Heiress in Love

by Christina Brooke

  “You’re hot and slick between your legs, aren’t you, Jane?” he murmured. “That’s how I want you. That’s how I know you’re ready for me.”

  His touch slid lower, but she clamped her hand on his wrist to stop him. She couldn’t help it.

  “No?” he said, kissing her collarbone. “Then you’ll have to touch yourself for me. Just to see if I’m right.”

  Somehow, his hand slid from her grasp and wrapped around hers, guiding it down her body. Down, over her stomach, through the hair between her legs to a place that was wet and hot and slick—all those things he’d said.

  That husky voice in her ear. “Did Frederick make you wet like this?”

  She gasped.

  “Did he?”

  She shook her head. “No. Never.” There’d been no preliminaries with Frederick, no kissing, no touching. Just dryness and force and pain.

  “Have you ever touched yourself there before, Jane?”

  She swallowed, and shook her head. On some level, she was horrified to be doing such a thing in front of him, but heat and longing and curiosity won out over reluctance. This must be the secret, the mysterious pleasure that caused otherwise sensible women to ruin themselves for love. He was teaching her, and God help her, she wanted to learn. If she could.

  * * *

  Constantine had been fighting the demands of his body since he’d walked into Jane’s bedchamber. The sight of her long, slim fingers delving into her intimate flesh nearly made him crazed with lust. He wanted nothing more than to take over her task, set his mouth between her legs and make her scream with delight.

  There was nothing wrong with her that he could see, and absolutely everything right. Damn Frederick’s boorishness! No wonder she’d been so terrified of having a man inside her if he’d never bothered to prepare her properly.

  He whispered reassurances and instructions to her, forced himself to watch her pleasure herself, receiving tantalizing glimpses of pink, moist flesh as her hand moved and her fingers circled. His own desire heightened to the point of insanity.

  Her skin was every bit as soft and silken as he’d dreamed, her body supple and delicately rounded. He wanted her with a passion so fierce it was a wrestle to keep himself in check. He’d promised himself he would not bed her tonight.

  Instead, he watched her keenly in the looking glass, gauging her response, noting what pleased her and what didn’t with the eye of a practiced rake.

  Yes, he was practiced, and the experience stood him in good stead tonight. But this night was unlike any other; this woman was unique among his vast array of lovers. He’d never met with such innocence and responsiveness in one woman. Even if he had, it would not be the same, for that woman would not have been Jane.

  His Jane.

  Her panting breaths came closer together now; he sensed she was near to breaking point. Soon, she would understand a little, but she would have only the slightest inkling of how it might be between them.

  He whispered in her ear. “Let go now, Jane. You must let go.”

  “Can’t…” The faint moan she gave set him on fire. How long would he have to wait before he could take her and show her how they could be together? How long before he could truly make her his?

  Mine.

  Sheer animal lust overtook him. He cupped her breasts, pulling her hard against him, and sank his teeth into the side of her neck.

  Then she broke. She gave a sharp gasp and threw her head back, shuddering in his arms. Her body slid down, as if her legs had given way.

  He caught her and turned her, lifting her off her feet. Crushing her against his chest, he kissed her roughly, passionately, unleashing the full force of his pent-up desire. She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him back, the first wholehearted kiss she had given him—messy and wet and full of tongue and enthusiasm.

  “That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said against her lips. Skimming down to the tender skin of her throat, he added, “But next time, I’m going to be the one who makes you shudder like that. And I promise you, it will be infinitely better.”

  He was prepared to exercise this superhuman restraint only once. It would kill him to go through all this a second time and not have her.

  Before instinct overcame his better judgment, he carried her to the bed. Gently, he laid her on the mattress. Her eyes flared with apprehension.

  He smile was strained. “Don’t worry, princess. I’m not going to join you tonight.”

  He found her night rail and tossed it to her, watching the faint, delicious bounce of her breasts as she struggled into it and smoothed it down over her hips.

  Then he pushed her so that she lay back against the pillows. Looming over her, he planted a hand either side of her on the bed. Constantine watched her for a moment, so gorgeous and tempting in her rumpled satiety.

  He smiled down into her eyes. “Tomorrow.”

  With a kiss on the tip of her patrician nose, he left.

  * * *

  Constantine slept fitfully that night and woke before dawn. If there’d been a moon to light the way, he would have ridden out, but the clouds blotted any light from the heavens. Rain fell in a steady rush, like distant applause.

  He rose and padded to the side table to get himself a drink. Then he clicked his fingers. God, he’d almost forgotten! The wine.

  Pulling on a pair of breeches, he eased open the communicating door to Jane’s bedchamber. He paused on the threshold and listened for her breathing. He didn’t want to wake her. She needed her sleep.

  Certainly, she required rest for what he’d planned for tomorrow night.

  He moved silently into the room, toward the fireplace where he’d left the bottle and glass. He needed to get in and out quickly, before the skivvy arrived to sweep the hearth.

  A sound from the bed halted him.

  It was a sigh, a soft exhalation she made in her sleep, but it drew him to her. He moved to the bed and looked down.

  She rested exactly where he’d placed her, on top of the sheet. Despite the night’s chill, she hadn’t drawn the coverlet over her or closed the curtains that surrounded the tent bed. It was as if she’d dropped into slumber as soon as he’d kissed her good night.

  Sleeping Beauty.

  She lay, curiously abandoned and defenseless, one hand under her cheek, rosy lips softly pouting, quivering with every breath.

  Her body, her breasts, were a standing temptation; her long, slim legs extended, bare, beyond the hem of her plain night rail. The skin there was so white and soft and perfect, the turn of her ankle elegantly enticing. A small mole nestled next to her anklebone. He wanted to kiss it, then kiss his way up …

  His loins stirred with acute interest. His body ached. Patience, he reminded himself. Not now.

  With a sigh that sounded harsh in his ears, he pulled the coverlet over her and went to retrieve the evidence of their evening together.

  The room was cold. He ought to have built up the fire before he’d left her last night.

  * * *

  Jane woke to the sound of metal clinking near the fireplace. She opened her eyes, at first disoriented and alarmed to see the figure of a man returning a fire iron to its stand. Comprehension followed swiftly, however, as he bent to pick up a wine bottle and glass from the table beside the fire.

  Constantine.

  Her senses sprang to life, awakened, stimulated by the mere sight of him.

  He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and Jane’s lips parted in wonder at the sight of his unclad back, the shift in muscles and ribs as he leaned down. The way his skin appeared gilded by the firelight—golden and smooth and irresistible. If she hadn’t been so afraid of where it might lead, she’d go to him now, run her hands over his shoulder blades, down his spine to that tapering waist.

  Speculation gnawed at her. He’d seen her completely nude, but she had yet to see him.

  He turned, then, and her eyes feasted on his chest and stomach, the firm strength of him, the lack of any sof
tness whatsoever. How strange that she, a soft, pliant female, should relish all that hardness, want it for her very own.

  Her gaze traveled down, and she realized that though he had pulled on breeches, he hadn’t buttoned them fully.

  “So you are awake,” he murmured, a laugh in his voice.

  With a gasp, she snatched her gaze from that intriguing line of investigation and transferred it to the bedpost. She made a noncommittal noise in her throat.

  “Hmm.” He reached down to toy with the waistband of his breeches, drawing back her gaze. “See anything you like?”

  She bit her lip against a scandalized laugh. The unabashed arrogance of him! He was not the slightest bit embarrassed that she’d been covertly admiring his form. Well, why should he be embarrassed? He’d put any number of Greek statues to shame.

  She ventured to meet his gaze. He was smiling at her in a way that made her heart pound and her mouth go dry.

  Well, it wasn’t in her nature to simper. Boldly, she lifted her chin. “Quite a lot, actually.”

  He laughed, a deep, full-throated chuckle.

  She glanced at the door. “Hush! Do you want someone to hear?”

  Still smiling, he said, “No, I don’t want that. I was not here to show off my manly physique, either. I merely came to retrieve the evidence.” He held up the wine and the glass.

  He paused. “I suppose I’ll be going now.”

  Not even a good-morning kiss? She folded her arms. “Yes, you do that,” she said grumpily.

  He gestured down at himself. “It wouldn’t do for me to get caught in here like this, now, would it?”

  Mutely, she shook her head. But she couldn’t take her eyes from him. She’d never realized men looked like that underneath their shirts. Frederick had always worn a nightshirt on the few occasions he’d visited her bed. And she was most … intrigued by the way Constantine’s hip bones curved downward, disappearing into his breeches, as if pointing the way …

  She twisted a curl around her finger. “May I have some wine before you go?”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  Eyes wide, she said, “I’m thirsty.”

  “All right.” He sloshed a few mouthfuls into the glass and approached the bed. He held the glass out to her, and their fingers brushed as she took the wine from him.

  “Drink up,” he said. “I need to get this out of here.”

  He stood at the edge of her bed. She could reach out and touch him if she only had the courage. Or he could touch her.

  Her nipples pricked in anticipation. That lovely, hot, liquid sensation gathered between her legs.

  Holding his gaze, she raised the glass to her lips. Then she drained the wine in one long swallow and handed it back to him.

  She couldn’t help herself. She put out a hand and pressed her palm to his midriff. He felt smooth and hard. His skin was cool to the touch.

  His hand caught hers and removed it from his stomach. “Believe me, princess, there’s nothing I’d rather do, but if you don’t want to create a scandal, we must stop now. The dawn is already here.”

  He was right. The risk was too great. She bit her lip, a little startled that a notorious rake had been obliged to remind her of the proprieties. He’d turned her into a wanton overnight.

  A quirk of his lips told her he’d had a similar thought. “Believe me, the anticipation will make what comes next all the sweeter.” He took her hand and bowed over it, meeting her gaze with those somnolent, wicked green eyes. “I assure you.”

  She fell back against the pillows, all jittery and breathless. “I shall never sleep now.”

  His smile grew. “Make ready to ride with me, then. I’m going up to Bronson’s mill to check that work is progressing there.”

  The idea struck her favorably. Physical exercise was exactly what she needed. “There won’t be any trouble, will there?”

  He shrugged. “Not in your presence. If we’re early enough we won’t be spotted.”

  * * *

  Later, as they walked down to the stables, Jane inhaled deeply of the cool, crisp air. The ground was sodden beneath her boots. She was obliged to lift the skirts of her habit to save them from the mire.

  Mist hovered over the dewed grass like a ghostly blanket. The landscape was quiet, though the distant crow of a cockerel marked the new day.

  It marked a new era for Jane. A sense of wonder and deep well-being built up in her this morning. She’d thought Wilson must have noticed the change in her when she’d helped her dress. Everyone must see it. Surely Constantine’s deliciously sinful touch must be branded on her skin.

  She found herself shy of looking at him. Yet, her awareness of his body, and the confident way he moved at her side, was greater than ever before. A hunger gathered inside her. For the first time since the early weeks of her marriage, she craved a deeper physical connection.

  Hope unfurled in her heart. A tiny, precious bud of it.

  The stable block was a handsome stone building, large and well appointed, though not as fully stocked with prime cattle as Jane would have liked. As they neared the entrance, they heard masculine laughter. The laughter held a jeering edge that made Jane halt in surprise.

  Jane glanced at Constantine, who frowned.

  “Stay here,” he said.

  She ignored the order, following him into the stable yard. She pulled up short, a cry escaping her lips.

  There, surrounded by three stable boys, was Luke.

  He was covered in muck, as if he’d fallen into a steaming pile of manure nearby. They were pushing him between them, jeering, their eyes alight with malicious glee. The boys were not much older than Luke himself, but he had no hope against three of them.

  “Dunk him!” With a glance at the horse trough, one boy reached for Luke.

  “Let him go.” The hard, menacing voice in which Constantine gave the order was one Jane scarcely recognized. She didn’t blame the boys for their slack-mouthed obedience. They unhanded Luke instantly.

  Luke tottered, unsteady on his feet, tears streaking down the grime on his face.

  Jane’s heart gave a sickened lurch. She rushed forward to help Luke, but Constantine put out a hand to stop her. “I told you to stay outside.”

  Disregarding the admonishment, she stepped around him, hastening to the boy’s side. “Luke!”

  Kneeling on the cobblestones, she reached out and pulled him into her arms, regardless of the stench and muck that covered him. “Oh, darling, what have they done to you? We must get you back to the house.”

  She sent a dagger look over her shoulder at the culprits. The largest boy stared sullenly back at her. The others bowed their heads and wouldn’t meet her eye.

  “Shame on you all!” She rose to her feet. “You’ll be sorry for this.”

  “My sketchbook,” gasped Luke.

  Jane glanced around. Luke’s precious drawings had been flung atop the heap of horse manure.

  Taking hold of one, unsullied corner, Constantine fished the sketchbook out of the mire and handed it carefully to Luke.

  “Perhaps some pages can be saved,” Jane said. She put her arm around Luke and glared at the stable boys. “And as for you three—”

  Evenly, Constantine said, “Lady Roxdale, go with Luke up to the house. I’ll handle this.”

  “But—”

  “Thank you, my lady.” With his most charming smile, Constantine bowed, dismissing her. There was nothing for her to do but leave.

  * * *

  While a bath was drawn for Luke, Jane ordered some hot water to be brought to her sitting room so that she could help him wash the worst of the grime away.

  When he was relatively clean and she was somewhat calmer, she rang for tea and some lemonade and a currant bun for Luke. He took a tiny sip of lemonade. The bun went untouched.

  If she’d needed any proof of the depth of his pain and humiliation, she had it in his loss of appetite. She’d never seen him so uninterested in food before.

  “Come. Sit wi
th me.” She drew him to her and cuddled him close.

  “I am so sorry, darling.” She shook her head. “That such a thing should happen here, at our stables! I wouldn’t have credited it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

  “I did all the things you and Lord Roxdale said. I told them to leave me alone in a big strong voice. But then they picked me up…” His mouth contorted in an effort to hold back his sobs.

  “Oh, darling, I know. I know you did your best. Sometimes there’s nothing you can do. But you may be sure that Lord Roxdale is dealing with those boys in a way they won’t like.” She’d never considered herself a violent woman, but she burned to box those bullies’ ears for them. She must trust in Constantine to punish them fittingly.

  She waited a while before she asked, “Why did they treat you that way?”

  Luke flushed and bit his lip. He shook his head. “Don’t know.”

  “But you do know, don’t you, Luke?” She hesitated, not quite knowing how to phrase her concern. “Did you, perhaps, do something to those boys?”

  “Nothing! I’ve done nothing at all.” His lip quivered. He was trying his best not to weep.

  Jane’s heart twisted. “I am sorry, darling. I didn’t mean to suggest it was your fault. Well, what is it, then? Can’t you tell me why they were teasing you?”

  Her gentle questioning seemed to upset him all the more. She would not hurt him for the world, but she had to know why this kept happening so she could try to put a stop to it.

  “Won’t you tell me, Luke? You can say anything. I won’t be shocked or disappointed. But I want to know.”

  He kicked the leg of his chair with his heel. “It’s nothing, Aunt Jane. Really, it isn’t. I—I made some rude sketches of them, that’s all.”

  Somehow, she didn’t think impudent cartoons were responsible for such widespread animosity. “Oh? And did you make sketches like that of the boys in the village, too?”

  He hunched a shoulder and didn’t reply.

  “Luke?” She felt so helpless; she was on the verge of tears herself, but that would never do. “Darling, I can’t bear to see this happening to you. You must tell me or Lord Roxdale, so that we can do something about it.”