by Gaelen Foley
“I’m never speaking to him again! Oh, but it doesn’t matter—he hates me, too. We had the most awful fight!”
“Again?” Mara answered sympathetically.
“Ahem,” Jordan coughed, climbing to his feet.
Delilah recoiled. “Oh, no—I didn’t realize you had company!”
“Mrs. Staunton,” Jordan greeted her politely, pretending not to notice her tears or her indignant look that Mara might not be able to drop everything for her.
“I don’t wish to interrupt,” Delilah said with a martyred sniffle.
Jordan regarded her dryly, then glanced at Mara. “Why don’t I take Thomas out to the stables to look at the horses? We’ll have a nice visit with Jack.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that—”
“He’s no trouble. We’ll be fine. I’m sure Mrs. Busby could use a break. Come here, tyke.” He picked Thomas up with an easy motion. “Let’s get you out of the nest and into the sunshine for a while.” He sent Mara a reassuring look, but after hearing the morbid tale of how Thomas’s father had died, he couldn’t stop thinking of how unfair it was that this fine boy would grow up with no one to show him how to be a man, and, indeed, a lord.
“Just come and get us when you’re through,” he added. “Come on, lad,” he ordered gently. He picked up his coat and tucked it loosely around Thomas. Then he carried the boy out, leaving both women staring, slack-jawed, after him.
“Well! It’s good to see not all men are thoroughgoing mongrels.” Apparently relieved to be rid of them, Delilah picked up her skirts and sailed into the parlor, angrily kicking a block out of the way with her toe before plopping onto the couch.
Still astonished, Mara lingered, watching Jordan carry Thomas off toward the back exit of the house. Over Jordan’s broad shoulder, she could see her son’s face; his expression was remarkable, eager for whatever adventure might lie ahead, perfectly at ease with his tall and protective new friend.
“That odious cretin tried to give me—me!—an ultimatum! He called me selfish and spoiled a-and a hussy! Can you believe that barbarian? I’m never speaking to him again!”
Mara fussed over her friend, but in truth, she was not overly concerned. Delilah’s fights with Cole were routine by now. When her friend had vented all of her anger and frustration in the parlor, she perked up, visibly feeling better.
“I shall go to Bath to take the waters,” Delilah declared, daintily blowing her nose on her handkerchief. “That would soothe my nerves—and then he would miss me, wouldn’t he? That would show him!”
“I’m sure he’ll come to his senses and beg your forgiveness when he’s had some time.”
“Well, I don’t care if he crawls on his hands and knees. He’s a devil. Men! They’re not worth it, have you noticed? Pretending they care. All they ever do is lie!”
By the time Delilah bid her adieu with a kiss on the cheek, Mara was left entirely drained. With a low sigh, she hauled herself up from the sofa and went dragging out to join the boys.
She paused outside the doorway, besieged with a pang of tenderness when she spotted them together. Jordan was still holding Thomas, who was cautiously patting the neck of the tall, white hunter on which the earl had arrived.
Her smile grew as she walked out to join them. When Thomas saw her, he reacted with excitement, kicking his legs. “I petted the horsey, Mama!”
“Indeed, he did.” Jordan let her son spill himself into her arms, but he kept his coat. Thomas clung to her neck, but he turned and kept staring at Jordan as though he didn’t want to lose sight of him, either. “How’s Delilah?”
“Oh, we go through this all the time,” she whispered. “She’ll be fine. They won’t speak for a fortnight, then they’ll make up, and the whole thing will start over again next month.”
“Sounds exhausting.”
She chuckled. “It is, believe me.”
“Well, my dear,” he murmured, his gaze skimming over her lips, “I should be going.”
“Thanks for watching him. How did you get on?”
“Ah, he’s easy. Calm boy, clever. He’s got a cheerful disposition, doesn’t he?”
“Yes.” A frisson of happiness surged through her to hear her dream man compliment her pride and joy. “When will I see you again?” she asked, as he pulled on his coat and turned back to his horse, letting the stirrups down. They had been neatly run up against the saddle.
“Tomorrow?”
“Oh—I can’t. I just remembered. I have to go to my parents’ house. We go twice a month for dinner.”
He looked at her in surprise. “Glutton for punishment, are you?”
“Now, now,” she chided, fighting a smile. “You’re welcome to come with me.”
“I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“Of course not. I understand. They’re not the best of company.”
He studied her. “Would it help you if I was there? Moral support?” he asked softly.
“Oh, would you?” she exclaimed.
He crooked a subtle, knowing smile. “What time do you want me here?”
“Oh, you are an angel! Isn’t he, Thomas?”
“I don’t know about that,” Jordan said.
“If you’re here by half eleven, we should be right on time for the midday meal. Two o’clock sharp, every day for a thousand years.”
“Right. Don’t say I never did you any favors.” He leaned closer and kissed her cheek, then he said good-bye to Thomas, running a light caress over the baby’s head.
He turned away and swung up onto his horse.
Mara watched him with her heart lifting. “Say good-bye, Thomas.” She nudged the boy into copying her in waving good-bye to the earl.
Jordan blew them a kiss in answer, then rode off.
She hugged her son as he cantered away astride his white hunter. “He really is rather wonderful, isn’t he, Thomas?” she whispered. “What does Delilah know? Not all men are liars.”
Chapter 9
Lady Bryce could not have been sweeter to their honored guest the next day, how ever appalled she might have been privately to find herself faced with the one person outside the family who had ever heard her verbally flaying her daughter.
No doubt she hoped the incident was forgotten and chose to focus on the fact that an earl at her table was a feather in her cap, especially a handsome, world-traveling sort of ambassador-at-large, who seemed so loyal to her daughter, even after all these years.
Mara, meanwhile, was a nervous wreck as usual in her parents’ company. On the way over, she had given poor Jordan more pointers and instructions on how to manage them and more warnings about what not to say than he probably received from the Foreign Office before he was dispatched to some far-flung embassy.
Finally, he had laughed at her and told her to relax. “I am not devoid of all Town bronze, you know.”
She had apologized with a sheepish wince. But now she saw she needn’t have worried.
Though she was still braced to be mortified, either by her parents’ embarrassing her or saying something rude to Jordan, his diplomatic skills served him well.
When her mother pried, and her father grumbled, he remained unflappable, amiable down to his gentlemanly fingertips.
With the keen eye and inborn patience of a herding dog steering a flock of difficult sheep away from danger, he used his seemingly endless supply of amusing anecdotes to redirect the conversation whenever her parents started to bicker or gripe at each other or showed early signs of starting to pick at her.
Mara could have kissed him.
Indeed, as the meal unfolded and he brought a calm into the storm that had always been her family home, she could no longer ignore the turn her feelings had been taking toward him lately.
He was so different from anyone else in her life. So sensible and sane. So easy and natural to be around.
Even now, sitting here, watching him distract and charm her parents, she was well aware this was his own quiet way of protecting her
.
Whenever her parents started to attack, he parried with a nimble side-skip in the conversation, leading their attention away from her supposed flaws and failures with an innocent question on some other topic.
She marveled at his skill and realized deep in her bones that he was not going to let them hurt her.
Not today. Not while he was there.
She was not outnumbered anymore.
Gazing at him from across the family table laid with the usual roast beef dinner on the same bone china her mother had used since she was a bride, Mara knew that if she wasn’t careful, her heart could run away with her again, just as quickly as it had all those years ago, like a wild horse breaking free of its paddock, galloping off down some moonlit lane.
Her lack of caution had led to such hurt and bitter disappointment that this time around, she had been taken pains to restrain her emotions toward him. After all, Jordan and she had agreed they were only friends. She was the one who had insisted on it!
Yes, but…look at him. Delilah was right. He was gorgeous. Impeccable. And smoldering more hotly every day.
When he licked his lips after taking a drink of the light wine that accompanied their dinner, Mara trembled and quickly dropped her gaze.
Of course he was handsome, with some strange charisma that riveted her despite his understated air. It was more than that. More than the manly elegance of his easy posture as he leaned in his chair with an intelligent half smile, listening to her father’s bluster with perfect equanimity.
His appeal was far more than physical to her.
He made her feel…safe.
He had Sir Dunstan Bryce extolling the virtues of trout and grayling and the best places in these parts to fish. How had he discovered in less than half an hour one of the few topics that her father actually enjoyed?
He was terribly clever. More than that, he was kind.
Everything about him proclaimed solid reliability—a rare quality that any grown woman with a brain could not help but find devastatingly attractive. And yet, she had to remind herself, this was the man who had walked away from her. Maybe we just weren’t ready then.
All she knew, as she lifted her gaze and watched him from across the table, was that she was ready now.
Ready for him.
The yearning desire gathering in her blood was so foreign to her. But surely she could not go the rest of her days never knowing what it would have been like to make love with him, this one man she had wanted all her life.
By the time they left her parents’ house, she was feeling very peculiar, indeed.
With Jack up on the driver’s box, as usual, Mara and Jordan slumped against the squabs as the carriage pulled away, both exhausted by the visit.
Mrs. Busby and Thomas sat across from them. They’d had the easiest time of it, for Sir Dunstan and Lady Bryce only enjoyed their grandson’s presence until he began to act too much like a child. At the first sign of whining or tears, they frowned and began to criticize, which was Mara’s cue that it was time to go. It was one thing for them to rail at her, but she did not intend to let them start in on the baby.
They waved good-bye as her carriage rolled off down the drive, but although Thomas seemed to be the only one who had any energy left, Mara noticed she did not feel anywhere near as glazed and battered as she usually did by the time she headed home. Perhaps because Jordan had borne the brunt of it this time.
“Blazes,” he muttered at length, “I don’t think I worked that hard at the Congress of Vienna.”
“I’m sorry—”
“No, no. They’re not so bad,” he said with a weary laugh.
“You’re a godsend.”
“How do you feel? That’s the real test.”
She searched her heart. “Intact.”
“Good. Call on me whenever you need me.” The intimate smile he gave her filled her with more robust gratitude for him than she could decently express in front of her child or Mrs. Busby.
Indeed, the heated wave of desire that moved through her body stunned her slightly. There had been no such feelings in all her years of marriage. She dropped her gaze, suddenly aware of every inch of the tall, strong, handsome man beside her. God, she had utterly forgotten this youthful and invigorating sensation.
Desire.
The flood of reawakening passion sprang to life in the core of her dormant body and spread with reckless speed, tingling along her every nerve.
Strangely, instead of confusing her, she suddenly felt like her old self again—a self she hadn’t even realized had all but slipped away through the years. The real Mara. Flaws and strengths, passions, quirks, and all. It seemed like most of her life she’d been fighting for the courage to be herself. No matter who disapproved.
She reached over slowly and captured Jordan’s hand.
He glanced at her in surprise as the carriage rolled homeward. Mara gazed at him in sober silence while Thomas babbled on.
Jordan furrowed his brow. “Are you all right?” he murmured in tender concern.
She gave a mute nod, her heart too full to explain. The heated jumble of emotions crashing through her could only be communicated by action.
He searched her face with a curious look, but he did not question her further. Not in front of Thomas. He just closed his fingers warmly around hers.
Mara bit her lip at the contact of his palm against hers; he began to realize then that she wanted him. Perhaps he noticed the swift beat of her pulse at her wrist where their hands touched.
His expression turned serious, and when he glanced at her again, his blue eyes had darkened. His immediate response, as naked as her own, made Mara catch her breath. Her respiration deepened; his hold on her hand tightened up a bit.
Mrs. Busby gazed politely out the window or kept her attention focused on the boy.
“Off we go, Master Thomas!” she said, when they arrived at last. Every moment had dragged on cruelly until the coach rolled to a halt in the narrow mews behind the crescent in Great Cumberland Street.
At once, Mrs. Busby collected Thomas and climbed out, as though she and the boy could not escape fast enough.
Mara blushed, feeling Jordan’s sensual grasp on her hand holding her back, as though warning her not even to think about getting out of the carriage.
She wasn’t. “We’ll, ah, be along in a moment,” she said mildly to the nurse, who had Thomas by the hand.
“Aye, ma’am. Come along, dearie boy.”
Without even waiting for the groom, Mara leaned out and pulled the carriage door shut with a bang.
Immediately, Jordan tugged her toward him with a burning stare. “Come here,” he whispered.
She obeyed, wrapping her arms around him. Then he was kissing her with explosive passion, caressing her hair as his mouth slanted over hers, over and over again, as though he could not get enough of her. Mara’s toes curled in her satin slippers.
The taste of him spiraled through her senses as she clutched his wide shoulders in girlish thrill. He stroked her face with his fingertips and drank from her lips with a reverence that amazed her and sent her excitement climbing.
This man cared for her. He did not need words to tell her so. It was in the very way he touched her. With the carriage already parked in its place in the mews, they could hear the grooms disengaging the harness, the clip-clop of hooves as the horses were led away back to their stalls. No doubt the lads were grinning from ear to ear, and the servants’ gossip would be all over the neighborhood by nightfall.
Mara didn’t care. Certainly, Jordan didn’t. As his fingertips on her cheek wisped down the side of her neck, inching down her chest until his hand expertly molded the curve of her breast, it was clear that he was ready for anything.
When her kiss faltered—merely from indecision—he paused. “Is this all right?”
“Yes, of course—but I wonder if we should go inside.”
The smolder deep in his eyes leaped into flame as he stared at her in question. Your bed?
his keen gaze queried.
Mara swallowed hard, her pulse racing, her cheeks turning scarlet. She glanced nervously toward the carriage window covered by the shade. “Maybe not. I can’t face Mrs. Busby when you have me in such a state.”
“I’m so sorry,” he purred with a wicked smile.
It so charmed her that she had no choice but to grab him and kiss him again.
He let out a soft groan of amusement and delight as she plundered his mouth with her kiss.
“I take it I did something right,” he panted, when she let him up for air.
She clutched his lapels tenderly, her chest heaving. “You do everything right, Jordan. It is your most maddening quality.”
“What?” he retorted.
“You’re practically perfect! How can any woman resist such a man?”
“I’m not perfect, Mara. You are.”
“You see?” She laughed, dizzied with desire. “You just made my point for me.”
“I adore you. That’s all I know. I’ve dreamed of this forever.”
“Oh, Jordan, so have I.” She closed her eyes, leaning her forehead against his in a surge of reckless longing. “I can’t wait anymore,” she breathed.
At once, his lips found hers. With a smooth motion, he turned her body away from him slightly, then guided her to lie back across his lap, holding her all the while. Her arms remained loosely draped around his neck, but this position freed his right hand to roam over her body, while his left arm still supported her back.
Mara kept her eyes closed in rapturous anticipation, yielding to his touch as he explored her body—until she suddenly remembered how unpleasant the conjugal act had been with her late husband.
Oh, dear. She froze. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Unbeknownst to Jordan—who was absorbed in kissing and petting her as if every inch of her was precious to him—old fears took off running through her mind. What if it all went wrong somehow? What if he, like Pierson, found her performance lacking?
She would die of embarrassment if she disappointed him when they both had waited years to be together.
What if she could not satisfy him? What if he got angry at her for not being any good at lovemaking?