Hardly a Husband

by Rebecca Hagan Lee

  He ached with the need for release and suddenly realized that he couldn't remember ever wanting a woman as much as he wanted Sarah. Sarah. He licked his lips, tasted the thin sheen of perspiration dotting his upper lip, and realized he was literally burning with the need to kiss her.

  Sarah sighed. "I couldn't help it," she admitted. "It's our anniversary of sorts."

  "Oh?" Jarrod quirked an eyebrow at her. "What anniversary is that?"

  "The anniversary of our first dance." She stared up at him, willing him to remember. "Last year at — "

  "Lady Harralson's gala," he said. "I haven't forgotten."

  She nodded. "You spent most of the evening staring at Gillian Davies. And I spent most of the evening staring at you."

  "You accused me of being afraid to ask Gillian to dance," he said.

  "I was jealous," Sarah admitted, "because I thought you were interested in her."

  "You thought I wanted to make her my marchioness," he corrected.

  "Yes."

  "She's happily married to one of my closest friends," Jarrod said.

  "Lord Grantham," Sarah said. "Yes, I know. I read about their marriage in the paper shortly afterward."

  "I was there that evening to get a look at her before Colin approached her father. I heard there was rumor going round about her and I wanted to see for myself what sort of young lady she was." That wasn't the complete truth, but it was all that Jarrod could reveal without betraying Gillian's secret and the trust of his Free Fellows League comrades.

  "You told me then that you weren't in the market for a wife."

  "And you asked why I was there if I hadn't come to find a wife," he remembered.

  "Would you believe I came to dance?" Sarah repeated the question he'd asked her.

  "You don't appear to be dancing." Jarrod answered with the same answer Sarah had given him.

  They weren't. They'd stopped in the middle of the square and the other dancers had continued around them.

  "Only because you haven't asked me," Sarah said.

  Jarrod offered her his arm. "Shall we rejoin the dancers?"

  Sarah shook her head.

  "No?" He took her arm just the same and steered her out of the square, off the dance floor to the sidelines.

  "I prefer to wait for a waltz," she admitted. "Do you think Lady Garrison allows the waltz? Lady Harralson did. We waltzed the last time we danced."

  It had been the only time they'd ever danced, but Jarrod didn't see the point of reminding her of that. "Shall we stay on the sidelines and watch or would you rather we withdraw to the refreshment tables?" he asked politely.

  Sarah glanced down at her feet, then took a deep breath and looked up to meet his gaze. "I'd prefer that we withdraw to the Garrisons' garden. I've heard it's quite lovely this time of evening."

  Jarrod's breath caught in his throat. He coughed. "Sarah, did it ever occur to you that you might be a little too bold for your own good?"

  "It occurred to me," she admitted, "but I'm only bold with you because you aren't very good at reading between the lines. I decided it was best to tell you what I want."

  "I excel at reading between the lines." Jarrod took exception to the fact that she considered him too dull-witted to see through her game of seduction. "When it's a book I'm eager to read. But this…" He raked his fingers through his hair. "Sarah, I'm only human and you're driving me to distraction."

  "It's time someone did," she told him. "You've been alone too long."

  "I'm alone because I prefer it," he said. Because it was less dangerous. As long as he was alone, his heart was safe. He couldn't be hurt. He couldn't have his heart trampled or fall prey to the madness that was love. "And because I've no room in my life for distractions."

  "No room?" She pretended not to understand. "You've an awfully big house," she said. "And Aunt Etta and I don't take up much room."

  "You know what I mean."

  "That you would rather be alone than share your empty life with a woman?"

  "Yes," he said firmly.

  Sarah bit her bottom lip. "Any woman or am I the exception?"

  "Any woman," he said.

  Sarah exhaled. "I'm relieved to hear it."

  "And while we're on the subject, you would do well to learn that when it comes to women, I, like most gentlemen, prefer to do the chasing."

  Sarah stuck her tongue out at him as she'd done when she was a child and knew he was saying things he didn't mean in order to drive her away. "Liar."

  Jarrod blinked. It had been years since anyone, male or female, had had the audacity to call him a liar to his face. "What did you call me?" he asked in a haughty tone designed to make her cower in fright before turning to run.

  But Sarah was made of sterner stuff. "I called you a liar, Jays."

  "If you were a man, I'd call you out for such an insult."

  "If I were a man, we wouldn't be having this conversation," Sarah reminded him. "And you wouldn't feel the need to lie."

  "I am not lying," he ground out.

  "Yes, you are," she said, waving off his sputtered denials. "I could always tell when you were lying."

  "How?" he demanded.

  "You don't look me in the eye when you're trying to lie and your actions always betray you," she explained. "You say one thing, but do another."

  Jarrod frowned at her logic.

  "When was the last time you chased a woman?"

  He couldn't answer.

  "There are plenty of women in London who are a lot bolder and prettier than I am," she continued. "If you enjoyed the chase, as you call it, as much as you want me to believe, you'd be out doing it. Instead of staying home at night."

  "I'd be a fool to chase women during the London season," Jarrod countered. "When I've no interest in marrying and when every single young woman in town is looking to find a husband. Preferably a rich, titled one."

  "Then chase the married ones." Sarah glanced around. "I'm quite sure there are any number of married ladies who would be glad for you to chase them."

  Jarrod looked affronted. "I don't dally with other men's wives."

  "So, you don't chase unmarried ladies and you don't dally with other men's wives… " Sarah pursed her lips. "So, what does that leave? Widows? Servants? Women of dubious character? Actresses? Dancers? Opera singers?"

  "Widows are often just as eager to marry a marquess as virginal young ladies," he informed her. "And a gentleman doesn't slake his desires on the women in his household who feel they cannot refuse his attention."

  "So," she drawled, tapping her index finger against her cheek, "you don't chase widows or slake your desires on your female servants. So that means you must chase women of dubious character." She looked him in the eye. "Except that you don't. Because you're rich and titled, and actresses, dancers, opera singers, and women of dubious character don't require chasing. They require gifts of jewelry and cash. And you've plenty of cash to buy jewelry, don't you, Jays? You can pay for companionship and pay to be rid of it"

  Jarrod met her gaze. "Did it ever occur to you that I might have a special lady friend with whom I share a pillow?"

  It had. And Sarah fervently prayed that was not the case. She selfishly hoped Jarrod paid for his companionship instead of sharing a pillow with a special lady friend. "Do you?"

  "Yes."

  "Thank goodness." Sarah breathed a sigh of relief. "You don't mind?" he asked.

  "Of course not," Sarah said. "I'd prefer you pay for your companionship. That makes it business. And when it's business, there's less chance of romantic entanglements."

  "Didn't you understand what I said, Sarah?" Jarrod was bewildered by her reaction. "I said I have a special lady friend with whom I share a pillow."

  "You lied," she replied.

  "I looked you in the eye and said yes."

  "And you lied," Sarah told him. "And for that you must pay a penance."

  "How did you arrive at that conclusion?"

  "You're a man of honor, Jays, and no
man of honor would ever admit such a thing to an innocent young lady like me."

  Jarrod snorted. Her logic was convoluted at best, but she'd arrived at the truth just the same.

  "And now, it's time."

  He gave her a wary look. "For what?"

  "To pay the piper and do your penance."

  "Sarah…" He said her name in a tone of voice that was part warning and part seduction.

  "I want more lessons, Jays, and I believe you mentioned kissing, seduction, the art of slipping out of a hot, overcrowded ballroom and into the cool night air, or something equally outrageous." She gave him what she hoped was a come-hither look. She was playing with fire and knew it. "Besides, aren't you the least bit curious to find out if I do have the modesty to wear a petticoat beneath this dress?"

  "Ladies who play with fire often get burned," he cautioned.

  "I hope so," she breathed fervently. "For I'm on fire for the taste of another one of your kisses."

  * * *

  Chapter Twenty

  Contents - Prev | Next

  When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul

  Lends the tongue vows.

  — William Shakespeare, 1564-1616

  They disappeared from the crowd of dancers, quickly working their way around the refreshment tables at the far end of the ballroom toward the opened terrace doors. Jarrod caught sight of Griffin and Alyssa standing near the terrace doors, but he didn't let the possibility of Griffin and Alyssa seeing them deter him. Placing his hand on the small of Sarah's back, Jarrod guided her around the punch table and through the last set of doors, where they slipped into the cool dark of the evening.

  Jarrod led her down the terrace steps along a lantern-lit stone path to the garden. He didn't stop until he reached the entrance to a thick hedgerow maze.

  "Ja — "

  Jarrod swallowed the soft sigh that escaped her lips along with his name as he took her in his arms and covered her mouth with his. He teased the seam of her lips, encouraging her to open her mouth and allow him further liberties.

  Sarah obliged, parting her lips in silent invitation as he swept his tongue past her teeth and into the deep recesses of her mouth, exploring, searching, satisfying… tasting her with his mouth while his hands roamed at will. Sarah shivered with delight and anticipation as her knees grew weak and she melted against him.

  Jarrod felt her legs give way and quickly scooped her up in his arms and stepped into the maze.

  Sarah protested when he broke the kiss.

  "I'm sorry to interrupt your second kissing lesson, my sweet," he murmured, nibbling at the corner of her mouth, "but we were far too exposed at the entrance of the maze where anyone might look out and see us."

  She glanced around. "No one can see us now."

  "It's still early yet," he said. "When the ballroom gets a bit warmer, couples will empty onto the terrace and move out into the garden. That's why the path is lit." He leaned forward and kissed her again. "And the maze is a favorite trysting place. Fortunately, most couples never make it past all the benches and the belvedere to where we're going."

  "Where are we going?" Sarah whispered, looping her arms around his neck and holding on as he carried her deep into the maze, past several stone benches and a small grotto with a round belvedere made of marble and surrounded by columns in the Classical style.

  "Somewhere where we'll have privacy," he answered, flawlessly negotiating the twists and turns of the maze.

  Sarah narrowed her gaze at him, squinting in the dark. "You do this too well." The green-eyed monster of jealousy added a suspicious tone to her voice. "You've been here before."

  He grinned.

  Sarah saw the flash of his white teeth. "With whom?" she demanded.

  "That, my dear Miss Nosey Nell," he said, using the name he'd called her when they were children, and punctuating each word with a kiss on the tip of her nose, "is none of your business." Jarrod stopped suddenly and set her on her feet.

  The folly sitting in the center of the maze had been built shortly after the house had been constructed. The exterior of the folly was an exact replica of the exterior of the mansion, built on a much smaller scale and with one difference.

  The mansion had a solid roof. The roof of the folly was constructed around a series of skylights to allow sunlight in the daytime and moonlight at night. In the folly, one might sleep beneath the stars. The interior was one large room, big enough for four adults to move around in quite comfortably and was an ideal playhouse for children.

  It had once served that purpose, before the Garrisons' day, but when Jarrod had last been inside the folly, the child-sized furniture had been removed and replaced with a comfortable chaise longue and a dozen or so pillows and throws. As the Garrison children were both too young to require a playhouse, Jarrod hoped the folly was still furnished as a pleasure house for adults.

  Reaching up beside the front door of the folly, Jarrod removed his gloves, then felt for the key secreted in a compartment behind the right front lamp. It was still there. He took the key and fitted it into the front door slot and turned the lock.

  The door swung open on well-oiled hinges. Jarrod quickly ushered Sarah inside, then closed and locked the door, pocketing the key.

  Sarah gasped.

  The folly was one large room and the only furnishings in it were a large bed, a bedside table, a rocking chair, and a large mirror.

  "I see the Garrisons have improved upon the furnishings since I was here last." Jarrod walked over to the bed and patted the coverlet. It was freshly laundered. He turned to Sarah and smiled.

  "And when was that?"

  "Sarah, Sarah…" He clucked his tongue. "Jealousy does not become you."

  "I'm not jealous," she protested. "Just curious."

  Jarrod laughed. "Now who's lying?"

  "Maybe I am a little jealous," she admitted. "But only because I thought you'd remain… that you'd stay… you know…" She fumbled for the right words.

  "Celibate?" He sat down on the bed and arched an eyebrow. "Virginal?"

  She nodded. "Until I grew up." She pinned him with an accusing stare. "But you didn't."

  "Of course I didn't," he said. "I'm a normal, healthy man with natural urges and desires. I satisfied them every chance I got." He winked at her and surprised himself by paraphrasing item number six of the Official Free Fellows League Charter. "Of course, I took no pleasure in the task. I looked upon it in the same manner as medicine that must be swallowed. I sacrificed myself on the altar of learning time and again in order that I might become a better teacher for you."

  Sarah laughed. "Last night… " she began.

  "This morning… " he corrected.

  "This morning you flatly refused to consider teaching me."

  Jarrod nodded. "You took me by surprise this morning. I wasn't prepared for your proposition." He reached out and took hold of her hand, tugging it gently until Sarah stepped forward. He opened his legs and pulled her between them. "But I've had all day to think about it and all evening to stare at your bosom and…" He shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps I was too hasty in my decision. I believe you're right. I am the perfect man to teach you what you need to know — especially if you don't intend to marry. I mean, no young lady should be completely innocent when she begins her career…"

  "Or when she marries," Sarah quickly added. "If she marries."

  "Exactly," Jarrod agreed. "Every young lady should have some idea of what's to be expected of her…"

  "How true," she breathed, mere inches from his lips.

  "And every teacher ought to receive some sort of compensation for his dedication to imparting the lesson at hand…" He paused.

  "I agree completely." Sarah leaned closer, shivering with anticipation as Jarrod released her hand in order to tug at the neckline of her gown.

  "Mind if I satisfy my curiosity?" he asked politely.

  "Be my guest," she invited.

  Jarrod hooked his index finger in the center of the square o
f her neckline at the valley separating her breasts. Feeling for the fabric of her bodice and corset, Jarrod ran his finger from side to side.

  Sarah moaned as his knuckle brushed the tips of her breasts. She moved forward without realizing it until her thigh was pressed against the hard ridge at the apex of his opened legs.

  Jarrod applied constant gentle pressure until her dress gave up the ghost and her breasts popped free from their restraint. "What have we here?" he mused. "A French pastry with a pink frosted rosebud just for me." He looked at her to gauge her reaction, then leaned close and slowly licked the underside of her breast, tasting the tiny beads of perspiration there before he moved upward and covered the sensitive tip with his mouth.

  Good heavens! Sarah's knees buckled, but Jarrod was prepared. Catching her around the waist, he settled her weight on his thigh, holding her still with the arm about her waist while he began a second assault on her senses by slipping his other hand beneath her skirts.

  Fire, like the fire of a glass of sherry on an empty stomach, shot through her, only this fire was a thousand times better than anything alcohol induced. Sarah gasped. The tip of her breast swelled into a hard little nub as he ministered to it with his tongue and teeth and his hot, wet kisses. He kissed and nipped and sucked until her nipple grew harder and she ached in the secret places of her body — all the secret places proper ladies never admitted to having.

  Sarah arched her back, filling the folly with the little incoherent sounds she made deep in her throat. She wiggled in his arms, moving steadily closer until she finally reached up, clamped her fingers into his thick black hair, and held him pressed against her. She whimpered hoarsely as Jarrod continued to tease her with his wicked tongue, delighting in igniting spontaneous currents of hot desire that flared throughout her body.

  Jarrod chuckled deep in his throat, thrilled with Sarah's exuberant response to his touch and heady with the powerful sensations swirling around them and with the incredible realization that the rector's daughter from Helford Green enjoyed his touch as much as he enjoyed touching her.

  Turning his head so that he might breathe once again, Jarrod shifted her weight off his thigh and onto the bed, then slowly worked his way over to her other breast. He wanted to unbutton her dress and shove it down over her hips, but he fought to control that urge as he nuzzled her other breast, lavishing it with a rush of hot, moist air.