The Wedding of the Century & Other Stories

by Kristin James; Charlotte Featherstone Mary Jo Putney

  “Thank you, my lord. Shall we see if we can catch an other?”

  He looked up at her and smiled as he gathered his rod, and closed the tackle box. “I’m afraid I have a matter of business to attend to this morning. Perhaps we might see each other for tea this afternoon?”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  Blossom watched him stroll past, but the scowl he sent Jase did not go unnoticed. Halston was indignant, and she couldn’t blame him.

  “Of all the—”

  She was stopped, midtirade, when Jase wrapped his fingers around her arm and all but dragged her to the large weeping willow that stood a few feet away. Carefully he brought her up against the trunk, and pressed his body—all lean and hot—against her.

  “My God, I can’t wait another second to do this.” Swiftly, he lowered his mouth to hers, and Blossom felt the instantaneous jolt of excitement rush through her veins. His lips were soft, pliant, beneath hers. He pressed another kiss to her, then another, but this time he opened his mouth, allowing his heat to envelope her, and she stiffened, backing away, not knowing what he wanted. Not liking the heat and confusion he was creating inside her.

  He tried again, pressing up against her, encouraging her with his lips to open her mouth for him, but she wouldn’t allow him the intimacy. She couldn’t.

  “Blossom,” he groaned. He cupped her face, holding her still as he lowered his lips to her ear. “Let me.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “No!”

  “Just one kiss,” he murmured against her ear. “I have to know what it is like—the feel of you. Your taste.”

  In growing frustration, he cupped her chin with both hands, kissed her hard, hungrily, until she gasped in shock at the intimacy. He took advantage then, slipping his tongue effortlessly between her lips. His hand slid up along her neck and untied the ribbon of her bonnet, flinging it from her head. Then his fingers dove in her curls, squeezing and tugging, angling her head so that he could feel every recess of her mouth as he hungrily deepened the kiss.

  Blossom reeled backward, the intrusion of Jase’s tongue astonishing her. It was an awkward, odd feeling, yet, she was chagrined to admit it, not totally unpleasant. He smelled of soap and sandalwood and the unmistakable scent of man, and his tongue felt as soft as velvet as he searched her mouth in slow, lazy sweeps that made her feel light-headed.

  She should stop this at once, but before she could tear her lips from his he brought her against him, deepening the kiss as her traitorous legs buckled despite her considerable attempts to control them. He was doing devilish things to her with those lips. She’d known the minute she’d looked at him that his finely sculpted mouth had done many wicked things and now his lips were settled on hers, his tongue deep within her mouth, his strong fingers raking through her hair, squeezing and clasping and raking all over again.

  She could barely think beyond the pleasure. Only two thoughts traveled through her mind. Samuel’s kisses had never felt like this, followed swiftly by the realization she didn’t want him to stop.

  Damn, if she would only kiss him back, Jase cursed, deepening the kiss further, pressing his arousal against her thighs, ignoring her gasp of alarm when his cock thickened against her leg. He just needed a sign, some flicker of hope, that warmth resided in her. Would she burn for him as much as he burned for her?

  Her body tensed as if she were preparing to push him away and flay him alive for his actions. He didn’t give her a chance. Instead, he stabbed his tongue deep within her mouth, forcing her to kiss him back—or slap him.

  She kissed him back.

  Her touch was tentative, driving him recklessly on. He didn’t want to overwhelm her, but damn it all, he was far too worked up. He usually needed much more than a kiss to lose all reason. He’d never actually lost his way during lovemaking, and yet Blossom was threatening him with insanity this very minute.

  He opened his eyes, consumed with the need to see her. Her eyes were closed, long lashes fluttering against pale, porcelain cheeks that appeared slack and relaxed.

  Without warning, Blossom straightened, shoving herself out of his arms, and slapped him hard across his face.

  “You rogue. You rakish—”

  “That good, eh?” He grinned, rubbing his cheek. “I rather thought you were enjoying it. I know I certainly was.”

  Her breath caught and the bodice of her gown brushed his waistcoat, sending warmth snaking through his veins once again when he felt the fullness of her breasts press against his chest. He’d like nothing better than to bury his mouth in her inviting décolletage, to hear her whimper of need as he lowered her bodice and skimmed his lips across her nipples, which he knew would be firm buds waiting for the stroke of his tongue.

  “You womanizing mongrel,” she hissed, drawing him from the mental picture of Blossom reclined in the grass, him atop her and his hands covering and kneading her breasts. “Oh,” she stamped, trying to push past him. “Have you no shame, sir?”

  He reached for her arm, his grin gone. “Not when it comes to you, Blossom. I fear I’ll stop at nothing to win you.”

  “Is this a game to you, sir? Are you toying with me, having a laugh at my expense? Or is it your purpose to seduce me in broad daylight only to have us discovered and forced to marry?”

  “Do not tell me you didn’t want that.”

  It was the wrong thing to say. He knew it the second the words left his mouth. If he didn’t then, he knew now, by the incredulous, disgusted expression on her face.

  “Blossom, I’m sorry. That was wrong of me to say.”

  “More than that is wrong with this picture, my lord.”

  She tried to move away, but he pinned her against him. “What is wrong with both of us finding passion in each other?”

  “I already told you, I’m not looking for the sort of passion you’re offering.”

  “What you think you know of me is a lie. It isn’t who I am.”

  “Please. Do not try to fob me off with that tale. A misunderstood reputation? How clichéd. The romantic hiding beneath the rake’s veneer? How trite.”

  “Damn you, it’s the truth.”

  “You don’t want me,” she suddenly snapped, struggling in his arms. “And I don’t want you. You’re only doing this to placate your honor. You believe as the eldest sibling you must right the wrongs of your brother. But you’re misguided, my lord. An alliance between us would be the worst possible thing. I won’t have you, Raeburn. Do you hear me? I won’t.”

  “Where does it leave us, then, Blossom? For I won’t stop until I have you as my wife.”

  That made her freeze in his arms. When she looked up at him, her expression was one of confusion. “I don’t understand this. After all these years you’ve suddenly decided that you want me for your wife.”

  “Believe me, it’s not sudden,” he growled.

  Finally, after all this time, he permitted himself the truth. He had always wanted her, and now… He swallowed, allowed his words to whisper through his mind for the first time. He had always thought of her as his wife.

  “I can’t believe your sincerity. I won’t believe it. You seek an easy alliance. Along with that, you believe you can gallantly ride in and save me from your brother’s actions, but you’re wrong. I’m not looking for a self-sacrificing knight. I’m looking for a man who will love me. Who truly desires me.”

  In desperation he pressed up against her, allowing her to feel his aroused body. “And I do not desire you?”

  “It’s a…momentary madness,” she whispered, her breath catching as she felt his heavily aroused body pressing into hers. “A dangerous spark.”

  “Oh, how little you know me, Blossom. This spark, as you call it, has been threatening to ignite for years.”

  “You don’t truly want me, Jase. It’s honor and duty, and nothing more. Besides, why would you want soiled goods—and goods soiled by your brother.”

  Through his haze of desire, he realized what Blosso
m was trying to do. She was attempting to dissuade him, to disgust him, by allowing him to believe that she had lain with his brother. “Do not lie to me, Blossom. I know nothing more than chaste kisses have passed between you and my brother.”

  “And how would you know that?”

  “You’ve the look of a woman who has not yet bloomed beneath a man. But I promise you, I will be that man. And you will flower,” he murmured against her ear. “Beneath my hands, my body, my mouth.”

  “No,” she whispered, but he could see the battle being waged in her eyes, the force it was taking to deny it. He could reach out and kiss her again. Skim his hands along her curves and feel her. He could make her bloom now, but he had no wish to take her like this, to force her hand. He would wait a bit longer, until the desire, the attraction, was undeniable, and then he would show her passion beyond her wildest dream. And then she would believe that she could find the sort of husband she dreamed of in him.

  “This afternoon, I’ll meet you for tea.”

  “I won’t be there.”

  “Then I’ll find you. And I won’t rest until I discover wherever it is you’re hiding. And when I find you, I’ll kiss you, and I won’t stop. Not even if you beg.”

  OH, HOW THAT KISS HAUNTED her. It had been two days since that moment by the lake, and still Blossom could feel the pressure of his lips against her mouth, the sweep of his tongue against hers. Her tummy flipped, as though a legion of butterflies were circling, every time she thought of it. Try as she might, she was consumed by thoughts of him. Dreams of that kiss and what more she might have been able to experience.

  She tried to console herself with the reminder that Jase was a practiced seducer. It was not difficult to make women feel the way he desired them to. But what did that say of her? That she was that weak-willed, that brainless, to fall helpless victim to him? No, she knew better than that. Somewhere, in some deep, ignored recess of her being, was her desire for Jase. She had banked and hidden that desire for so long. But one afternoon alone with him had changed all that. She tried to ignore it, to bury it deep once more, but Jase made it impossible.

  He wanted her, she reminded herself. He did not love her. Passion was all well and good, but what was it, what did it mean when it did not accompany love? He had not given her his heart, and, Blossom knew, she would be a fool to give him hers. And because of that, she knew she must find a way to stop thinking of him, and that kiss they had shared.

  True to his word, he found her—morning, afternoon and each night. For two days he had hunted her like a panther hunts a helpless gazelle. There were no more kisses. No, that would be too easy. Instead, Jase prowled around her, letting her desire build even as she tried not to let it. He touched her, a brief caress on her arm, a fingertip gliding along her hand. His knee would brush hers at tea, and he would cast his green eyes her way and smile knowingly above the rim of his china cup. And that was just during the day.

  At night, he would sit beside her at dinner, and allow his hand to caress her thigh. He danced with her too close—and said nothing during those dances—just made her feel his body brushing against hers. When he wasn’t dancing with her he was watching, prowling about the ballroom like a caged lion. His gaze would linger upon her and she would feel the heat of his stare, and when she would glance over her shoulder, she would find him watching her, and her body would heat and tremble twenty feet away from him. That was that power that Jase Markham held over her.

  She had almost broke this afternoon at tea. She had almost begged him for another kiss, and damn it, she was positive he knew it, too, for he smiled, that well-satisfied masculine grin, and leaned down to whisper, “Tonight,” in her ear.

  She was gelatin in his hands, despite her resolve against him. He wasn’t husband material—at least, not the sort of husband she desired. But he was passionate. And sinfully handsome. More handsome than any other man she had ever met. And the things he made her feel… What a curse that it would be Jase who did this to her. A reprehensible reprobate who would play fast and furious with her heart and body and then leave her to mind both on her own.

  “Blossom?”

  The knock and the sound of her mother’s voice on the other side of the door pulled her out of her reverie. “Are you well?”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  “Are you coming down to dance? You’ve been up here for over an hour.”

  Really? Had it been that long? It felt like only minutes ago she had fled the dining room for the sanctity of her bedroom. She had pleaded a headache, all in an attempt to put distance between herself and Jase. She could not bear it, being so close to him, and feel herself struggle not to touch him. She was disgusted by her wantonness, demoralized that it had taken so very little to make her desire him.

  “Might I come in?”

  “Of course.”

  Blossom straightened on the window box where she had been sitting, staring sightlessly out into the night. Lanterns lit the drive, and moonlight danced upon the still waters of the lake. The window was open; the rose-scented air was humid and warm, making her itch to walk in the night.

  “Oh, you are pale,” her mother said as she sat across from her. She touched the back of her hand to her forehead. “You don’t have a fever.” The concern she saw in her mother’s eyes was her undoing.

  “I’m feeling much better, Mama.”

  “It isn’t Halston, is it, Blossom? Your father and I have noticed that he’s been suspiciously absent by your side. We didn’t think that you cared for him in that way.”

  Oh, dear. She had no wish to think of Lord Halston. He most likely thought her the biggest flirt—and that was being gracious. No doubt he had told everyone that she had flung herself into Jase’s arms like a doxy tart. How could he not stay away from her?

  “Or is it someone else entirely?”

  The tone of her mother’s voice made Blossom look up sharply. One thing her mother was not was naive. She knew about Jase. How could she not?

  “Blossom?”

  Blowing out her held breath, Blossom leaned her head back against the wall. “If you must know, then yes. It is Jase.”

  “I thought so.” Her mother’s smile made the hair on her arms rise to attention. “He has talked to your papa, you know.”

  “I can’t accept anything he offers. I…I think he’s only wishing to marry me as he feels obligated to because of Samuel.”

  “I don’t think so, my love.”

  “What else can it be, then?”

  Her mother’s head dipped low to capture her gaze. “A legitimate desire to be your husband?”

  She snorted. “Rakes don’t want wives, Mama. They desire conquests.”

  “Rakes don’t go about the manner of securing a conquest while said conquest’s parents look on, dear.”

  Oh, damn him. His attentions were blatant. Marked. He had scared off all her other admirers and now he was ensuring her parents knew of his intentions.

  “And what makes you think Jase’s intentions aren’t honorable? We’ve known him for years, and have never believed him to be anything but a gentleman.”

  “Mama,” she snapped, feeling irritable. “That is just the point. I’ve known him for decades and never once did I get the impression that he desired anything more than friendship between us. And now, four months after my engagement ends, he’s mad to marry me. It’s convenience or obligation. I just haven’t figured out which yet.”

  “Oh, darling,” she whispered. “Nothing I say will make it right, will it? I guess you will have to discover the truth for yourself.”

  And she would, too. If it was the last thing she did, she would discover Jase’s true motive in this preposterous game he was playing.

  “Well, you do look pale. You’ve had many late nights and I know you’re used to country hours. Why don’t you stay up here? I’ll make your excuses.”

  “Thank you, Mama.”

  Hiding from Jase was exactly what she needed. She couldn’t face him tonight. She was
too weak-willed to resist him.

  The door closed behind her mother, and Sally, her maid, came in to undress her. The blue satin gown was discarded for her night rail and wrapper, and a freshly laundered apron. “I shall be in my studio, Sally, if you need me.”

  “Very good, miss.”

  Opening the connecting door to her chamber, Blossom entered her studio and lit the glass lamps. She had started a new painting this morning. A landscape of the garden at night. Silently she sat on her stool and positioned the easel toward the light. Then picking up her brush and dabbing it into the yellow paint, she began to paint the fireflies that dotted the backdrop. With a few strokes of her brush, she was relaxed and calm, and all thoughts of Jase Markham were replaced by her painting.

  CHAPTER NINE

  HE WAS WAGING A CAMPAIGN, and Jase was not one to be easily thwarted. When the Duchess of Torrington came to him not more than hour ago with the news that Blossom was unwell and would not be joining them, he knew his battle plans would change that night.

  Coward. He grinned to himself as he climbed the servants’ staircase that lead to the family’s private quarters. That was the advantage of years of friendship; he knew precisely how to get to Blossom’s room without anyone discovering him. He had to admit, he hadn’t thought Blossom the type to turn tail and hide. She was so certain of herself in everything she did, he couldn’t help but wonder at why she would not face him tonight.

  He hoped she was not truly adverse to him. He paused on the threshold of Blossom’s chamber door. His hand was on the brass latch, and he stopped, taking stock of the thought. He thought back to the kiss by the lake, the kiss he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about. The kiss that haunted his dreams and made his body ache. He also recalled the little touches, the graze of his hand on hers, the brush of his knee, the glide of their bodies during a waltz. No. She was not adverse to him; she was afraid of her own passionate response. She was a virgin—not a missish one—but an innocent nonetheless. It stood to reason that her passionate response frightened her. She obviously hadn’t felt those things for his brother. Not for the first time he found himself wondering what the devil the two of them had gotten up to during their long courtship? How had Samuel resisted such temptation? He ought to be nominated for sainthood as far as Jase was concerned.