The Amorous Heiress

by Carrie Alexander

  His hands were now caressing their way up her back, kneading her neck, combing through her hair. “I’m sorry if I was too hard on you.”

  “No, I think I was the one in the wrong. I hurt you by my stupid assumption that you’d be interested in marrying me for the wrong reasons—”

  “Oh, I’m interested,” Jed murmured. “For all the right reasons.” His lips were so close to hers, she had only to tilt her face up a fraction and they’d be kissing, kissing the way she’d dreamed of so feverishly over and over again for the past eight days and nineteen hours…

  But someone was coming down the passageway toward either the larder or the kitchen, footsteps clumping like Jack and the Beanstalk’s giant.

  Gussy and Jed groaned in unison. “Godfrey.”

  10

  A Merry Chase

  “COME ON,” Jed said, grabbing her hand and heading for the kitchen proper, where dinner sputtered and spattered in the oven.

  “But that’s where Godfrey’s going,” Gussy whispered. They retraced their steps, clearing the swinging doors a moment before the butler pushed them outward. She hustled Jed past an adjacent door and into a space so small it had to be a closet. The swinging door banged against the closet door before she could catch the knob, knocking it shut and plunging them into total darkness.

  Jed felt for the walls and found Gussy’s hand instead…She brought his palm up to her mouth to muffle her voice. “Don’t move,” she said, her lips grazing his skin. “This is the china closet.”

  He thought of asking why they were hiding, but decided it was more fun not to because this newly employed but still sweetly earnest version of Gussy Fairchild was turning him on. As his eyes adjusted, he could make out the dull gleam of rack after rack of porcelain and glass dinnerware surrounding them on three sides. Not an ideal spot for a rambunctious let’s-make-up rendezvous.

  “Kiss me,” Gussy whispered as Godfrey clumped back and forth in the passageway. “But don’t break anything.”

  “What’s breakable?” Jed’s homing instinct kicked in; he unerringly pressed his palm against the soft round globe of one of her breasts. “Not this.”

  He could hear Gussy breathing. And when he squeezed, not breathing. “No,” she panted. “That’s not breakable.”

  He put his face near hers and traced her lips with his tongue. “This?”

  “Oh, my gosh,” she said. “Please kiss me.”

  Jed was about to when he heard a feminine voice join Godfrey’s rumble. The interlopers weren’t standing directly outside the china closet, but they weren’t far away, either. “I’ll set the table,” said the woman, coming even closer.

  Gussy clutched at his arms. “What do we do now? That’s Helmi, the housekeeper. If she catches us, she’ll tell Grandmother for sure.”

  He chuckled. “I could break a plate and you could pretend you’re punishing me.”

  Apparently Gussy failed to see the humor. She listened at the door for a few seconds, waiting for the voices to recede. “Here goes nothing,” she said, her voice sliding up to a high-pitched squeak as she flung open the closet door and darted into the passageway, aiming for the dining room. Realizing that Godfrey’s grumbling voice was occupying the housekeeper in the larder, she risked a change of direction, racing down the wide front hall toward the drawing room, her thighs pumping and her behind bouncing. Jed just had to follow.

  “No one ever comes into the drawing room,” she promised, closing the French doors. He backed her into them, his hands spanning her waist. “Except Thwaite.”

  Jed lifted her hair and kissed her nape. “Don’t make me Thwaite any longer.”

  Gussy laughed, then slapped her hand across her mouth in horror when the latch on the solarium doors rattled. Her eyes bulged as the butler’s gaunt shape was silhouetted against the lace panels of the opening door. “I don’t believe it…”

  Jed dragged her back out to the front hall. He was thinking carriage house, but she turned up the stairway. When they reached the second-floor landing, she pointed down a long, paneled hall. “There’s Great-grandfather’s door. There’s mine.”

  He visually measured the distance. “Can we make it?”

  She did an impatient, ants-in-her-pants shimmy. “We have to.”

  They’d taken three cautious steps when the first door opened. Gussy flung up her hands, gasped, “Schwarthoff!” and ran pell-mell toward her bedroom, her skirt wrapping around her flashing legs.

  Laughing, they burst into her bedroom and together slammed the door, pushing it harder than they had to, pounding it with their fists and finally turning the doorknob lock with a satisfying click. Jed double-checked it. Gussy triple-checked.

  They turned to each other. “Whew, we made it,” she said.

  His blood was still hot. “Not yet.” He glanced significantly at the massive canopy bed. “But we soon will.”

  “Here? Beneath Great-grandfather’s very own roof?”

  Jed could tell she liked the idea. “He doesn’t have to know, does he?”

  “Only if I want to get kicked out of Throckmorton Cottage for good.”

  “There’s an idea. I might be very noisy.”

  Gussy took his hand. “Seriously, now…don’t. Promise me you’ll be quiet as a mouse.”

  He backed her up against this door with better luck. “I can’t control myself around you,” he said into the silken sweep of her hair. “I’m not promising anything but that I’m going to make you bite your tongue.”

  Her face was burrowed against his broad chest. “What?” she asked, muffled by his denim shirt.

  She tried to wriggle away but his hands were in her hair, holding her still as he brought his mouth down on hers and kissed her so thoroughly she forgot her question in the dizzying rush of sensation. “To keep yourself from screaming,” he said when his breath ran out, and then he was kissing her again, his mouth hot and agile on her face, her cheeks. He licked her eyelids, running the tip of his tongue along her nose, holding her jaw with his gentle fingers, pushing his thigh hard between her legs so she was pinned in place and writhed against him as his wild, wanton kisses drove any thought of propriety out of her head.

  She clawed at his shirt, tearing it off him in her need to have his skin moving against hers in the slow, sensuous glide and prickly friction and deep, driving thrusts she craved. The heels of her palms ground against his brown nipples and he groaned. Her fingertips brushed through the patch of dark hair furring his chest and down to the hard abdominal ridges, which clutched and shuddered at her touch. She fumbled at the taut fly of his jeans, the flat of her other hand slipping beneath the waistband, and suddenly the zipper came open and his penis sprang naked and hot and rigid into her hands, more, far more, than she’d expected.

  “You oughta warn a girl.” She held him tight in her sliding fist and her cupped palm; his eyes closed and his head twisted, falling back to expose the strong column of his throat and the Adam’s apple working up and down as he struggled to maintain control. “When you’re naked beneath your jeans,” she finished, her teeth grazing the hard bead of his nipple.

  His head snapped forward. He braced his hands against the door, pressing her flat between him and it until all she felt was heat and muscle and straining flesh. And her own desire, coming in great, warm waves until she was swimming with an urgent need to feel him inside her.

  “Jed.” She ran her fingers up the sides of his ribs. “Take me to bed.”

  “Not yet.” He reached under her dress and peeled off her plain white cotton panties before she had a chance to regret not wearing fancy silk or satin underwear.

  They slid down her legs. “My, that was deft,” she breathed, stepping out of them, the motion making her derriere flex beneath his palms. His eyes sparked as he swung her around toward the bed, kissing her again like a starving man, making her laugh, driving her wild.

  He dropped her on the bed and stood for a moment at the foot, his head brushing the canopy while he looked down at he
r. He showed his teeth in a wolfish smile. “Open your dress.”

  Gussy lay on her back, watching him watch her as she slowly untied the narrow ribbons that were threaded crosswise through the bodice of her sundress. She loosened the lacings, thinking that seeing such a virile man standing three-fourths naked among the ultrafeminine ruffles of her Sister Parish chintz should have been almost comical, but it wasn’t. It was erotic.

  Fantasy couldn’t hold a candle to reality.

  “You’re way too slow,” Jed complained, and then he was on top of her, using his teeth on the ribbons because his hands were inside her dress, scooping her bare breasts to his mouth without hesitation, although he did pause to say, “You oughta warn a guy,” before his tongue swirled around her nipple and sucked hard at it, and then she wasn’t watching anymore as he did all the things to her that she’d dreamed of and a little bit more besides.

  “I AM SPINNING out of control,” Gussy said into Jed’s midsection, where she’d been testing the depth of his belly button with her tongue. She swung her head up, her hair brushing across his washboard stomach. “Scratch that. I’ve already spun. You’re one heck of an outside force, Jed Kelley. My inertia is broken for good.”

  “Right,” he said equably, as if she’d made sense. He snagged her leg with his hand at the back of the knee joint and started lazily pulling it toward himself until Gussy said, “Yikes,” and scissored her legs across the sheets as she was dragged feetfirst toward the pillows. Jed’s fingers crept skillfully along the curves of her leg and slid up between her thighs, where she was still wet and warm and supersensitive. He started to open her legs. She made a demurring noise, though why, she didn’t know; it was too late for modesty. He shook his head anyway and didn’t stop even when she asked him to, even when she was clutching at the bedposts and biting down on a mouthful of blanket as his fingers and his tongue stroked deep inside her until she gave up and let go and screamed and screamed and screamed.

  “AND NOW I AM in serious trouble,” she said ten minutes later, after Nurse Schwarthoff had knocked on the bedroom door to inquire whether Gussy was ill or merely inconsiderate to the napping needs of her great-grandfather. She eyed Jed reproachfully from her sitting position across the bed. The pink blanket that had kept her screams from echoing through the entire house was wrapped toga-style around her. “You did that on purpose.”

  He laughed softly and poked her with his foot. “They don’t know for sure what they heard. The walls are too thick.”

  “Well, you’d better get out of here without anyone seeing you or else they will know. For sure.”

  “Are you kicking me out of bed?”

  Gussy crawled over and stretched out behind him, opening the blanket and pressing her body along the length of his. She wrapped her arms around him. “Grandmother is going to send Thwaite up here in about fifteen minutes to inform me that. I’m late for dinner.”

  “Tell them you have a date, then sneak out to the carriage house with me.”

  She sighed longingly. “I can’t. I’ve skipped so many meals lately that my grandmother is going to think I’ve developed an eating disorder.”

  His eyebrows rose in question. “You’re that busy with the new job?”

  “I’ve been avoiding Andrews. Grandmother’s setting me up for a proposal, remember?”

  Jed rose to his elbows and looked at her searchingly. “So you just say no. What’s so hard about that?”

  She frowned into the pillow, knowing she was disappointing him again. “It’s not easy to disobey my great-grandfather. You’ve never met him. You have no idea.”

  “Maybe I should call on him. Ask him for your hand…”

  Was he serious or was he teasing? Gussy sat up, an expression of dawning relief transforming her face even though she was unsure of Jed’s intent. “Would you do that? Could you do that?”

  He didn’t answer.

  She checked herself. “You’re right. I have to stand up to him for myself.” Even a deep breath didn’t steady her. “Somehow.”

  “Now that you’re an independent career gal, it shouldn’t be so difficult.”

  “An independent career gal,” she repeated to herself as she scooted out of bed and reached for her dress. It was hopelessly wrinkled. She found a robe, aware of Jed’s gaze following her to the closet. He deserved an independent career gal, a self-confident, in-charge equal who wanted to marry him but didn’t need to. And even though she was trying her best, she couldn’t say she felt all that different from before. While she was proud of herself for talking herself into a sort-of job with Mrs. Hyde, the position wasn’t yet much to speak of. Winning the Pequot contract, however, would be an impressive accomplishment by anyone’s standards.

  She glanced at Jed. How would he feel if the independent career gal he hadn’t wanted to hire himself snatched a prestigious job right out from under his rake?

  “Jed?” He was pulling on his jeans, slipping them up over the really fine backside she’d admired right from the start, from this very room, in fact. The thought made her realize that she’d come a long way in the weeks since then. She had changed, though perhaps the change had been growing inside her all along and Jed was only the incentive, not the entire impetus. He’d given her the initial shove, yes, but she alone had kept up the momentum.

  And she wanted to continue. “Jed? What you said before, about us being lovers…?”

  He came up behind her and crisscrossed her torso with his arms, snuggling her against his bare chest. “Yes?” He nipped ticklishly at her ear.

  She hunched her shoulders. “I want us to be friends, too.”

  “Of course,” he replied, sounding distracted as he nudged her robe aside and kissed the slope of her shoulder. “That’s a given.”

  “And will we stay friends even if I get the Pequot job?” Not to mention staying lovers.

  He chuckled and patted her hip. “Sure.”

  His casual air made her remember her earlier dissatisfaction with his attitude. She shrugged his hands away, turning to face him. “You don’t sound worried about the competition. I guess you think I have about a one-in-amillion chance of getting it.”

  He made a charming what-of-it? face. “So do I, compared to Haversham & Hopewell and some of the other firms that will try for it.”

  She resisted the charm. “Still.”

  “I’m sure you’ll do your best.”

  There was a knock at the door. “Miss Augustina,” Thwaite said in the I-will-brook-no-nonsense voice that usually made her jump. “Dinner.”

  “Keep your pants on, Thwaite,” she snapped, narrowing her eyes at Jed as he buttoned his shirt, unconcerned.

  “Indeed,” the butler said archly, leaving no doubt that he, at least, knew what the sounds coming from her bedroom had been caused by.

  Gussy should have been mortified, and horrified that he’d tattle, but the new Gussy was one stubborn chick and she had a bone to pick with Jed. “You’re not taking me seriously.”

  He looked up in surprise. “I take you very seriously.”

  “In bed, maybe, but not about my new job. You might as well have patted me on the head and said, ‘Good for you, little lady. Keep yourself occupied.’”

  “That’s not fair. I encouraged you—”

  “I want to be good at this!” she blurted, shocking herself. “I know I can be.”

  “Look, Gussy…” He sighed. “Don’t start a fight.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “I want to know what you really think.”

  “Okay.” He copied her movement, his long fingers splayed over the unbuttoned jeans clinging to his narrow hips. Gussy tried not to be distracted. “The facts are you’re a neophyte and Beatrice Hyde retired ten years ago. What am I supposed to think?” His smile was coaxing. “Okay, so you’re a long shot for winning this contract. At least you’ll get some experience out of the attempt.”

  She knew that what he said was true, and he had been the one who’d challenged her to find a job
in the first place, but still she felt unsatisfied. “I suppose you think you’re a shoe-in?”

  He spread his hands. “Not necessarily, but like I said, let the best design win.”

  “And your acquaintance with Jellicoe will have nothing to do with it,” she said with a haughty sniff.

  His grin was smug and complacent and utterly maddening. “I have no influence over Jellicoe’s opinion. He’ll do exactly as he pleases.”

  Gussy’s competitive instincts were bubbling. She’d always been a plodder, a soldier, a drone, an average, middle-ground, B+ type of person, but now she was fired up to try harder and do better than she ever had in her life. She shook her finger at Jed warningly. “I’ll have you know that I’m going to win! I’m going to find a way!”

  And Jed had the audacity to laugh.

  Acting out of an unusually irrational impulse and pure spur-of-the-moment spite, with no regard for the consequences, she flung open the door and kicked his cute, grinning, barefooted butt out of her bedroom, then for good measure picked up his shoes and heaved them out the window into the peony bushes. And it felt darn good.

  But what felt even better was the possibility glimmering just below her surface irritation—the chance, the very good chance—that Jed wanted to marry her, after all. Surely anyone willing to beard Great-grandfather in his den must be quite serious in his intent.

  THE LATE-AUGUST SHOWDOWN for the Pequot job was approaching too rapidly as far as Gussy was concerned. Her twenty-fifth birthday was also coming up, but about that she cared little. She was spending every moment she could spare with Beatrice Hyde, traipsing around the countryside, soaking up the older woman’s practical wisdom with a thirst she hadn’t realized she possessed. After swearing Gussy to secrecy, Mrs. Hyde even passed on some of her secrets—such as the afternoon they were putting in a bed of early bulbs and she tossed a dead rabbit into the furrow Gussy had dug. While Gussy recoiled, Mrs. Hyde had cheerfully prodded the carcass into position with her walking stick so they could plant the bulbs on top of it, explaining how old Tink Padgett delivered the spoils in canvas sacks she stored in her garden shed. It was one secret Gussy, often sent to the shed to fetch and carry Mrs. Hyde’s gardening tools, would just as soon have been spared.