him this time.” He grasped her face, ignored her startled blue eyes, and brought their lips together again.
* * *
Elizabeth didn’t protest, couldn’t protest when Lord Brack’s gentle but firm hands took control of her for the second time that night. Secretly, she’d wanted another kiss and had been appalled by that desire. She still loved Dickon, didn’t she? How could she want another man’s lips on her? Want to feel his hands all over her body? It was a betrayal of Dickon, of the memory of his love.
At the touch of Lord Brack’s lips, however, her struggle melted like snow in the sunlight. Passion ignited earlier out in the dark field flamed anew throughout her being, licking into all the little recesses of her body, starved for attention these long months. Every inch of her quivered, longing for his touch. Her breasts swelled, her core ached with new intensity. What was it about this man that drove her into such a frenzy of need? Had the pagan god of the festival followed them back to work his powers of lust on them once more?
She moaned into his mouth, searching greedily for his tongue. In her urgency, she leaned into him, rubbing her breasts against his rock-hard chest with even more insistence than before. Madness descended, as her hips thrust wildly, seeking a different hardness.
Sliding his hands down her back, he cupped her bottom with firm fingers, and pulled her right into him before slamming them both into the door. The stiffness in his trousers prodded her mound in perfect placement, drawing a groan from deep within his throat. He thrust his tongue in and out of her mouth, the invitation clear as a summer’s day. He wanted her.
And heaven help her, she wanted him as well. Desperately. She felt for the handle, pushing it down with such force the door popped inward and they staggered into the room. Still locked in their frantic embrace, she fought to stay upright.
He tried to put her from him, but she clung closer, sending her hands into his curly hair, closing her fingers around the short strands. Disengaging their mouths for a moment, he rasped, “Let me shut the door.”
She nodded but wouldn’t let go, forcing him to walk them both back to the door to give it a shove. It crashed into the frame with a force that made the painting on the wall jump and the lone candle in the room waver. Then he was back, his lips on her mouth, her throat, the swell of her heaving breast as it spilled over the neckline of her dress. Lord, she wanted more of him. Her nipples drew into points, aching to be freed from their confinement. She guided his hands to them.
He needed no further urging. With a flick of his wrists, her breasts popped free, his hot mouth engulfing first one nipple, then the other. Moaning her delight, she pressed his head to her, reveling in the exquisite sensations so long denied. And still she craved more of him. Her raw panting sounded loudly in the semidarkness. If only she could feel his hands on her skin, all over her body. Lord, it had been so long. “Undress me now.”
His sharp intake of breath swelled her desire to new heights. He spun her around, his fingers fumbling first at the buttons of her dress, then the laces of her stays. Soon her clothes puddled at her feet, and she stood only in shift, stockings, and shoes. Delicious chills coursed through her as she stooped to remove her half-boots. At last she turned to find him almost as divested of his clothes as she. All that remained to cover his taut form were his breeches and boots.
Drawn to his sleek, broad chest, she skimmed her hands lightly over his nipples, then down the firm, beautifully made muscles of his abdomen to the top of his tight, buff trousers.
“One more moment, love.” His husky voice sent another frisson of heat streaking to her core. He bent, and she chaffed with impatience until his boots hit the floor with dull thuds. There was a soft plop, plop of buttons being ripped through their holes, and he towered over her again. With one swift motion, his hands grasped her shoulders and peeled the shift from her, exposing her to his hot gaze. He ran his thumb from her neck down to the tip of one nipple, her skin pebbling at his touch, her breast swelling tight, its tip furled into a tiny, eager point. Continuing downward, he stroked over her stomach, making it tremble, and onward to the thicket that covered her mons.
Staring at her with a hunger she’d not seen in years, he pressed through her curls until he found her nub, dipped lower to gather the moisture that drenched her sex, then massaged it gently over the sensitive spot.
Knees weak, she quivered as he circled and rubbed, staring into his eyes, though intensely aware of his fingers at play. A squeeze of her nub drew a gasp, then a moan that seemed to well up from her core. Desperate to touch him, she grab
bed his face, captured his mouth, and thrust her tongue into him. Their tongues battled as he stroked faster. Little mews of pleasure escaped her as he drove her to the long-denied brink and pushed her over.
Waves of passion crashed over her as her body gave itself up to the pleasure once more. She clutched him to her, crying and panting as the waves receded.
He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. With one hand, he raked the covers down and laid her on the crisp white sheet, then climbed up and spread his body over hers. His cock searched eagerly for access between her thighs.
Immediately, she opened them, inviting him in, wanting—no, craving—more of the pleasure he had generously given her. It had been too long since she’d felt these wonderful sensations that had left her all but breathless. “Don’t stop.”
“As if I could, my love,” he chuckled, then licked her nipples, first one, then the other.
The cool air on her wet flesh made it pebble again, and the tips teased back into their hard, aching points. They had always enjoyed such attention. But she wanted more. She surged against him, her hips bumping his, seeking his heat.
“Hmm, not yet, love.” He left her breasts and trailed his tongue down her stomach. Lower still, he brushed her mons with a kiss that set her afire.
“Ah. Ahh.” Had anything ever felt so wonderful? She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed these feelings, how good they felt. Arching her back, she pressed herself into his mouth.
His questing tongue drew deeper and deeper moans from her until he found her nub again and pressed it.
“Ohhh, yess.” Once more like that, and she would complete again.
Instead, he replaced his mouth with something hard and hot that stroked through her moisture, seeking entrance at last.
“Ready?” The deep, husky growl brought every nerve in her body alive.