by Gayle Callen
His thoughts turned to Julia’s past. She’d had an Indian tutor. This man or woman could have negatively influenced a young girl’s thoughts about her distant home country. But what could have turned her against her brother? Was the general a cruel man, not a good relation to the girl?
Then again, Julia had been intimate with Nick. Perhaps she’d been susceptible to another lover’s politics—or to blackmail.
Will had to find out more about her, either through Jane or by talking to Kelthorpe himself.
At dinner that evening, Julia and the duke spent most of the time together, and Will watched suspiciously, trying to tell if she was really in love. But Jane noticed his behavior, so he concentrated his attentions on her.
After dinner, Kelthorpe, accompanied by a radiant Julia, led everyone into the great hall. All the large furniture now lined the walls, and the carpets had been rolled up. Musicians were already playing on a dais in the far corner.
Jane stood at Will’s side, her foot tapping to the beat, as they watched the first quadrille. The duke and Julia swept past them, and Will followed their progress with his gaze.
Jane leaned closer. “I spoke to Julia before dinner.”
“Yes, I saw.”
She eyed him. “Watching over me?”
“I always do.”
“I don’t appreciate—”
He took her arm and linked it with his. “There is no reason to be offended. If you have not noticed yet, I can’t keep my gaze from you for long. I am still so amazed and pleased to be marrying you.”
She had no answer to that, and Will’s uneasiness rose. “So what did you talk to Miss Reed about?”
“Afghanistan. I know some dreadful things have happened there recently, but the culture is so different from ours that their very way of life fascinates me.”
“So you’ve found a new country to study?”
“Perhaps,” she answered.
He could tell she wondered if he was teasing her. “So what did you discover?”
“She told me about the bazaars of Kabul, where they sold Russian slaves right next to melons and shoes.”
“Surely British women cannot attend such things,” he said without thinking.
Jane leaned even nearer, and he bent his head to hear. “Several times she dressed as a boy.”
“I hope this is not giving you ideas,” he said, frowning.
“This is England, William, and women are earning new freedoms every day.”
He didn’t like the way this conversation was going, but he let her talk in hopes of learning something to report to Nick. But all she related was about life in the British encampment built on the plains outside Kabul, and how General Reed—and, consequently, Julia—had been recalled to India several months before the British evacuation that ended in a bloody massacre. How convenient that Julia had escaped all that, something her betrayal had caused.
“She’s even heard of my father,” Jane added.
Will froze. Was that another way Julia could have traced his name? Colonel Whittington had been his—and Nick’s—spymaster for years.
Just before Will was about to distract Jane with a dance, an elderly neighbor of the duke, Mr. Yates, bowed before her and almost fell over. When she took his arm to steady him, he smiled his gratitude, asked her to dance, and led her slowly out onto the floor.
Shortly after that, Will claimed her for the first waltz and held her just a bit closer than was proper. She met his gaze boldly. As they whirled through the crowd, he tried to impress upon her with his eyes alone that she was his, that there was no use pretending otherwise.
“You are an excellent dancer, Jane,” he said softly.
“And you are, too, though it doesn’t surprise me.”
“No?” Someday he would tell her that he’d only taken lessons in the last few months, that dancing was one of the things he’d forgotten when he left the country.
“You pay strict attention to behaving as a proper nobleman when we’re amongst company.”
“I do?” He swung her through a tight corner. It was true; “Lord” Chadwick was a man very conscious of all that was proper. But Will was finding out that he himself did not care so much about the rules of the ton.
“But with me, you are…different,” Jane continued.
Their gazes locked together, and her speculative eyes probably saw more than he wanted her to see. He felt that all his talents of deception were becoming useless with her.
“Different?” he asked blandly. “How?”
“You are…amusing.”
He thought she blushed, but it could just be the excitement of the dance. He was sweeping her across the floor at a pace that made them both slightly breathless. He swung her through a turn and felt the muscles of her back flex. He found it oddly arousing.
“But I strive to be amusing as much as possible,” he said. “It makes conversation at these events so much more pleasant.”
“But you’re not trying so hard when you’re with me, which makes it all the more…natural.”
She wasn’t even meeting his gaze now, and he suspected she regretted starting the conversation. Without realizing it, she was basically telling him that she could see through his “Lord” Chadwick persona. Was he trying too hard? Perhaps with Jane, he was becoming the man he was meant to be. How could he tell?
She gave a great sigh, and as the last strains of the waltz filled the air, she turned the subject to her previous dance partner, Mr. Yates, who, though doddering with old age now, had been a war hero under Lord Wellington. Will accepted the topic with relief.
Later in the evening, Will made his way to the group of men surrounding the Duke of Kelthorpe. Soon he had the man alone and subtly turned the conversation to Julia Reed.
“She is a fine woman,” Kelthorpe said, watching as Julia danced an energetic polka with another guest.
“I understand she recently returned from India.”
He nodded. “I met her at a ball thrown in honor of her brother General Reed’s military achievements.”
“She must be fascinating to converse with, since her life has been so different from ours.”
“Yes, she is no simpering miss,” Kelthorpe agreed with a laugh. “I find it quite refreshing.”
“I understand she won’t be able to visit for long.”
“She has family business.” The duke shook his head. “Damned hard to keep her all to myself when she feels so obligated to her brother.”
Will wondered if that was merely her excuse for escaping to conduct her own affairs. It must have galled her that, in order to keep up appearances, she’d been forced to appease the duke by coming to Langley Manor. Ah, the things one had to do to marry nobility.
He kept an eye on Julia for the rest of the evening, but she did nothing suspicious and spoke to no one for an unusually long time—except Jane, of course. Will couldn’t see any way to keep them apart.
Jane awoke in the middle of the night and wasn’t quite sure why. After a half hour of trying to force her eyes to stay closed, she finally put on her dressing gown and lit a candle. The clock on the mantel said it was three in the morning, only two hours after she’d gone to bed. Warm milk always put her to sleep when thoughts rolled around in her head, so, taking up the candleholder, she went out into the dark corridor in search of the kitchens.
At the end of the hall was a softly glowing lamp, and she followed it to the stairs. Below her the great hall stretched on into the gloom, where her candle couldn’t penetrate. With her hand on the banister she descended into the darkness, as if she were entering an earthen cave.
She knew the kitchens were at the end of a long corridor off the great hall. She passed many other drawing rooms and parlors and the library, then saw light spilling out from a door only partially shut. Curious, but not wanting to intrude on the duke or his guests, she peered inside.
William leaned over a billiards table, his profile to her, prepared to strike a ball with his cue. Jane didn’t
see another person inside. They were alone in the night.
Recklessness almost made her go to him, for he was dressed casually in trousers and an open-necked shirt, his sleeves rolled up above his elbows to reveal muscular forearms. He looked so attractive. Just as she conquered her intense desire to step inside, he struck the balls hard, then looked up and saw her.
Chapter 15
William straightened, resting the long cue on the floor. His slow smile sent a frisson of lightning through Jane that settled deep in the pit of her stomach. Oil lamps cast light into even the darkest corners, illuminating the upholstered benches lining the paneled walls and, on either side of the hearth, the pillars carved with the faces of lovely women.
“Looking for me?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning his hip against the billiards table.
She felt ridiculous, her feet bare, her long black hair sliding across her shoulders. Yet she stepped inside, hesitated, then shut the door behind her. “No. I couldn’t sleep.”
“Me neither, but I’m used to it.”
He leaned over to line up another shot, giving her an interesting view of the taut fabric over his backside. She stared in fascination, for she’d never imagined such a sight would be…stimulating.
These feelings confused her, for she sensed they were powerful and could make her do things she shouldn’t. She remembered how strong his arm had felt, how she’d wanted to caress him instead of bandage him. Something wanton inside her had taken over her thoughts.
She forced herself to remember their conversation. “Why can’t you sleep?”
“I don’t know. It’s been almost a year now.”
She walked to the edge of the table, watching him line up the cue and stroke through smoothly, scattering the balls and landing two in the pockets. “A year of not sleeping? Surely you would be ill by now.”
He lined up another shot on the far side of the table. As he bent forward, he lifted his head and smiled up at her, his dimples dark shadows etched in his lean face.
“Oh, I eventually sleep, but only for a few hours before dawn. Sometimes I rest before going out in the evening.”
“Perhaps that is your problem,” she said, walking to the rack and picking up her own cue. “If you stopped that, you might sleep better.”
“I’ve tried—it doesn’t work.” He paced on the far side of the table from her, watching.
Her eyes felt heavy-lidded, but not from exhaustion. She felt slow, languid, warm from the late summer heat. Her body wasn’t her own anymore; it seemed to be changing into something still coming to life.
William nodded toward the cue in her hand. “Shall we play?”
“I’ve always wanted to learn, but we never had a table.”
He sketched her a bow, as if he were formally dressed instead of showing tantalizing glimpses of tanned skin below his neck. “Then allow me.”
She dutifully watched him as he demonstrated the rules, trying to pay attention to his instructions instead of studying the faint line of perspiration down his back, or the way his arm muscles flexed when he shot.
When it was her turn, she rested the cue between her fingers and tried to copy his form. She had to stand on her tiptoes to bend over the table, and he casually walked behind her until she could no longer see him. Her breathing grew shallow, every sense concentrated on him. She felt a wisp of a breeze shimmy through the thin skirt of her nightdress and dressing gown.
“Are you going to show me how I should hold the cue?” she asked, her own voice hoarse.
He put one hand on the edge of the table beside her. “That would be unwise.”
“So you’re just going to watch me bend over?”
He chuckled deep in his throat. “How do you know I’d do that?”
Jane told herself to stop this foolishness and flee to the safety of her bed. Instead she told the truth, probably because she couldn’t see his face. “I was doing the same thing to you.”
His other hand came down on the table, with her now trapped between his arms. She felt the brush of him against her clothing, felt her heart skip a beat before increasing to a dizzying speed.
“Aren’t you going to shoot?” he murmured behind her ear.
She felt his breath like a caress on her cheek. “But then I’d have to stand up.”
With a low growl he nipped at her neck with his teeth, scattering goose bumps up her arms. It was shockingly primitive, yet it sent a strange flood of heat pooling between her thighs. Then he leaned against her, using his hips to press hers into the billiards table. She could feel the long, hard ridge of him between her buttocks. No statue on display at a museum had prepared her for that.
A groan escaped her as he rocked into her, his chest pressing into her back, his hips teaching a new rhythm.
His hands caressed her neck, then moved slowly down her back. Her nightdress began to sag. He caught the fabric and pulled it down her back to the left until she felt his mouth on one bare shoulder. As he left moist kisses there, she pressed her palms hard against the table, trying not to cry out, ignoring the fading voice inside her that warned of danger.
But that voice was finally drowned beneath the excitement of what William was doing to her, how wild and uninhibited and different she became beneath his hands.
He tugged on her clothing again, and she felt her neckline slide over one sensitive breast, leaving it bare against the table. Nothing had ever touched her there except her garments, and she watched in languid astonishment as her nipple tightened and ached.
He caught her shoulders and lifted until she arched back against him, her body held to the length of his by his hand flat against her stomach. He pulled her away from the table, and she felt she’d fall to the floor without his support. When her hair slid back to cover her body, with one hand he gathered it behind her. His breathing was rough and loud in her ear, and as her head lolled against him, she realized he was tall enough to look over her shoulder. In the lamplight, her uncovered breast was muted cream, the dusky nipple hard. She desperately wanted him to touch her, to somehow ease the ache his nearness caused.
Instead he took the billiards cue off the table, and from in front of her, began to slide it slowly up the inside of her leg. When it reached just above her knee, she was panting and restless and trying not to squirm against him, for surely he wasn’t supposed to do such a thing. Then she caught her breath as he tilted the upper narrow end toward her chest. She watched in astonishment as he rolled it up and over her breast, and the cool wood on her nipple made her cry out.
The stick clattered to the floor and was replaced by his big, warm hand. He cupped her breast, making her shudder hard against him at how wonderfully right it felt. When he rolled her nipple between his finger and thumb, the shock of it tugged between her legs as if he touched her there.
Will didn’t think he’d ever met a woman more responsive than Jane. Her muted cries, her soft gasps were driving him quickly toward an urgent need he might not be able to control. Her breast was the softest skin he’d ever touched, and it filled his hand with a heavy warmth. He stroked his fingers across her nipple, circling, teasing, rewarded by the way she rubbed against him. He cupped her other breast through the cloth of her nightclothes, tempted to pull the rest of the garments aside. There would be nothing stopping all of her clothes from landing in a heap on the floor.
And then she’d be naked. The last threads of his control would be gone, and he’d do anything to be inside her.
But not now, not here.
Keeping one hand on her bare breast, he slid the other down over her soft belly, teasingly circling her navel, tormenting himself as well as her. She’d gone still in his arms, waiting, and he knew she was innocent, that she had no idea what he would do to her. It was an erotic thrill he hadn’t thought to feel.
He slid his hand ever more slowly, until he could gently tease her curls through her thin fabric. She swiftly inhaled, then leaned back against his shoulder and looked up at him with wi
de, desperate eyes. They stared at each other, barely breathing, as he pushed against the silk between her thighs and gently rubbed the most sensitive part of her. He was overwhelmed with the pleasure it gave him just to touch her, to please her.
Her lips parted, her eyes fluttered shut, and he muffled her moan with his mouth. Thrusting his tongue between her lips, he mimicked the act of love. He cupped her with his hand, his hips pushing against her from behind, and drowned in the sensation of her.
He had to stop this before it was too late, he thought, reluctantly dropping his hands. But he couldn’t move away from the feel of her body languid against his. If he slept with her now, it would be a seduction, not a mutual decision. And he wanted more for the beginning of his life with Jane than a billiards table against her back.
Much as that would be enjoyable….
“William?”
When she turned to look up at him with questioning, dazed eyes, she swayed, and he caught her arms. He stared down at her naked breast, every chivalrous thought fleeing his mind except his urgent need to make her see how it could be between them. He dropped to his knees and pulled her to him, taking her breast as deeply into his mouth as he could. She gave a smothered scream as he suckled her hard, then gentled and soothed her with his tongue. He traced the tightened aureole, and then the tiny bud at its peak, teasing with a fluttering motion that made her shudder against him. She caught his head and held him to her, her fingers deep in his hair. He clutched the globes of her buttocks, pushing her hard against him until he could feel the soft pressure of her pubis against his stomach.
With a gasp, he released her breast and pressed his face between them both, inhaling the scent of her. “Jane, sweet Jane, I want this to continue, but I don’t think you yet realize all that this leads to.”
Her breath was coming in gasps, yet she did not release him. “I can’t imagine…how much more there could be.”
He slowly stood up, brushing against the length of her, sifting his hands through her hair when he tilted her head back. By lamplight, her face glowed with classic elegance. “I want to give you pleasure as you’ve never imagined. This is only the beginning, the way our bodies prepare for consummation. Shall I come up to your room with you?”