One Scandalous Kiss

by Christy Carlyle

  “You may have to help me convince her to accept it. Did you know she returned Miss Adderly’s payment for kissing you?”

  The news burst in his heart like fireworks, shooting hot sparks through his veins. He gripped the back of the settee and shivered, not from chill, but from the force it took to stay seated when all he wanted was find Jessamin and kiss her senseless. Had she given back those sorely needed funds because she’d felt in their kiss what he had, a strange alchemy of need and desire, a sense that whatever he’d been seeking might have finally been found? He hoped that impulse had driven her.

  “I can see that pleases you.”

  “Immensely.”

  Augusta smiled, a flash of pleasure, and then turned on him with a serious expression he’d rarely seen on her face. “Good. Now tell me your plan.”

  He reached up to run a hand through his hair in a Wellesley-like manner, reaching back to rub the nape of his neck. But the tension he expected to find wasn’t there. He’d considered this plan for months, long before Jessamin Wright kissed him in that gallery. But thank God she had. It had been a catalyst to push him beyond his father’s expectations.

  “Part of the estate must be sold.” He saw his aunt’s throat working and the pained look in her eyes, but he rushed on. “We are fortunate that a portion of the estate was not included in the entail. Clever forefathers, or foremothers, I suspect. And some acres were acquired later.”

  Augusta began shaking her head, a slow back-and-forth movement of denial or dismay, but Lucius expected resistance. He’d learned young, with the loss of his mother and his move to Scotland, that change inspires resistance. He’d been fighting change and scrabbling for control all of his life.

  “I don’t simply propose diminishing the estate. Mr. Leighton, a land developer and entrepreneur, plans to purchase our acreage near the village and use a portion for housing and a portion for manufacturing. And I plan to invest in his ventures.”

  She frowned at that. “Invest? I thought the objective was to find money, not spend it.”

  “As Uncle Buchanan taught me, one must invest to earn.”

  Augusta narrowed one eye at him, clearly unconvinced.

  “Tenants have abandoned our land to seek manufacturing jobs in the cities. Agriculture alone won’t support Hartwell. We must invest. Wisely, yes. But we must invest.”

  Lucius waited as his aunt cast her face down and examined the carpet, pursing her mouth and scrunching her forehead in apparently deep contemplation.

  He wanted her support and would likely need it to bring his father around, but he would approach Maxim without her backing if necessary.

  A scratching sound drew his attention to the door, and Lucius expected to see one of the pugs seeking a way out. Instead he looked down to see a shiny shoe and dark trousers attached to the lanky figure of Rob Wellesley emerge through the doorway.

  “I couldn’t sleep and had a wander. Then I heard voices and thought I might join in.”

  “Why?”

  His aunt mistook Lucius’s tone and shot him a chastising glance.

  “Don’t be rude, Lucius. Most of our guests have departed. We should be grateful we haven’t frightened Robert off too.”

  “I don’t frighten easily.” Wellesley beamed a charming smile.

  “We should carry on our discussion tomorrow. Give me time to consider your plan.” His aunt spoke the words quietly as if she thought Wellesley might not take notice, but the man was as alert as a terrier.

  “What plan is this? Please tell me it involves Miss Wright. Have you asked the woman to marry you yet? The suspense is doing my head in.” Wellesley turned toward Augusta and then looked at Lucius.

  “Your discomfort has not quite found its way onto my list of current concerns.”

  As ever, Wellesley seemed impervious to Lucius’s sarcasm and settled into a chair, stretching his legs out, crossing them at the ankles, and then folding his hands over his stomach.

  “So, what’s the plan?”

  Lucius rarely rolled his eyes, but few people exasperated him as effectively as Robert Wellesley.

  “I must speak to my father about some changes in the way we manage the estate.”

  One of the pugs jumped down to sniff their visitor and Wellesley reached a hand out to give it a scratch behind the ear.

  “You mean to sell Dunthorpe lands.”

  Lucius glanced at his aunt, who looked surprised by Wellesley’s deduction.

  He chuckled when he saw their faces. “Oh, I’m not Sherlock Holmes. I was listening at the door.”

  Resisting the urge to roll his eyes twice in the space of minutes, Lucius moved forward on the settee, resting his elbows on his knees. “My father will be resistant, to say the least.”

  “How old is he?” Wellesley asked the question in a light tone, almost flippantly.

  “Though I’m not sure how it signifies, he’ll be eighty come May.”

  Robert sat up in his chair and leaned forward, mirroring Lucius’s posture by placing his elbows on his knees.

  “Don’t you see? Your father has seen wars and revolts, the deaths of three English kings, survived the loss of his wife and eldest son. The man endures change better than you allow.”

  He was right. Lucius didn’t know if he could bring himself to admit it to him, but the reassurance in Rob’s words settled his mind.

  “Tell him your decisions, Lucius. He’s put you in charge of this estate, so take it. Don’t ask him or cajole him. Just tell him what must be done.”

  Aunt Augusta opened her mouth but then closed it without uttering a sound.

  Wellesley reached a hand up to muss his hair and sighed in frustration. “Does it never strike either of you that the one person he loved most in this world was the only one who ever stood up to him? From what I recall of your mother, she was never afraid to tell him the truth.” He grinned at his own declaration, as if utterly pleased with himself. “Our suffragette reminds me of her a bit.”

  My suffragette. Lucius didn’t say the words, but he allowed himself a moment of the possessiveness he’d never understood in his father.

  “I’m astounded.” Lucius infused his tone with as much seriousness as he could manage. It was a challenge considering how much lighter he felt, and how effectively Wellesley’s arguments had bolstered his confidence.

  Wellesley returned a rare frown. “Why?”

  “To realize that under all that disheveled hair and charm, you’ve been hiding a bit of good sense and cleverness.”

  His smile broke slowly, glacially considering Wellesley’s usual mirthful manner, but when it finally came, followed by a low chuckle, neither Lucius nor his aunt could resist smiling too.

  “High praise, indeed. Then shall I expect an invitation to the wedding?”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  THE PATH TO Lucius’s bedroom was the matter of a few steps down the hall, far easier than it had been to force her way through the crowd in the gallery that first night she’d met him. But Jess’s legs trembled in much the same way, and, standing outside his chamber, she needed a moment to draw in a few deep breaths and will her pulse to stop hammering in her ears. When she finally raised her hand to knock, the sound of voices on the other side caused her to hesitate. She leaned in to listen, and in the same moment the door swung open and Lord Grimsby’s valet, Mr. Mather, exited with an empty tray thrust out before him.

  “Pardon me, miss.” The valet expressed no surprise at finding her on Lucius’s doorstep so late at night. He merely maneuvered around her in a precise, steady manner, never allowing the tray to shift in his hands.

  Inside the room, Lucius stood next to a small table covered with food and a steaming teapot in the center.

  The valet had clearly been busy. Lucius looked immaculate, his tamed black hair and elegant clothes presenting an orderly contrast to his disheveled state when she’d seen him in his father’s room.

  “I’m interrupting your meal.”

  Her words seeme
d to ignite him, and he stalked toward her with a hungry gaze that had nothing to do with food.

  An answering pulse began in her body, thrumming in her chest and down into her belly. She needed him to touch her, kiss her, do all that his heated gaze promised. But he brushed past her, wrapping one large hand around her upper arm, and reaching out to close the door with his other. When he stepped close to her, sliding his hand down her arm, teasing her palm open with his fingers so that he might grasp her hand, Jess moved toward him as she’d done the first night they met.

  “I was told you were sleeping and didn’t want to disturb you. Did you have dinner? If not, please join me?” His voice, deep and low, melted her with a flush of warmth.

  “Food is the last thing on my mind.” It wasn’t what she’d meant to say. She wasn’t even certain how she’d formed the words, seeing as his voice, his scent, his nearness had turned her mind to porridge.

  He chuckled, a delicious rumble bubbling up and echoing through her. He did it well, as if laughter came as naturally to him as it did to May or Wellesley.

  Jess pulled back.

  “What? I did promise to laugh more.”

  His gaze held the promise of laughter and much more, and when he dipped his head as if he meant to kiss her, Jess ducked away only because she knew if he put his mouth on her, she wouldn’t be able to say any of what she’d come to say.

  “I’ve come to a decision.”

  He took a step back, giving her space to breathe, but he continued to clasp her hand tightly, as if he had no intention of letting her go.

  For the first time in her life, Jess spoke of a decision that had nothing to do with money, and nothing to with what she should do, what her father expected of her, or what she must do. She spoke the truth in her heart.

  “I want to be with you tonight.”

  His tug nearly pulled her off her feet, but Lucius caught her, wrapped her in his arms, and lowered his mouth to hers. She’d tasted his kiss before, but not like this, not when she pushed away doubt and opened herself to him. She lifted her hands to his chest, hooking a finger into the front of his waistcoat, pulling him that single breath closer. Slipping a button, she could just press her hand inside, across the starched linen of his shirt, close enough to feel the tripping thump of his heartbeat. He deepened the kiss, reaching up to sink a hand into her hair, working pins free, and stroking down each strand he loosed.

  Then he drew back, as breathless as she. The look he gave her, so full of love and admiration, soothed her, assuring her this—this precious connection that had been between them from the first—mattered most.

  “I want you for more than tonight. I want you to be my wife.”

  She’d promised herself she wouldn’t blush, but relief rushed through her veins, a melting sweetness, an incandescence of heat and pleasure and such happiness she couldn’t manage a reply.

  “I will do that again properly, knee bent, ring in hand. I promise.”

  Jess reached for his hand and lifted it to her breast, placing his palm over the point at which her heart seemed to determined thrash out of her chest.

  “Only you.” She repeated his earlier words, tenderly, as solemnly as she’d utter any vow. “I only need you.”

  When he pressed his lips to her cheek, it wasn’t enough. Jess wanted more. Turning her head, she sought his mouth, and kissed him deeply, exploring, teasing him with her tongue as he’d taught her to do.

  He wanted her, needed her. It made her bold, and her boldness seemed to thrill him. He pulled her closer, he explored with his hands, caressing her flesh where he could, dragging his fingers down her back in a delicious stroke. But he let her explore too, tipping his head when she moved her lips to his neck, moaning appreciatively when she nipped at the flesh of his ear, and emitting a low growl when she slid her hand down to tentatively stroke the hard length of him through this trousers.

  The primitive sound set off an answering pulse in her center, and Jess pulled back, frightened at her own hunger and need, so fierce it made her quiver.

  He cupped her cheek. “We can take it slow.”

  Slow wasn’t what she wanted, but it was likely what she needed.

  “Wh-what does your aunt say to all this?” Grasping for any thought other than the need to mold her body to Lucius’s, Jess latched on to her one lingering concern.

  Fearful she’d doused all the passion of the moment, she couldn’t quite meet his gaze.

  “She’s pleased. Thrilled, I suspect. You’d only agreed to be her companion for a year, but now she’ll get to keep you as a niece forever. You know she can’t do without you.”

  He reached his hand to around to grasp her nape, and the slide and heat of his palm on her skin made her moan.

  Dipping his head, he hovered over her mouth, lips brushing hers, breath gusting against her skin. “Neither can I.”

  When he finally kissed her, pressing his mouth to hers, Jess opened to him, urging him to plunder, and reached up to his waistcoat, freeing more buttons until she could press her palms against his chest. But it wasn’t enough. She needed to be closer, needed to feel his heated skin against her own. Tugging his shirt, she pulled until she felt the edge of it slip from his trousers. Lucius gasped against her mouth when she slid her fingers underneath, finally touching the firm, supple plain of his chest. His skin was so warm, heated velvet, even across the muscled ridges.

  Breaking their kiss, Lucius gazed at her a moment before lowering his head again and kissing her neck, lifting to skim his mouth over the curve of her ear and then laving the skin below it. When he dipped his head, pressing his mouth to the skin just above the neck of her gown, a warm syrupy heat melted her inside and a craving, deep and profound, took hold.

  She lifted her hands to front of his waistcoat, peeling the garment back and pushing it from his shoulders. He released Jess long enough to lift his arms and pull his shirt over his head. Having seen the male form only in sculptures or paintings, Jess found Lucius’s chest a revelation and ran her hands over his skin, amazed by the contrast of soft flesh and hard muscle, the smooth expanse of his stomach and the dark patch of hair forming a trail to the edge of his trousers.

  He allowed her explorations only a moment before reaching for her again, grasping her waist, then sliding his hands up over the swell of her breasts, lifting a finger to the button at the top of her bodice. He paused, a flash of uncertainty in his gaze. But Jess wanted more—for him to touch her as he’d allowed her to touch him, to shed every barrier between them, to know him as she’d never known any man.

  She reached up to slip the top button on her bodice herself, and he reached for the next, and the next. Once freed, Jess slipped the front hooks of her corset, and Lucius pulled at the bowed ribbons to release her chemise. As soon as the cotton slipped from her breasts she reached out to embrace him, sighing with pleasure at the slide of skin against skin.

  He pulled away just enough to take her hand, leading her through the sitting room to a doorway and his bedroom beyond. Without his heat warming her, his chest covering hers, Jess felt a moment of embarrassment and lifted a hand to cover her breasts.

  A fire burned in the bedroom hearth, heating the air and filling the room with an amber glow. Jess could just make out the details of a grand four-poster bed with a deep blue counterpane.

  Lucius released her hand and closed the space between them, pressing his body against hers and reaching up to free the rest of the pins from her hair. She watched his eyes, and then the seductive grin curving his mouth, as he threaded his fingers through the strands, drawing them down across her chest and over her breasts. He tilted his head back and smiled, as if pleased with the sight of her taut nipples peeking through the waves of her hair.

  “You’re magnificent.”

  Before she could respond, speak, or reach for him, he dipped his head and drew a nipple into his mouth. She arched back and he wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her. He licked and teased until she moaned and reached up to d
ishevel his silky black hair as she’d longed to do every time she looked at him. Then she pulled back, afraid she’d scratched him or grasped him too roughly.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  He lifted his head, giving her a chance to breathe.

  “It will only hurt if you stop,” he rasped before taking her other nipple between his lips, treating it to the same loving, delicious attention. His hands were as busy as his mouth, and she felt her skirt loosen, her petticoat slip over her hips, and the ribbon lacing her drawers drawn free.

  When he moved his hand between them, pushing her drawers over her hips, and then sliding his fingers down, skimming them across the flesh at the apex of her thighs, Jess bucked against him and her legs turned to jelly. He eased her back, lifting her onto his bed, staring down at her with awe and adoration as he reached for the buttons of his trousers. She saw his hand shaking and reached up to help him.

  Jess watched, enthralled as Lucius slipped out of the last bit of clothing between them, pushing his trousers and drawers over the chiseled edge of his hips, lower, revealing his impossibly hard length. She lifted a hand to touch him there, but he eased her back instead, lifting his body over hers and easing down gently until their bodies melded—chest to chest, thigh against thigh, his stiffness teasing at her damp cleft.

  She lifted her mouth to his, eager to be joined in every way. She took the lead, grasping his head in her hands, slipping her tongue into his mouth, and he groaned, grinding his hips against hers. His cock pressed deeper, sliding in the moist heat between her thighs, and she lifted her hips, needing him closer, aching for a release she could not name.

  Lucius turned his head, pressing kisses to her neck, then whispering in her ear. “I need to taste you.”

  She thought he meant to kiss her again. Yes, she needed to taste him too, but she emitted a little whine of protest when he pulled back instead, easing his body off hers and sliding down. She opened her mouth to ask him to kiss her, beg him if necessary. But then he did, pressing his mouth to the cleft between her breasts, trailing his lips down her belly, dipping his hot tongue into the hollow of her belly button, and then moving lower. When he pushed her thighs apart, gently, stroking his fingers over the sensitive inner skin of her legs, Jess bit her lip to stifle a cry—of pleasure, embarrassment, need. Then his tongue, the hard pointed tip of it, eased her open, tasting her, savoring her, lapping at her body as if she was the sweetest delicacy he’d ever known.