“Honestly, this is ridiculous.” She’d never promised she’d wager buttons. Not exactly. But she didn’t want to argue or look petulant, so she reached behind her back and unbuttoned a button, knowing James wouldn’t win many more tricks. “There. Are you happy now? It’s my turn.” She took an eight out of her hand and claimed a seven and an ace with it, smiling because an ace was worth an extra point. “I took a trick,” she said. “Unbutton.”
James didn’t seem at all reluctant to unbutton the top button of his shirt. He pulled a ten from his hand and took the ten of diamonds, which was worth two extra points. “I think you should unbutton two buttons,” he said, grinning.
“I think not,” she said, amazed that he’d remembered the value of that card when from all she could tell he hadn’t even listened to her instructions. “When I took the ace, you unbuttoned only one button, same as I did when you took the first trick, which had no extra points. Each trick is worth only one button, no matter how many points it contains.”
“Wrong,” he said, flicking open another of his buttons. “There, now I’ve unbuttoned two buttons for your extra-point trick. And you owe me three buttons for my trick with the ten of diamonds.”
“I cannot reach that many of my buttons,” she said petulantly, even though she hadn’t wanted to sound petulant.
He smiled, a very smug smile. “You poor thing. I’ll unbutton them for you.” And he reached behind her back and unbuttoned three buttons.
“Really, James, this is very childish.” Since there were no cards left on the table, she plucked one from her hand and set it down faceup without even looking at it. Which was a mistake, because it turned out to be the two of spades, which was also worth an extra point.
James wasted no time taking it with the two of hearts. “Two buttons,” he said with a grin.
“How did you remember the two of spades was worth an extra point?” she said slowly, and that’s when she realized the truth. She turned to him, outraged. “You already knew how to play casino, didn’t you?”
His grin widened as he unbuttoned two more of her buttons. “I never said I didn’t.”
Her dress was all unbuttoned down the back now. “You asked me to teach you!”
“Exactly. But I never said I didn’t know how to play.” His eyes gleaming, he watched her draw another card from her hand. “Too bad there’s nothing on the table to match with that,” he drawled as she tossed it down. “I don’t have to unbutton any more buttons. On the other hand…” His last card matched that one, and he used it to claim it. “You owe me another button.”
“You tricked me,” she said. “After you got all mad at me for tricking you.”
“Come, Juliana. This is a game. It’s not at all the same as trying to trick someone into marriage.”
He was right about that. Drat. Right enough to make her feel guilty. Right enough to make her drop that argument like a hot poker.
She set down her last card, grabbed the deck, and dealt them each four more cards. “I don’t have any more buttons.”
“Hmm.” He set down a six. “Then I think you owe me a kiss instead.”
“I do not.” Drat, none of her new cards matched anything on the table. She had two aces in her hand and had to risk one if she wanted a chance to win both. She chose one and tossed it down. “It’s your turn.”
“An ace,” he mused, “imagine that.” He swept both it and the six up with a seven. “Two more points,” he said with another smile. “Added to the button you haven’t unbuttoned yet, that makes three.”
“I have no more buttons,” she reminded him. “And I’m not kissing you. What are you going to do,” she added dryly, “open up my dress a little more by ripping it?”
“What an interesting idea,” he said slowly. “I should have thought of that myself. But no, I don’t think I’ll rip it. I think your aunt might notice that.”
And then his whole demeanor changed. His smile disappeared as he set his cards facedown on the table. He reached out and drew her loosened dress down her shoulders, leaving her breasts covered by only her filmy chemise.
“You owe me three kisses, Juliana,” he said softly, gazing at them in a most arousing way.
Her skin prickled, and her nipples puckered, even though it was very warm in the greenhouse. “I do not.”
“I think you do.” He didn’t sound smug now; he sounded raspy and seductive instead. His voice was making her lose her head. He skimmed his fingers along her face and down her neck almost to her cleavage, making her shiver. “I think you do, Juliana,” he said in that low, chocolatey tone. “I think you owe me three kisses.”
Dear heavens, she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted to kick herself for wanting him to kiss her, but she wanted him to kiss her nonetheless. Suddenly all she could think of was yesterday’s kisses under the stairs, and she wanted him to kiss her in the worst way.
And touch her breasts, like he had yesterday, too. She wanted him to touch her in the worst way. With his hands and his mouth, like he’d done yesterday, only it had happened so quickly she’d hardly had a chance to enjoy it.
And she wanted to touch him. She wanted to touch him in the worst way. Despite herself, despite how he’d tricked her into it, she leaned closer and raised a hand to the little V of skin where he’d opened his measly two buttons.
A faint smile curving his lips, he moved closer. And closer still. Until she could feel his breath on her mouth where she wanted his kiss. “May I kiss you now?” he asked.
Why was he asking? Why didn’t he just go ahead and kiss her? He’d done the same thing at Vauxhall Gardens and in the Panorama, asking her permission, making her agree.
She wished he’d just kiss her instead of asking, because she knew she should say no, but she couldn’t help herself. She wanted James, and she wanted to kiss him, and she wanted to kick herself for being too weak to say no.
“May I?” he pressed. He was so close, there hardly seemed to be space to breathe between them. “May I kiss you now? Please let me kiss you, Juliana. I want to kiss you in the worst way.”
In the worst way, just like she wanted. “Yes,” she breathed. God help her, she said, “Yes, please kiss me.”
And he did. His mouth crossed that last little space and settled on hers, and he proceeded to kiss her senseless. Positively senseless. The cards fluttered from her hand to the floor. Her senses began swirling, whirling, as she parted her lips and invited him in. His tongue swept her mouth, and she ached, positively ached, in her throat and her heart and, most curiously, in a place between her legs.
Still kissing her, he managed to maneuver her sideways onto his lap. She sighed and leaned into him, wrapping an arm around his neck, kissing him, kissing him. “I want to kiss you here,” he whispered, trailing little kisses down her throat on his way to her cleavage. “I want to kiss you here, in the worst way.”
Loving it, loving him, she tilted her head back to give him better access. And then his mouth was on a breast like she’d wanted, first kissing her through her chemise and then under it. He opened his mouth and drew in the crest, and dear heavens, it felt marvelous. Like a wanton, she arched her back, offering her breasts, offering herself, hoping he’d keep kissing them and do even more.
What she meant by more, she wasn’t sure, but that curious ache between her legs was growing stronger. Stronger and hotter, more insistent. Dear heavens, she loved him. She knew she couldn’t, knew she shouldn’t, but she loved him nonetheless. And when he began caressing her, stroking her waist, her hips, her thighs, God knew she loved that, too.
And then his hand was underneath her dress, and he was stroking her thighs some more. Kissing her breasts and stroking her thighs, making her head swim. Making her heart pound and her breath come in little gasps. He abandoned her breast to recapture her lips, and her senses were spinning out of control. He was kissing her, stroking her, exploring her mouth with his tongue, and that curious ache between her legs was growing insistent to the point of bei
ng unbearable.
And then his hand skimmed the curls that guarded that ache, lightly, lightly, and he broke the kiss.
“Can I touch you here, Juliana? Can I touch you here?”
Dear heavens, why was he asking? She was gasping so quickly she could barely breathe, let alone talk. The ache was becoming so exquisite it seemed to be robbing her of speech.
She managed to nod, and he captured her mouth again, his tongue tangling with hers in a dance while his fingers danced below, parting her thighs and finally, finally touching her where she ached. A gentle slide of his fingers, just once, because once was all it took. He found a spot so sweet it made the breath catch in her throat, and she tumbled over a precipice, swirling, whirling, falling into pleasure fiercer than she’d ever known.
He kissed her and kissed her while she calmed, and then he kissed her again, and her head began to clear.
Dear heavens, what had she done? What had she allowed him to do? He was supposed to marry Amanda. He had to marry Amanda, or Aunt Frances would be devastated. He’d touched her in a place he should touch only Amanda, and even that only after they were married. And she’d not only let him touch her—she’d all but asked. Or rather, he’d asked her, but she hadn’t hesitated to allow it. She’d nodded and kissed him, all but begging him to touch her where no man had touched her before.
She was appalled at herself. Absolutely, positively appalled. She’d wanted him to kiss her in the worst way, and she’d wanted him to touch her in the worst way, and it really had been the worst way.
He shifted her on his lap. “Are you all right, Juliana?” He lifted her chin, meeting her gaze. “Your eyes are blue,” he whispered, sounding pleased. “Deep, deep blue.”
She didn’t want him pleased with her. He needed to be pleased with Amanda. “Obviously it’s getting too dark for you to see,” she snapped. “My eyes are hazel.”
He laughed, a low, satisfied laugh, and then he kissed her again. And she let him, which made her feel better and worse all at the same time.
“It is getting dark,” he finally admitted, sounding much too regretful. “We need to go find the others before the garden’s gates are locked.”
She slid off his lap, and he raised her chemise and bodice with gentle fingers, and then he turned her around and buttoned her dress. And tucked in the dratted, too-straight hair that had slipped from its pins. And buttoned his two buttons and shrugged into his tailcoat and knotted his neckcloth in place, haphazardly as usual. And she reached to straighten it, unable to help herself, even though she knew she shouldn’t. And she let him kiss her again, a little sweet kiss that doubtless meant nothing to him but meant much too much to her.
She had to remember he would never love her. He was only kissing and touching her because they were friends and he wanted a child. He needed to become friends with Amanda instead.
She couldn’t let him kiss her again after this. Or touch her again. Ever.
He gathered the cards from the table and the floor and slipped the deck back into his pocket, and then they left the greenhouse and went back to the middle of the garden where everyone else was waiting.
Aunt Frances had obviously been kissing Lord Malmsey; in the dim light of the setting sun, they both looked happy and flushed. Aunt Frances had finished packing up the basket, and Lord Malmsey had folded the blanket. He was holding it over his arm.
Naturally, the duke and Amanda had done nothing. The two of them were much too aristocratic to do the work of servants. And of course they hadn’t kissed. Neither of them was flushed. No doubt Amanda had gone off with the duke purposely, specifically to avoid being kissed by James.
So Juliana had been kissed instead. And touched instead. And she very much feared she was flushed. She was appalled at herself.
It wouldn’t happen again, she reminded herself fiercely. She would never again play cards with James.
“Where have you been?” Amanda asked. “David and I have been looking all over for you.”
For a moment, Juliana felt puzzled, but then she remembered the duke’s name was David. How could she have forgotten the name of the man she expected to marry? And when had Amanda—proper, reserved Amanda—begun calling the duke by his given name? She expected to marry James, and she was still calling him Lord Stafford.
Nothing was right tonight. Nothing. Nothing was going well; nothing was happening as planned.
Her stomach hurt.
“We were playing cards,” James explained, pulling the deck out of his pocket to prove it. “All of you went off, so we decided to go in the greenhouse where it was warm and play cards.”
Nobody looked suspicious. Apparently it was a reasonable explanation. Nobody, after all—most especially nobody as innocent as Frances and Amanda—would think playing cards could possibly lead to what had happened tonight.
But although that was a relief, Juliana’s stomach still hurt. She had to fix everything. Somehow, some way, she had to get James together with Amanda.
“I’m going to the Pevenseys’ tomorrow night,” she said as they all started walking toward the Stafford carriage. “For a musical evening. I hope you’ll all want to come.”
What she would do when they got there, how she would get James together with Amanda, she hadn’t a clue. But just getting them there would be a start.
“I would love to attend a musical evening,” Aunt Frances said as she climbed in.
“I would love to attend, too,” Lord Malmsey agreed, following her.
“So would I,” Amanda said and climbed in next, sitting across from them.
Juliana’s stomachache began to ease. She climbed in herself, taking the opposite end of the seat from Amanda in order to leave space in the middle for James. She gestured to the duke, indicating the spot across from her. “I hope you’ll come, too.”
“Much as I would be delighted to spend the evening with you, my dear, I think I should go to Parliament,” he said as he took the place by Amanda.
How annoying. How absolutely annoying. He was supposed to sit across from her and leave the space by Amanda for James. “I should think you would prefer to attend a musical evening,” she said rather peevishly.
“I abhor musical evenings,” he said, not peevishly in the least. And then he smiled down at her apologetically, and she realized he wasn’t sitting in the space by Amanda, he was sitting in the space by her. Rather close, as a matter of fact, so she probably shouldn’t be so annoyed.
He was falling in love with her. He called her my dear and sent her flowers. He needed her, and this close proximity would allow her to finally start teaching him to be affectionate. She scooted a little closer, so they’d be touching.
And that was when she realized she couldn’t marry him.
She wasn’t going to be a duchess.
They were touching, but she didn’t find it the least bit enjoyable. She couldn’t even imagine letting him touch her the way James had in the greenhouse. Now that she knew what love felt like, she knew she would never have those feelings for the duke.
She felt terrible. The duke was so nice, and he was falling in love with her, but she couldn’t love him back. He’d suffered hurt and rejection throughout his childhood, and now she was going to reject him again. How could she tell him? How could she cast him aside without destroying him completely?
And what about Griffin? Poor Griffin. He was going to be so disappointed; he was going to have to start looking for a husband for her again. She obviously wouldn’t be marrying this season—it would probably be another year at least. How was she going to tell Griffin?
James climbed in. “I abhor musical evenings, too,” he said as a footman shut the door. He took the place across from her and settled back, his legs so long his knees touched hers. How annoying when she was immersed in trying to figure out a gentle way to break this distressing news to her brother and the duke.
James smiled at her as though he could tell she was annoyed. As though he enjoyed annoying her. “No man worth h
is salt would choose a musical evening over Parliament,” he informed her.
“A Roman proverb!” Amanda exclaimed.
“It is not!” Juliana snapped.
“It is,” Amanda said reasonably, sounding very bookish. “It alludes to the practice of paying Roman soldiers with rations of salt. Our English word salary comes from the Latin word salarium, which means salt money.”
“She’s right,” the duke said. “A man worth his salt has been a proverb for centuries.”
Obviously he was bookish, too. How absolutely annoying.
Chapter Forty-One
LORD MALMSEY was the youngest man at the Pevensey residence.
“Where is everyone?” Amanda asked.
A rather inane question, considering the Pevenseys’ drawing room was teeming with people. But all of them—save Lord Malmsey and a few doddering old men—were female. Remembering the way James and the duke had reacted to her invitation last night, Juliana sighed. “I collect most gentlemen would prefer to sit through Parliament than an evening of music.”
“Except for Lord Malmsey,” Amanda said.
“If it weren’t for Aunt Frances, he’d probably be at Parliament, too.” Indeed, Lord Malmsey had made a beeline for Frances the moment they’d walked in the door. The two of them were off in a corner, whispering, even now.
Whispering endearments, no doubt. Lord Malmsey was looking more and more in love—and more miserable that he had to marry Amanda—every day. Juliana wished more than ever that Lord Malmsey could cry off the wedding, but wishing didn’t change the facts. It just wasn’t possible, not if he ever wanted to show his face in society again.
Amanda clutched Juliana’s arm. “I need to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“My father,” she said, looking even more miserable than Lord Malmsey.
If Frances knew Lord Malmsey was engaged, she’d look more miserable than both of them put together. Juliana’s projects all seemed to be falling apart. She still hadn’t figured out how to break the news to the duke or her brother. “What about your father?” she asked Amanda.
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