Jacinda’s gaze jerked up to Isabel. Her friend’s arms were folded as she watched her.
“Keep it?” Jacinda repeated in shock.
“Hear me out,” Isabel said, moving toward her as she spoke. “Yes, the book has some shocking content about passion and desire, but it also makes some very good points about women and how we think of ourselves. You might find some strength in it.”
As the said the last, she reached out and slowly flipped the book open to a random page. Jacinda squeezed her eyes shut, afraid of what she would see.
“Jacinda,” Grace urged softly. “Just look.”
“No,” she murmured, feeling intense heat flood her cheeks. “I know where passion goes. I know how it can destroy.”
Isabel’s hand covered hers. “Not always.”
Jacinda wanted to stay just as she was, or at least she thought she did. But still, her eyes began to flutter open, almost against her will. Almost as if there were some deeper desire within her that wanted to see the book, that wanted to know if Grace and Isabel were right.
The same part of her that had gotten her in trouble in the first place.
She looked down at the open page and gasped. The chapter was titled, In A Kiss and, as she scanned the text, the author wrote about the power of kissing a partner. The connection to be established by such an act. She found herself turning the page and the heat in her cheeks burned higher. There was an illustration of a woman, tucked in a man’s lap, passionately doing just that as he cupped her breast.
She wanted to turn her face away, but she couldn’t. She just stared at that tender yet erotic image and flashed to a past she tried to forget. There had been no passionate kissing for her. And very little tenderness.
“Pardon me, ladies.”
Her head jerked up at the sound of a masculine voice from the door. There, standing in the entryway, watching her as she held and read The Ladies Book of Pleasures was the Duke of Carnthorn. His expression was unreadable, even as she gasped and shoved the book behind her back.
“Your Grace,” Isabel said, going toward him with a frown. “We will be rejoining the party momentarily. Is there something I can assist you with?”
“I was simply coming to announce my departure,” he said, speaking to Isabel, though his eyes moved to Jacinda. “My dear cousin is not feeling well and I think the excitement has been enough for her.”
Jacinda set the book face-down on the table as she passed it. “I would like to say goodbye to Lady Roseworth, of course. Will you delay your departure but a moment and I will come to say farewell?”
Carnthorn held her gaze once more. She had thought she might be imagining his stare, but now there was no doubt. But men didn’t stare at her. Ever. Which could only mean he knew about the book—he had seen and understood what she held when he entered the room.
“Of course,” he said, his tone not revealing what she feared she knew. “I will wait for you as long as you require.”
“Thank you,” she said, her voice weak as she slipped from the room. The moment he was gone, she covered her face. “He knew! He saw!”
Grace shook her head. “No. I do not think so, Jacinda.”
Isabel wrapped an arm around her. “Truly, I doubt a man like him even thought of what we were doing.”
Jacinda nodded at their reassurances, but she didn’t believe them. There was no doubt in her mind that the powerful duke had seen her scandalous book. Worse, there would likely be consequences for it.
She smoothed her skirts. “It seems I have no choice but to return to the fray. Thank you again for the lovely gifts. I do appreciate them.”
As she exited the room, she could sense Isabel and Grace’s hesitation about her emotions, but she refused to discuss it further. By even looking at the book, she had opened herself up to feelings and whispers she had fought so long to avoid.
And that was why she could never look at it again.
Chapter Three
“I have always rather admired the wolf in sheep’s clothing. A gentleman in the street can make a remarkably accomplished lover behind closed doors.”—The Ladies Book of Pleasures
Jacinda’s eyes drooped as her maid helped her with her final bedtime preparations. It was late, far later than she normally went to sleep, but the birthday party had been pleasant, aside from those few awkward moments about the anonymously given book.
“Thank you, Hattie,” she said, smiling at her maid.
The girl swept up the dress to be washed, but hesitated before she left.
“Miss, I placed that satchel on the window seat. Mrs. Wentworth was so worried about the wrapped gifts being put where she could oversee the opening, I don’t even think she noticed.”
Jacinda glanced at the window seat with a smile. Hattie was one person she could depend upon, even in a house full of spies and judges.
“Thank you, I appreciate your discretion, as always. Now off to bed with you; you must be tired.”
Hattie smiled once more and then Jacinda was left alone. She stared at her bed, longing for the softness of her pillow, but the satchel on the window seat called her. If she didn’t put away her gifts now, her aunt would find them and then they would be open for discussion.
She sighed and perched on the little bench to open the satchel. One by one, she removed the items from Grace and Isabel, reliving the moments they had shared in the parlor. She did love her friends and knew she was lucky to have such women in her life. A great many false friends had abandoned her when her scandal was at its peak.
She sighed and was about to put the satchel in her wardrobe when she felt that it still contained something of weight. She clenched her jaw as she reached inside and her fingers touched the rough cover of a book.
“They wouldn’t,” she murmured as she withdrew the blue-bound copy of The Ladies Book of Pleasures. For a moment she only stared at it and then she noticed a note sticking from its pages.
She withdrew the paper and found a sentence written on it in Grace’s elegant hand.
Please don’t give up on life or yourself. G.
Jacinda set the note aside and stared at the book. She didn’t want it. She didn’t want to touch it. She didn’t want to open it or stare at its pages. And yet she was doing all those things.
There were more pictures than just the one about kissing and her eyes widened at the shocking images of men and women engaged in so many different kinds of intimate activity that her mind began to spin.
She leapt to her feet and marched toward her wardrobe. Long ago, she had noticed a loosened board along the wall and had mused she could store something surreptitiously there. She had laughed at her foolishness at the time, but now she slid the slender tome behind the board and pushed it back into place.
There. That was done.
With a huff of breath, she threw herself into bed, blew out the candle and squeezed her eyes shut.
But where once she had been exhausted, now she was awake and on edge. There was a fluttering low in her stomach that was troublesome and uninvited and her breasts felt heavy and tingled slightly.
“No,” she ground out between clenched teeth.
She knew these feelings. She remembered them from years ago. They had gotten her into trouble. Feelings like this only destroyed lives. She wouldn’t surrender to them.
But no matter how hard she tried, the images from the book wouldn’t leave her mind and the aches and desires they inspired only grew. Her hands trembled as she clenched them at her sides.
Over the years since her fall, she had touched herself, but it was a rarity and the shame that followed the act was often brutal. But now her body shook, taunting her with needs she tried so hard not to have at all and she couldn’t deny it.
She slid her hands down her body and tugged her night rail up around her waist. Because of the images she had been seeing, her body was already slick with need and she shivered as her fingertips were coated with her own juices.
She pressed down gently, finding
that little spot, that pearly bundle of nerves and swiftly focused her attention there. It didn’t take long for her long-neglected sex to quiver and shiver with the first tremors of release. She worked harder, increasing the pressure at that sweet spot until she gasped and her hips lifted out of control.
The tremors faded and she collapsed against her pillow, panting, red-cheeked, as she shoved her nightgown over her hips. Then she rolled over and covered her head with her pillow, hoping that this lapse in her lonely existence would be enough to make these wild thoughts go away.
Only she feared they wouldn’t. Because already she wanted to look at the book again. And she still wanted to look at it more than an hour later, when sleep finally stole all reason.
Jacinda had begun to believe life could be normal again by the time two days had passed. She was tucked into a settee by a roaring fire, warm tea at the table by her side and lost in a book...but not the one that had given her such trouble. No, The Ladies Book of Pleasures had been safe in its hiding place since her birthday and she had not thought of it since.
Well, that wasn’t true, but she wasn’t about to admit that, even to herself.
She absently took a sip of tea as the door opened and her aunt’s butler, Carson, stepped into the entrance. He sniffed, as he always did when he looked at her, and said, “You have a visitor, Miss.”
Jacinda’s brow wrinkled. “My aunt is not in residence presently.”
“Not Mrs. Wentworth, Miss. You.”
He glared at her like she had done something wrong, and her stomach clenched. How she hated those accusatory stares from even the staff. Her aunt encouraged their disrespect, so Jacinda couldn’t escape it no matter where she went.
“Is it Lady Lyndham or the Duchess?” she pressed.
“No. It is the Duke of Carnthorn.”
Jacinda shoved to her feet, letting her book clatter to the floor with hardly a glance at it. Her hands shook and she clasped them before her so that her anxiety wouldn’t be any more obvious than it already was.
“I was not expecting him.” She frowned as Carson made a little face that expressed his doubt at that statement. “Did he state what his business was?”
“No. Shall I let him in?”
She swallowed hard. The answer was not as simple as the servant’s pointed question suggested. If she refused him, she would be potentially offending a very powerful man. If she allowed him entry, she would open herself to impertinent remarks, at the very least from her aunt’s staff and at most from Society at large.
And yet she had grown accustomed to the remarks. She was very curious about why the duke would have come here.
“Miss,” Carson snapped.
She nodded. “I will see the gentleman. Please send him in.”
The butler let out a sigh and turned on his heel. Her aunt would hear of this and she would certainly be reprimanded later. But then, she likely would have been reprimanded if her answer had been to refuse the duke.
“If one cannot win…” she muttered to herself as she smoothed her sweaty palms against her skirt.
The duke entered with a broad smile and Jacinda stiffened. She had never taken much notice of Carnthorn, mostly because he was so very high above her in Society and he had never taken notice of her. But he was a very handsome gentleman, probably no more than ten years older than she was. He had blond hair and dark eyes, and a well-formed body, if the way his clothing hung was any indication.
But there was something in his smile. Something a little...wicked...that made her heart race a fraction.
“Your Grace,” she forced herself to say past very dry lips. “I did not expect to see you.”
He held out a hand and swept hers up before she could draw back. She was not wearing gloves and neither was he, so the warmth of his skin seeped very inappropriately into hers.
“We did not have an appointment,” he drawled, stroking a finger along hers before he released her hand and took a seat on the settee where she had been situated before his unexpected intrusion.
She was unsettled by the way he took over the room without even asking her leave and moved to the chair to place space between them.
“I have been thinking about you since your birthday, you see,” he continued, leaning forward and holding her gaze evenly.
She shifted, discomfort rising in her, along with interest. “You have?” she said, unable to think of something more charming or interesting to say. Grace would have said something witty, of that she was certain.
He smiled. “Yes. Over the years I have not seen much of you, Miss Downing, and so I was quite taken by our brief meeting that night.”
She stared at him. He was saying very strange things and watching her with such intensity, but she had to be misreading him and his intentions. After all, he was married. And a duke. And she was...well, she was not the kind of woman who men came to call upon for reasons of passion or interest.
“Were you?” she said when it was plain he was waiting for a response.
“I was.” He laughed, and she wasn’t sure if he did so because he found her confusion charming or if he was mocking her for her lack of understanding. “And now I found myself riding past your door and could not resist turning into your drive to pay a call. When I discovered your aunt was not in residence, I knew I had done the right thing.”
Jacinda’s lips parted. She might not be the kind of woman men called upon, but she knew perfectly well that his final sentence was anything but appropriate.
“Your Grace,” she began, shrinking back in her chair.
“Please, let me speak,” he said, holding up a hand. “For I know we will likely never have a chance to talk alone together again and what I have to say is for your ears only.”
Jacinda pushed to her feet and backed toward the fire a few steps. “Whatever could you have to say to me?”
He remained seated, but steepled his fingers before him, his gaze never leaving hers. The focus of his stare made her feel as trapped as if he had caught her in the vise of his hands and forced her to remain still.
“Jacinda,” he said, not asking her leave to refer to her by her given name. “You must know that I saw the gift you were holding when I entered your friend’s parlor the night of your birthday.”
The world seemed to slow as Jacinda stared at him. She had allowed herself to believe Isabel and Grace’s reassurances that Carnthorn had not recognized The Ladies Book of Pleasures that night.
“I too own a copy of that little naughty manual,” he said. “Though I’m not certain I approve the independence of thought demonstrated by its scandalous authoress, I do highly approve of women, especially women of a certain ilk, coming to the decision to give themselves over to a man’s pleasure.”
Jacinda turned away from him. She shook like a leaf and could hardly breath, but she managed to stammer, “Y-your Grace, this is highly inappropriate. The book was given to me as a joke and I—”
“Please!” he interrupted, his voice sharp and loud and hard enough that she spun around to face him. He had risen to his feet and stalked toward her a few steps. “Please do not pretend that your circumstances are unknown. Unlike a great many women in your position, everyone knows that you have given yourself to a man at least once. So I cannot believe that the book was repugnant to you or that it was not given to you with a purpose in mind.”
“My lord,” she began, but he held up a hand to silence her again.
“Have you looked at it?”
She blinked. No man, no gentleman at least, would be so bold as to say anything like what the duke had already said. But to question her fully about her shame...that took this encounter to a new level.
“No,” she whispered, lied.
And he knew it. She saw it in the triumph of his stare, the predatory glint in his eyes.
He reached for her, and his fingers closed around her arm and tugged her closer. “Of course you have. Alone in your bed? But whatever you did to relieve the titillation it caused, it coul
d not have been enough for you. Not with your knowledge, not with your temperament.”
“You do not know my temperament,” she snapped back, tugging at her arm.
He refused to release her. “Don’t I? Do you like living here, Jacinda? Do you like being in your father’s yoke, forced to live by his rules?” He leaned closer, his breath stirring her face just as his words stirred something inside of her. “Don’t you know there is another choice?”
She squeezed her eyes shut. She should scream and the servants would come. He would let her go, she would bank on it. She would look a fool, but this would stop.
And yet she wasn’t ready to do that.
“There isn’t another choice,” she whispered, her voice barely carrying in the quiet.
“There is,” he said, his tone both menacing and somehow soothing. “You are not good enough, pure enough to wed—we both know that.”
She flinched at his directness but did not deny the truth of his words.
“But to bed, you are perfection.” His face was moving closer and she turned her face, but he didn’t stop. “You would gain advantages by allowing such a thing. Freedoms. And what would you have to lose?”
He was saying things she had sometimes heard in her own head at night in the dark, when the frustrations and pains and loneliness were at their peak. Things she pushed away, things she cursed herself for later.
She looked at him, forcing herself to hold his stare. “Isn’t that trading one yoke for another, Your Grace?”
His eyes lit up. “You would prefer my yoke, Jacinda. Or you would learn to.”
They held stares for a moment and Jacinda couldn’t find breath. This man, this handsome man, wanted her in his bed. And there was something a bit bewitching in the idea. Except that his hand was so hard as he held her, his eyes were cold, and he was married. He was asking her to be his mistress, to reduce herself below even the levels to which she had already sunk.
In fact, she wasn’t certain he was asking after all, but demanding.
A Moment of Passion (The Ladies Book of Pleasures) Page 3