Loving Lord Ash

by Sally MacKenzie

  He was afraid he knew all too well what Jess was thinking, but it was far safer to pretend not to. He opened the door to their bedchamber and waited for her to precede him.

  Fluff was lying in the middle of the bed. He lifted his head, gave a welcoming woof, beat the mattress a few times with his tail—and dropped his head back on Ash’s pillow, damn it.

  He was a smart animal. He knew when to lie low.

  “That we will . . . that you will . . .” Jess stepped away and faced him. “Nothing will happen until we talk.”

  Did she think he was going to pounce on her like a wild animal?

  His cock was quite taken with that notion.

  He sent it a strong admonition to behave.

  “Of course.” He closed the door. “Let us sit and converse.” He gestured to the settee.

  Jess crossed her arms and glared at him.

  Perhaps he really should have tried to coax her into conversation on their way home. Mama’s handbook had said ladies sometimes worked themselves into a lather if left too long to muse on a problem. Hell, even Darby, the ancient coachman who’d driven them up to London, had said that.

  “First, we need to discuss that paper you had us sign at the White Stag,” Jess said. She lifted a brow. “Remember?”

  “Yes.” Where the hell was she going with this? She was definitely trying to pick a fight.

  He tightened the reins on his temper. Giving in to his urge to respond in kind would only earn him a large dog down the center of the bed again. And he should get the damn thing out anyway. He would not give up hope of burning it this evening. “I have it in my bureau. Shall I get it?”

  “Please do.”

  He went over and pulled open his sock drawer, rummaging around until he found the sheet. “Here—”

  Jess snatched it out of his hands. “Do you remember what you promised?”

  “Yes.”

  She read it aloud anyway:

  “I, Christopher, Marquis of Ashton, in consideration of my wife forsaking all others, swear that I will not engage in sexual congress with any other woman.”

  “And so I haven’t.” He grinned in what he hoped she’d take as a joking rather than lecherous way. “I haven’t even engaged in sexual congress with my wife.”

  Oh, all right, that had been his cock talking, but damnation, he was frustrated.

  Jess inhaled sharply, her brows snapping down as she slammed the paper on a side table. “So where were you last night?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You weren’t in bed.”

  “Yes, I was.”

  “Not when I went to sleep.”

  He was willing to grant that Jess was not quite as experienced as he’d first thought, but surely she must comprehend the effect she had on him. “No, I was downstairs in the study drinking—you can ask Ned or Jack if you doubt me. They were there”—he grimaced—“until they went upstairs to their wives.”

  Her frown lightened to a look of puzzlement. “So why didn’t you come upstairs, too?”

  Zeus! “Because I was afraid I would lose control and try to have sexual congress with my wife, of course. I am not a bloody statue, madam.” His damn cock, apparently oblivious to the danger, was insisting that he’d like to have some sexual congress right now. It was getting hard—no, it was getting difficult—to think. “Can we sit down?”

  She flushed and stepped away from him.

  “Good God, Jess. I won’t ra—” No! He had to get hold of his blasted tongue.

  And now he couldn’t think about tongues, not after Trendal’s comment at the ball.

  “You must know I won’t touch you without your consent. You do not need to be afraid of me.”

  “I’m not afraid of you.” She glared at him. “Perhaps you should be afraid of me.”

  What the hell did she mean by that? Was she struggling to restrain her own amorous urges?

  More likely her urges involved a fist or knee applied vigorously to his person.

  “We still have points to discuss before . . . before anything else may or may not happen.” She crossed her arms—and his brainless cock hoped she did so to keep from reaching for him.

  “Percy admitted that he’d been the author of many of the rumors concerning your raking, but I find it hard to believe he was behind all of them. A man of your age and rank surely must have a few indiscretions in his past. I need to know if I’m likely to run into any of your by-blows.” Her flush deepened. “I merely wish to be forewarned, you understand. After years of living with people whispering about me, I’ve become a bit sensitive. I hate it when everyone else knows something I do not.”

  Ah, so Percy was the one behind her odd notions of his vast amatory experience. That wasn’t a surprise. “You don’t have to worry about by-blows.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t have any.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I—” Cowardice raised its ugly head. He cleared his throat. “Men just know these things.”

  Zeus, lightning should strike him dead right where he stood.

  Of course Jess didn’t accept that. She frowned. “Are you impotent?”

  “Good God, no.”

  “Do you have the pox?”

  “No! Where are you getting these ideas?”

  “The manor servants sometimes talked among themselves and forgot I was nearby.” She chewed her lip. Suddenly her eyes widened. “Is that it? Do you prefer men? But I’m sure Roger would have told me if that were the case, and—”

  “I’m a bloody virgin!”

  All right, he shouldn’t have shouted that. Fluff woofed again and glared at him. Thank God the door was closed. No one but Jess—and Fluff—had heard him.

  He hoped.

  Hell. He closed his eyes. What did it matter? The most important person had heard. Now Jess knew he was no better than a boy—less experienced, in fact, than most boys.

  “But you’re thirty years old.”

  “I know how old I am.” He felt like a two-headed snake at a Bartholomew Fair.

  Remember, the truth would have come out eventually, at an even more awkward moment. There was no hiding his ignorance.

  He flushed. “You’ll have to teach me all you know.”

  “Damn it, Kit. For the last time, I’m as virginal as you are.”

  “Ah.” He wanted to believe her, but he’d seen her with Percy. “So then what happened that day in the studio?”

  She exhaled a long breath. “Yes, we need to talk about that. We should have discussed it eight years ago. Let’s sit down now and I’ll tell you.”

  Kit led her over to the settee and sat next to her, his large body comfortingly close.

  It was hard to believe he’d never been with a woman.

  No, it wasn’t. Her mind had been insisting she’d be a fool to think him anything other than what the rumors said he was—a typical male of the ton—but her heart had known the truth for a while.

  But the truth was so preposterous. Why hadn’t Kit done what all the other men did? Many married men had certainly propositioned her.

  Could he . . . could he love her?

  She would not hope.

  “Why haven’t you—” She blushed. “You know. No one would have faulted you.”

  He shifted on the settee. “I am married. I respect my vows.”

  So it was duty and honor that had kept him faithful.

  Damn.

  Kit squeezed her hand gently. “You were going to explain about Percy.”

  Yes. She needed to do that.

  “That day at the studio . . . You know my father had just died.”

  Zeus, the memory of that horrible day when they’d brought Papa back on a hurdle, his neck broken, his face still and waxen was as clear as if the accident had just occurred. Papa had been laughing and arguing with her in the morning and by afternoon he was gone. It shouldn’t have happened. He was an excellent rider, and he’d made that jump thousands
of times.

  “I know. I’m so sorry.”

  Kit’s arm came around her shoulders. She thought his lips brushed her hair.

  Oh, God. Something hard in her chest loosened.

  “I had no skills. No family. No place to live. I didn’t know what I was going to do. I’d thought you’d come to see me—”

  She was going to cry. She could feel the tears pressing against the back of her eyes and the ugly, harsh sobs straining in her throat to get free. She pressed her lips tightly together. She never cried.

  His arm tightened. “I should have come as soon as I reached the castle.”

  Oh, damn. She was crying. She’d never been a pretty crier like Cicely. Cicely’s tears had trembled on her long eyelashes and then slid one by one down her cheeks—her nose hadn’t even got red. And at least Ellie had been quiet when she cried. But when Jess cried, she gulped and wailed, her nose ran, and her face got all blotchy.

  Kit pulled her against him, and she turned her face into his chest. His poor waistcoat was going to be soaked.

  “I shouldn’t have expected you to come straightaway.” She saw that now. They’d been friends, not—then—husband and wife. He had other responsibilities. She swiped at her tears with her palms. “You came the next day.”

  “I should have come immediately, but I never thought you’d worry so.” He wiped some of the wetness from her cheek with his thumb. “And I shouldn’t have given Percy my handkerchief.”

  “He needed it, and I still have mine.” Thank God Madame Celeste had included a small pocket in this gown. She blew her nose . . . loudly. There was no point in trying to be discreet.

  She sniffed and blotted her eyes, and then crumbled her handkerchief in her fingers, as if holding it tightly would make the next things she had to say easier.

  It wouldn’t. The rest of the story was very ugly, but it had to be told.

  “I think I was slightly mad—I certainly wasn’t thinking clearly. When Percy appeared at the studio that day—” She shook her head. “I felt as if I was drowning, and he was the only one who could save me.” She looked up at Kit. “Can you understand that at all?”

  He pulled her closer. “I suppose so. But I truly thought you knew my family would never cast you out.”

  “They had no reason to see to my welfare, Kit. I was only the groom’s daughter.”

  He frowned. “Will you stop saying that? You were my”—he paused briefly. “You were my friend. And even if you had been ‘only the groom’s daughter,’ you must know Mama and Father take their servants’ welfare to heart.”

  “Yes, I can see that now, but then . . .”

  Then she’d been blinded by panic and loss.

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “At first I thought Percy only wanted me to paint him.” She flushed. “I certainly should have stopped him from taking off his clothes, but I . . . I was curious. I’d never painted the naked human form.”

  Kit smiled. “Ever the artist, hmm?”

  “Yes.” Perhaps Kit did understand, at least that part. He was an artist, too. “But then he kissed me.” She shuddered. Hopefully that was enough detail. “It was horrible, but I thought he’d never behave that way if he didn’t mean to marry me.”

  “And he shouldn’t have,” Kit said. “What he did was unconscionable, which I think from what he said tonight he now realizes.” He rubbed her shoulder.

  “Did you love him?” he asked, his voice gentle.

  “No! Of course not. But I was willing to endure his pawing for a roof over my head.” Shame flooded her. “So I suppose in that way I was a wh-whore.”

  Kit turned her, shaking her a little. “No, you were not, Jess, and I am very, very sorry I ever used that word. Can you forgive me?”

  His lovely gray eyes warmed her. She nodded, and blew her nose again. She still had to finish the story. It was almost over. Best just to say it quickly.

  “Just before Percy—” She bit her lip. “Just before it was too late, I stopped him and asked if he had the special license already. He looked embarrassed, and that’s when I realized he had no intention of marrying me.” She swallowed. “And that’s when you opened the door.”

  “Hmm.” Kit frowned. “You know, I think Percy planned things so I would find him with you, though I don’t suppose he could have guessed I’d walk in at such an especially scandalous moment.”

  “What do you mean? How could Percy have known you’d come to the studio?”

  “Because he heard me say so.” Kit’s mouth flattened into a hard line. “We were up at the castle. I was trying to get free to come see you when Felix Morton cornered me. He fancied himself an artist and said Percy had told him I’d turned our cottage into a studio. Of course he wanted to see it. I tried to fob him off with a promise to show him the place the next day, but there was no dissuading him.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yes, ‘oh.’ Morton has a reputation for being infernally tenacious when he wants something. Percy left the room when it was clear I had no polite way to decline Morton’s request. What Percy couldn’t have known was that Mama delayed me a few more minutes.” He smiled a little. “So perhaps he never meant for things to progress quite as far as they did. He was just carried away by his desires. You heard him say he loved you.”

  She snorted. “Spare me Percy’s love, then.”

  “I think Miss Wharton has done that.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I’m so sorry Percy hurt you, Jess, but I’m even sorrier that I did.”

  Which brought her to the crucial question, the one she’d been too afraid to ask until now.

  “Why did you marry me, Kit? You didn’t have to. You weren’t the one at fault.”

  He cupped her face in his hands and looked into her eyes. “I married you because I love you, Jess. I always have.”

  And then he kissed her.

  Heat flooded her, and need. His tongue slipped between her teeth, deep into her mouth.

  This was nothing like the ugly time with Percy. This time she wanted more, much more. As much as Kit would give her. Her hands slid over his body—

  No, not his body. His coat and waistcoat. She growled in frustration, leaned into him—

  And knocked him off onto the floor.

  “Oof!” He flinched.

  “Oh, dear. I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”

  “Well, I’m afraid my rump is a bit sore, but there’s no real damage done.”

  She scrambled down to kneel next to him. “You really do love me?”

  He grinned at her. “Of course I do.”

  “But I’m only the Irish groom’s daughter.”

  “Will you stop that?” He brushed a stray hair out of her face. “I used to think I was too boring for you. I was black and white and gray to your vibrant color. Measured lines to your bold strokes.”

  “But that is part of what I love about you, Kit. You’re so intelligent and disciplined and controlled. You were my tether, my rock, my . . . except you weren’t mine at all.”

  He grinned again. “I’m yours now, Jess. And as you know, I do want an heir.” He leaned over and kissed her nose. “But more than that, I want my wife—my love.”

  She laughed, happiness bubbling up inside her. “Then what are you waiting for? I am at your complete disposal.”

  “I was so hoping you’d say that.” He stood, pulling her up with him. “First, let’s burn that silly agreement.”

  “Yes, indeed.” She plucked the offending paper off the table, took it over to the hearth, and threw it into the fire. She stood with Kit, their fingers laced, and watched it curl and blacken and turn to dust.

  “And now,” Kit said. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve waited eight years to consummate our marriage, and I’d rather not wait a moment longer.”

  “I’ve waited eight years as well. Quick is good.” She was suddenly feeling quite desperate. The area he’d touched at the White Stag throbbed in anticipation. “Take off your coat.”

 
He laughed. “I thought you’d disrobe first, but very well.” He started to wrestle out of his clothing. “I think quick is not normally good, but I’m afraid it’s all I can manage this time.”

  “Quick is what I need.” She was almost panting. While he was busy with his coat, she unbuttoned his waistcoat and pulled his shirt out of his pantaloons.

  Ah. Kit’s body was beautiful, far more beautiful than any she’d painted. Of course now she was seeing with more than her eyes. She was seeing with her heart.

  And she was doing more than looking. Her hands touched Kit’s belly, warm and hard with muscle. They slid higher, taking his shirt with them. His chest was muscled, too, broad and—

  Kit finally freed himself of his coat. “Good God, Jess, you’re torturing me. Let me get my bloody waistcoat off, will you?”

  “Go ahead. I’m not stopping you.” She pressed her cheek against his chest and breathed in his scent. She heard his heart pounding. She brushed her lips over his skin.

  He moaned.

  “You’re going to kill me, Jess.” He tore off his waistcoat and started unwinding his cravat. “Or I may strangle myself with this blasted cloth. Why the devil are cravats so long?”

  She slid her hands around to his muscled back. Mmm. Her fingers slipped lower....

  “Have mercy, Jess.”

  She smiled. The time for mercy was past. While he grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it up, she attended to his last set of buttons.

  “Ah.” Kit’s male organ fell into her hands. It was beautiful, too, at least to her. It was hard, yet soft. Long and thick. She ran her hand over it all the way to the sacks at its base.

  Love certainly changed how she saw things.

  Kit jerked his shirt over his head, flung it on the floor, and grabbed her hands. “Jess, I can’t take anymore. I am going to totally embarrass myself if you don’t stop.”

  “I don’t want to stop.”

  “Well, you’re going to have to.” He took her back to the settee and pushed her to sit. “Stay there. Please.”

  “Oh, very well.” She grinned. “The view is quite appealing. Now if you’ll just remove your pantaloons, I would be completely delighted.”

  Kit laughed. “Yes, I’m sure you’d be delighted by the spectacle of me falling on my arse. Let me get my shoes and socks off first.” He went over to the wing chair to accomplish that task.