by Tess Byrnes
“By Gad, you’ve got a fine place here, Hillaire, Dashed fine. Got lost on the damned road, though. Daresay you’ve finished dinner by now, and here’s me with nothing in my stomach barring a spot of luncheon on the road. Hate to sit down in all my dirt, but can’t retire and listen to my stomach complaining all night.”
Peeping around the last turn in the stair, Priscilla’s worst fears were confirmed as she saw the ruddy complexion and stout shape of Sir Harry Greenwood shaking hands with his host. Beside the stout squire, Jasper appeared to uncommon advantage. Tall and graceful, his broad shoulders cased in a handsome black evening coat, his dark hair curling about his head, Priscilla thought again that she had never before beheld a more handsome man.
“No need to do that, Sir Greenwood.” Jasper responded politely. “I can have a tray sent up for you, or if you prefer you can change and join us for tea.”
“I’ll have a tray sent up, and thank you. I’ll need something a little more substantial than tea. Now, do you think you could provide me with something liquid to tide me over until my man has my things unpacked? There’s a good man.”
Priscilla watched as Jasper led the shorter man down the long gallery leading to a morning room where sherry and brandy were always laid out for infrequent day visitors, and as they passed out of sight, she trod quickly down the stairs and across the main hall into the sanctuary of the library.
Reaching this haven, she settled into a big leather chair near the window, clasping her hands tightly to stop them from trembling. Sir Harry could ruin all; reveal her true identity, cause Mrs. Hartfield to fire her, humiliate her before Sir Jasper, and in the end force her to return home, disgraced, without even the hope of an alliance with the likes of Sir Harry Greenwood.
“I won’t go back!” she thought fiercely. “Nothing has changed. Richard and Carolyn do not want me. It’s doubtful if even Sir Harry would still want to marry me.” A vision swam before her eyes of the Viscount’s handsome, mocking, face. “That’s not the only reason that I want to stay,” she told herself stubbornly. “It’s my freedom I prize. The knowledge that I can provide for myself! That I don’t need to be taken care of by a male.” Jasper’s broad shoulders, his strong arms lifting her gently down from the carriage, the teasing smile in his eyes when they meet hers. Priscilla shook her head. “He, too, offers a marriage of convenience.” She was honest enough to admit that it was a much more attractive offer than Sir Harry’s, but the similarity was too glaring. “He feels that I have been compromised, and wants to marry me to salvage his own ego and honor. How long would it be before he resented me, and consoled himself in the arms of someone like Lady Spencer?” She saw again the concern in his eyes that day back at the hunting box, the knowledge that no one was forcing him to press his suit in the face of her persistent refusal.
“Don’t be fooled,” she told herself witheringly. “He doesn’t care for you. You are an obligation to him, just as you were to Richard. Only he is too well-mannered to let on.” On this melancholy thought, Priscilla put her mind to figuring out how on earth she could evade Sir Greenwood for the remainder of the house party.
“Yes, a dashed fine place,” Sir Harry was reiterating again, as Jasper poured some more thick amber liquid into a delicate sherry glass and handed it to his guest. A bored look had descended over his handsome features, and he was calculating the length of time civility demanded him to spend with Sir Harry before escaping to the library, as he pointed his guest towards a comfortable chair.
Sir Harry settled into the chair, sipped his sherry, which he declared to be of a superior vintage, and then entered into phase one of the strategy which had brought him to Hillaire Castle when he had received the late invitation.
“Not married, are you, m’lord?” Sir Harry started bluntly.
The Viscount was so startled by the abruptness of this question that he looked up quickly, spilling a little of his sherry as he did so.
“Damn,” he ejaculated testily, dabbing at the spot on his sleeve. “Uh, no, Sir Harry, I am not,” he continued in a tone that was anything but encouraging.
”Neither am I,” Sir Harry continued, undaunted. “Thought to get married a few months back. Local gel. No dowry to speak of, but a damned fine-looking gel.” He paused significantly.
The Viscount, realizing that until his guest had finished his story he was unlikely to get away, raised a weary eyebrow and said, “Well?”
“Ah, but it was not at all well,” the squire continued, shaking his head. “The day after I proposed to her, the tiresome gel bolted. Ran away from her home, leaving no word behind. Dashed awkward, m’lord.”
“Most unfortunate,” Jasper replied tonelessly. “If you will excuse me, Sir,” he bowed, but Sir Harry spoke on.
“Now, what a man wants is a woman who is dependable. One who will obey him, take care of his household, be a support to him, don’t you know, m’lord. My second daughter, Amarissa, is just turned eighteen, and would be delighted to join me here, at a moment’s notice. I know you will find her a delightful, biddable girl. Take my recent disappointment as a lesson. A steady woman is an asset.” He paused and tried to gauge the effect his words had had on his host.
But Jasper had been the object of many a matchmaking mama, and unusual as a matchmaking papa might be, it was no different to the Viscount.
“I do hope your daughter will not fatigue herself with a trip, when the weather is so unpredictable, Sir Harry,” he said blandly. “Forgive me if I leave you to your sherry. I’ll have the housekeeper come and escort you to your room shortly, and arrange for that tray.” With a glinting smile and a graceful bow he left the room. Casting a glare of dislike at the closed door, Jasper hurried toward the library.
Reaching this haven and stepping gratefully into the room, he was surprised to see a figure seated in his favorite chair, and even more surprised to see, when she raised her face, the interestingly pale countenance of Priscilla.
“My lord,” she stammered, coming to her feet. “I was just, um, reading a very moving passage.” She grasped blindly on the desk beside her, and picked up a heavy book. Concern in his eyes, Jasper came forward and removed the book from her hands.
“Hunters and the Turf,” he read out. “My dear Priscilla,” he began anxiously.
“My lord! Viscount Hillaire,” the unmistakable voice of Sir Harry was approaching along the corridor.
Priscilla jumped up from the chair, eyes dilating in fear. She glanced frantically around the room, her eyes alighting on a curtained embrasure. Diving behind the curtain, she poked her head back out. “I’ll explain later. Please do not betray me!” she pleaded with the Viscount.
“Betray you?” Jasper ejaculated. “I’m coming with you!” Pushing behind the curtain, he pulled it to behind him and settled the draperies into place. “You’re not leaving me to the mercy of that pompous old windbag,” he whispered in a tone of mock outrage.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The library door pushed open and Priscilla and the Viscount were instantly silent, hidden behind the curtain of the embrasure.
“My lord Viscount!” Sir Harry’s voice called out loudly. “Dash it, I thought sure he’d come in here,” he muttered. The door closed and just as Priscilla relaxed slightly and started to reach for the curtain, a clinking of glasses was heard, and she pulled her hand back quickly. A splashing of liquid was next audible, and then the heavy sigh and whoosh of leather as a stout figure settled into the Viscount’s favorite chair.
Within the embrasure, the Viscount raised one finger to his lips as his eyes met Priscilla’s. The look of unholy amusement that lit his blue-green eyes made him appear much younger than his twenty nine years as he took in the situation. The embrasure, which normally held a suit of armor that was in the Butler’s pantry at that moment undergoing a thorough cleaning, was just large enough for the two occupants to stand, face to face, a bare hand’s width of space between them.
Priscilla met his wicked smile with a prim, admonis
hing look.
“Ah, yes, dashed fine,” Sir Harry muttered contentedly. The Viscount smothered a laugh, his shoulders shaking softly as he battled a desire to laugh. Priscilla reached over and pinched him.
“Be quiet,” she mouthed silently.
“Ow!” the Viscount began, and Priscilla quickly placed her hand over his lips. They stood thus for about two minutes, until a soft, rhythmic snoring made itself heard from the direction of the leather chair. Sighing deeply, Priscilla removed her hand from the Viscount’s mouth.
“I’m sure this seems quite irregular, Sir,” she whispered uncomfortably.
“Oh, no, not at all,” he returned softly, a wicked gleam belying the polite words.
“I merely did not wish to see that particular gentleman at this time,” she murmured with great dignity.
“Madam need not explain,” Jasper whispered grandiloquently, grinning broadly.
“Well, you needn’t be so beastly about it,” Priscilla fairly hissed. “You should have stayed out there and headed him off.”
“You see,” Jasper returned in dulcet tones. ”My education as far as occupying embrasures and correct deportment go has been sadly lacking.”
Uncomfortably aware that she was close enough to the handsome peer to feel his body heat against the thin silk of her gown, Priscilla primmed her features. “Please look out there and make sure he’s truly asleep,” she ordered softly, but nonetheless imperiously.
Jasper propped his shoulders back against the wall and moved in a way that placed his body in disturbing contact with hers. “No. I am perfectly content right here,” he muttered. “You look,” he recommended with a total lack of chivalry.
Her eyes flew up to his. The look of astonishment on her lovely face, the deep cornflower blue of her sparkling eyes, the delicate flush on her high cheekbones were all too much for the Viscount.
“Priscilla,” he uttered huskily, taking her into his arms, and bending to press his warm lips against hers.
Shock held her still for a moment. Then all her senses seemed to come alive at once, and all were centered on the firm mouth moving against her own. Her arms slipped around him, and she pressed her body against his.
Jasper groaned, and one hand slipped down to caress her buttock, gently squeezing and releasing. Somehow that contact seemed to shoot sensations throughout Priscilla’s body and suddenly she was acutely aware of her breasts, full and aching for his touch. Her nipples felt as taut as pebbles, and she arched her back to press them against his hard chest, pulling her lips from Jasper’s. She raised her hands to his head, and guided him down to her pulsing breast. His lips obediently trailed down her white throat and his fingers pushed aside the soft fabric of her gown, freeing her breast. As his lips captured the rosy tip, his tongue rasping across the sensitive point, Priscilla’s breath exhaled a ragged gasp.
“Oh, my lord,” she murmured softly, swaying her hips side to side to tame the insistent throbbing that had begun once again at her innermost center. As his tongue teased her hard nipple, her need intensified. She felt his hand caress her thigh, and slide behind one knee, bending her leg and pulling her inexorable against his muscular thigh. He gently yet firmly rubbed the exquisitely sensitive area between her legs against himself, and rolled gently side to side against her.
As her breath came in quick pants, Jasper straightened and captured her mouth again. The movement of the tongue that teased her own caused sensations to thrill through her body. Emboldened, Priscilla’s hand began an exploration too, sliding down over his broad shoulders, down his firmly muscled back, and over the hard round of his buttocks. She squeezed, as he had done to her, and Jasper moaned aloud. He drew a ragged breath, and Priscilla was aware of the same hard rigidity pushing against her stomach that she had felt before.
He intensified his kiss, his tongue exploring her mouth ruthlessly. As one hand continued to cup her buttock, the other slipped between her legs, and she knew that his goal was her throbbing center.
“Yes,” she murmured, angling her body towards his searching hand. She felt as if her body was rearranging itself, creating a space that only Jasper could fill. His fingers touched her, and she couldn’t suppress an intense cry.
“Dashed find, by gad,” Sir Harry uttered thickly from across the room, the leather of his chair creaking as he shifted, waking from his doze.
Priscilla and Jasper froze, their lips almost touching, Jasper’s hands stopped in their intimate caress. They heard the Squire push heavily out of the chair, the clinking indicating that he replaced his glass, and heard the whoosh of leather as he resumed his seat.
Silently and slowly, Priscilla pushed away from Lord Hillaire, lowering her foot to the ground, and pushing her petticoats down. She pulled her bodice into place, and turned as best she could to avoid meeting Lord Hillaire’s eyes.
A quick gulping sound and the clink of Sir Harry returning his glass to the sideboard preceded the squire’s exit. The library door opened, and then slammed shut.
Placing one finger against Priscilla’s reddened lips, Jasper pulled the curtain aside and peered out.
“All clear,” he took her hand and pulled Priscilla from the small embrasure.
Priscilla allowed him to tug her into the center of the room before pulling free to press her hands to her hot cheeks.
“I do not know what is wrong with me, my lord,” she said in mortification. “I assure you this is not my usual behavior.” She stopped not sure how to explain herself.
“No, it is solely for me to apologize, Miss Hawksworth,” Jasper shook his head. “Priscilla. I just cannot seem to control myself around you. One touch from you and all thoughts are driven from my mind, save one.”
Priscilla smiled, but shook her head. “I encouraged you, my lord. I am shocked at myself.” She looked at the man before her, his face flushed with passion, a disturbing light glowing in his eyes. His cravat had been pulled aside, revealing the tan column of his neck. She saw that his breath still came quickly. She thrilled that it was her touch that had brought him to the same brink of the same passion that she herself craved. She wanted to experience it again, this time without interruption, to find out where those sensations would lead her. Her body still vibrating from the strength of her desire, she looked him straight in the eyes, took a deep breath, and said, “I know I should swoon, or run away, but I don’t want to do either one, my lord. And I do not want you to stop.”
Jasper took two quick steps and snatched her up in his arms. She almost quailed before the ardent light in his eyes, and when he held back with super human effort and whispered in a ragged voice, “Are you sure?” All she could do was nod emphatically.
Jasper released her briefly and strode to the door, turning the lock against any intruders. Then he returned to sweep her up effortlessly into her arms, his passionate gaze locked on hers. He carried her to the fireplace and gently settled her onto the soft, thick carpet before the hearth, and as she eased back, her heart racing, he slid down to press his body against hers.
With fingers that were not entirely steady, Jasper untied her laces, gently easing Priscilla out of her silk ball gown. In her turn, she pushed his coat back over his shoulders, breaking into laughter as she realized it was far too tightly fitted to his form to allow that. He sat up, grinning, and Priscilla tugged the offending article of clothing over his broad shoulders, until he could pull his arms free. He pulled his snowy cravat from his neck, and he and Priscilla worked together to unbutton his linen shirt, and pull it off over his head. As it joined his coat on the carpet beside them, Priscilla ran her hands over the swirl of dark hair that covered his chest, her thumbs tracing the small circles of his nipples. He shuddered, and reached for her chemise, and Priscilla lifted her arms, aiding him to remove it, and toss it onto the growing pile.
Their remaining clothing was quickly dealt with, and when he had her before him, naked and glowing in the firelight, Jasper slowly shook his head in awe. Priscilla’s eyes explored his body in wond
er, and as he pushed her gently down onto the carpet, Priscilla reveled in the feeling of his warm naked body pressed against the length of her own.
She returned his kisses eagerly, now, no longer holding back any part of herself. She closed her eyes, concentrating all her other senses on Jasper’s hands exploring the length of her body. He shifted his weight, raising himself up on his elbows, and slid one well-muscled leg between her soft thighs. Priscilla parted her legs willingly, her breath coming quickly. She throbbed for his touch and without thinking, took his hand in hers and guided it to her hot, wet center. Leaving his hand there to begin its mesmerizing work, she reached for the rigid part of his body that fascinated her.
“Oh, god, Priscilla,” Jasper gasped against her swollen lips as she gently encircled the throbbing shaft, moving her hand up and down the hard length of him.
In response, his fingers moved more insistently against her, his tongue pressing into hers with a new found urgency, and as she cried out at the intensity of her pleasure, he eased both of his legs between hers. He pressed her knees gently apart and upwards, slipping one knee under her thigh, and, putting his hand over hers where it still grasped his hard member, guided it between her quivering thighs to its goal.
As he entered her hot soft opening, Priscilla felt a small sharp pain and cried out. Jasper immediately stopped his forward movement, and Priscilla opened her eyes, seeing the question and concern in his.
“No, don’t stop,” she urged him, lifting her hips to encompass him more deeply. “Please don’t stop.”
Jasper pressed his mouth to hers, and began a rhythmic motion, pressing into her again and again. One hand slipped under her buttocks, angling her to accept his thrusting so that they achieved a perfect contact that ignited her senses. Priscilla wrapped her legs around him, moving with him to deepen their contact, feeling an unquenchable tension in her innermost core that demanded satisfaction. She felt as if she was losing her mind as her entire being concentrated on the all-encompassing need to move with Jasper, to push into him as he filled her. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and Priscilla moved her head side to side, unable to contain herself, her fingers raking the muscular back of the man who was bringing her to a height of passion she had never even imagined existed. His thrusts became deeper, stronger, and Priscilla moved with him, ruled by the urgent, aching need to have him inside her as deeply as possible. Her breath came faster, her passion rising higher and higher, until something seemed to explode within her. Waves of passion washed over her, and she shuddered uncontrollably, releasing the almost unbearable tension their lovemaking had built within her in a burst that carried her away with it.