“You wound me, Lady Honora.” Visibly wincing, he plastered his hand over his heart. “I don’t know if I’ve ever been cut this deeply.”
“Only because women are too busy fawning over you to notice how much of a scoundrel you are.” Refusing to be moved by his hurt expression, she darted a swift peek at him and then looked quickly away. “Your disposition would no doubt improve considerably if you were cut down more often.”
“And are you going to wield the sword?”
“After I’ve sharpened it.”
Jasper chuckled under his breath as Honora’s sisters launched into a stirring rendition of “Resonet in laudibus,” an old carol that translated to ‘Let the voice of praise resound.’ “A man would do well to guard his limbs around you, Lady Honora. As well as his heart.”
She lifted her shoulder in a dismissive shrug, then turned her attention back to the recital.
“You’ve captured mine, you know,” he said, studying her with an intensity that made her wonder if she didn’t have something on her face.
“I’ve captured what?” she asked, self-consciously sweeping her thumb across her cheek. If she’d been sitting here the entire time with powdered sugar from the Shrewsbury cakes they’d eaten for dessert on her chin…
“My heart.” Reaching out, he gently encircled her wrist and pulled her hand away from her face, before pressing his mouth to the back of it in a secret, intimate kiss that made her grateful for the dim lighting as a blush spread rapidly up from her collarbones to pool, red and hot, on her cheeks. She snatched her hand back.
“You may not have noticed,” she hissed, “but my parents are sitting way up there and my sisters are performing. There’s no need to carry on with the farce when they are not around to witness it.”
“What farce?” he asked, slowly walking his fingers up her arm. She knocked his hand away.
“You know perfectly well what I am referring to!”
“Do you mean the agreement we reached last night in the dining room?” He toyed with a curl dangling down from the nape of her neck.
Grinding her teeth, she ducked her head to the side and scooted as far to the right as her chair would allow. “Yes,” she said with an emphatic nod. “Precisely.”
“Ah, I see,” he said. Then he sighed. A very long, very dramatic sigh.
“Is something the matter with our agreement?”
“Indeed,” he said solemnly. “I am sorry to be the one to tell you this, but our agreement is now null and void.”
Honora blinked. “What do you mean it’s ‘null and void’?”
“You are familiar with the definition of the words?” he asked, lifting a brow.
If they weren’t in a room surrounded by their peers, she would have been tempted to take off her shoe and beat Jasper over the head with it. She knew he was trying her patience on purpose. She recognized the gleam in his eye. What she didn’t know was why.
Why was he making something that should have been so easy so very difficult? He was muddying waters that should have been crystal clear, and she’d never been very keen on mud. Or dashing rogues, for that matter. Yet that did not seem to be stopping her from engaging in whatever…this was.
Were they having an argument? Were they flirting? Were they plotting each other’s murder? She hadn’t the faintest. No man had ever acted like this around her before. Teasing her. Touching her.
Kissing her.
“If you wish to end our agreement,” she began, “you need only–”
“I don’t want to end it,” he interrupted. “I want to amend it.”
Her brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Meet me in the library after the recital.”
“I’m not going to meet you in the library,” she scoffed. “Do not be absurd.”
The last thing she needed was to be sequestered alone in a room with him. Hasn’t she learned her lesson from before? Except unlike this morning, everyone would presumably be on their way up to bed and there’d be no one to interrupt them if they…well, if they did what they’d done in the solarium.
“Have it your way,” he said. “But then you won’t know what I have to say to you…” His mouth curved in a wicked grin. “Or what I want to do to you.”
She sucked in a breath. “Lord Slatington. That’s quite enough!”
“Lady Honora.” His hand traveled leisurely up her leg. As every muscle in her stomach coiled into a snarl of wordless anticipation, he reached between her thighs, his thumb gliding back and forth, back and forth along that sensitive seam until she could feel her own wetness. His eyes darkened when her lips parted, and just before she lost control and forgot herself and her surroundings, he abruptly withdrew his hand. “It hasn’t been nearly enough.”
She met him in the library.
After he’d nearly made her melt in the middle of her sisters recital, how could she not? But she took precautions in the form of a candlestick (both to light the room and to use as a weapon if he became too obnoxious) and a serious motivational talk that began with all the reasons a genuine courtship with the Marquess of Slatington was at best ill-advised, and at worst, a disaster waiting to happen.
But when she snuck into the library and saw Jasper’s large frame silhouetted in front of the fireplace, every last reason was swept away as if caught by the winter wind lashing against the windows. Honora found herself wondering why she wouldn’t entertain a relationship with the handsome rogue.
“I’m here.” Clearing her throat, she marched briskly across the room, candlestick in hand. Stepping into the circle of light cast by the flickering flames, she cast a glance at Jasper from beneath her lashes, her blood heating when she saw he’d discarded his cravat and unbuttoned his shirt to reveal a tempting swath of fire-kissed skin.
If only he weren’t so handsome. Maybe then she could do a better job at resisting him. Except it wasn’t strictly his physical appearance that appealed to her.
She loved the way he spoke to her. Not at her, or through her, or past her as if she didn’t exist. Even when he was driving her cross-eyed with annoyance, he still treated her as if she mattered. She’d grown so accustomed to being overlooked for her sisters, she’d forgotten what it was like to be the center of someone’s attention.
She loved the way he treated everyone with kindness. Not only those who were his equal, but the servants and the staff. She’d witnessed him helping a maid pick up the broken pieces of a plate she’d dropped, and he had asked after their butler’s family, even though such trivial concerns should have been far below a marquess.
She loved the way he had opened up to her about his family. Learning about his unwillingness to inherit his father’s title had brought new depth to his character. His revelation changed her initial opinion of him from a conceited, egotistical nobleman to…well, he was still conceited. But he was also amusing, intelligent, and a worthy adversary.
Then there was the way he made her burn. A single touch, and her skin was aflame. It didn’t matter if she was in the solarium or the music room. One meaningful brush of his fingers and she was ready to ignite. She’d never experienced passion like that before.
Truth be told, she hadn’t even known such sweet torment existed.
Until she met Jasper.
But despite all of the things she loved about him, she refused to fall in love with him. It was a step she couldn’t see herself making. A divide she didn’t know if she could cross. Because she still wanted to travel the world. To do all the things denied to a woman when she became a proper wife with a household to manage and a husband to please and holiday parties of her own to host. She just didn’t know any longer if she wanted to do those things by herself…or with the Marquess of Slatington by her side.
“You changed,” Jasper noted, his dark stare unreadable as it swept across the velvet green wrapper she wore over an ivory nightdress.
“Yes.” She tugged self-consciously at the black satin ribbon that held the wrapper closed. There was
nothing indecent about her attire. It covered far more of her flesh than any evening gown she owned. But it was still highly improper to wear sleeping clothes in front of anyone who wasn’t a servant, husband, or close family member. Jasper, of course, was none of the above, a point made most obvious by the glint of desire in the depths of his hungry gaze. “I did not know whether or not I would come here until after I’d changed for bed.”
“I am glad you did.” His teeth flashed white in the shifting shadows. “Come, that is.”
Honora pursed her lips. “What did you wish to discuss, Lord Slatington? I’ve only a few minutes, as I have no intention of being caught in a questionable assignation.”
He ran his hand down the length of her long braid. Before she came back downstairs, she’d had her maid remove her coiffure and all the pins that accompanied it. Unraveled, her hair nearly reached to the small of her back, and her stomach knotted when he lifted the heavy plait and fanned the ends of it across his jaw.
“Is that what this is?” he whispered huskily. “A questionable assignation?”
“What would you call it?” she asked, struggling to maintain an air of nonchalance, even as her pulse raced and her heart threatened to leap out of her chest.
“An intimate meeting between a man and a woman?” he suggested.
“That’s the very definition of a questionable assignation.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled. “So it is.”
“You said you wanted to a-amend the terms of our agreement.” She was having difficulty concentrating. He was standing too close. Add that to the warmth of the fire and the desire kindling in her belly, and it was all she could do not stand up on her toes, fling her arms around his neck, and kiss him then and there.
No, she thought sternly. That isn’t why you came here.
“And besides,” she murmured, more to herself than to him, “there isn’t any mistletoe.”
Jasper’s head tilted. “What does mistletoe have to do with anything?”
“It’s a silly family tradition.” Pulling her braid free, she cautiously took one step back, then another, as a log in the fire crackled and gold sparks shot out of the hearth. “What sort of amendments were you considering?”
“First, tell me about this silly family tradition.”
“It’s nothing.” The back of her knees bumped into a card table. She stopped, hoping she’d put enough distance between them to be capable of a coherent thought. “I am sure you are not interested.”
The ghost of a smile graced his lips. “Everything about you interests me, Honora.”
“It began with my sister Emily,” she revealed, hugging an arm across her middle as a flicker of delight trickled down her spine. “Six years ago, Lord Carlisle kissed her under the mistletoe, and then they became engaged. The same thing happened the following year to Rebeca, and finally to Anne.” She bit back a sigh. “I’m the last one left.”
“That is quite the tradition.” Jasper rubbed his chin. “To be honest, I had wondered about the abundance of mistletoe. Nearly stabbed myself in the eye with it walking into the drawing room yesterday.”
Honora waved her hand in the air. “It’s all nonsense, of course. Mistletoe cannot make people fall in love. It’s nothing more than a myth, perpetuated by timely coincidences.”
“If you really believe that, why have you been running away from me all day?”
“I – I haven’t been running away,” she sputtered.
“I saw you dive behind a chair,” he said mildly.
Her blush intensified. “I was…looking for something.”
“Your dignity?”
“Oh.” Of their own accord, her fingers tightened around the candlestick she’d forgotten she was still holding. Wielding it like a weapon, she scowled as she advanced towards Jasper. “I should do the world a favor and knock some common decency into you.”
“Or you could just kiss me,” he proposed. “Less blood to clean up.”
She looked at his mouth. She didn’t mean to. It was a reflex, born of memory from their passionate kiss this morning. Her gaze jerked back up to discover him staring at her in a similarly heated manner. “Jasper, I–”
“Honora!” Rebecca’s voice rang down the hallway. “Your maid said she saw you come back downstairs, and I wanted a quick word…”
Wordlessly, Honora and Jasper moved apart, just as Rebecca entered the library. She stopped short, her eyes widening ever-so-slightly when she saw the unexpected sight that awaited her in front of the fireplace. “I…I apologize. I didn’t realize you were busy.”
“We’re not.” Jasper was already smiling his best, most charismatic smile when he turned towards the door. “I stepped in for a moment of quiet reading, not realizing the space was already taken. Your sister was being so kind as to update me on our itinerary for tomorrow. Isn’t that right, Lady Honora?”
“That’s right. I was, um, reminding him to have his skates ready.”
Jasper’s smile faltered. “My skates?”
“You’re joining us out on the ice?” Rebecca exclaimed. “How wonderful!”
“No, no, I think there’s been a misunderstanding.” He shot a panicked glance at Honora. “You see, I don’t actually–”
“Lord Slatington is very much looking forward to it,” she said smoothly. “Isn’t that right, my lord?”
Jasper gritted his teeth. “That’s right.”
Honora beamed. “I, for one, can hardly wait.”
Chapter Ten
“You’re doing it all wrong.” Skating towards him with the elegance of a swan while Jasper flopped around on the ice like an injured duck, Honora peered down at him sprawled on his backside and snickered into her scarf. “You are trying to walk when you should be gliding. Here, like this.”
Holding her arms out, she skated a circle around him.
Backwards.
Muttering a curse, Jasper sat up and leaned over his legs. All across the frozen pond, men and women were skating with various degrees of success. Some, like Honora, were naturally graceful. Others held hands as they navigated the slippery ice. But no one – absolutely no one – had fallen as many times as he had.
It was infuriating. More than that, it was embarrassing.
He was the Marquess of Slatington, for God’s sake. An adept scholar. A skilled equestrian. An excellent hunter. He was a man who always succeeded at everything he attempted. Except, it seemed, for skating…and wooing the woman who was laughing at him.
“That’s not helping, you know,” he said crossly, jerking his elbow at Honora as she executed a perfect stop in front of him, spraying little chips of ice across his boots.
“What isn’t?” she said, all wide-eyed innocence.
“The amusement at my expense. You should be offering to help me. I am your guest, after all.”
“Strictly speaking, you are a guest of my parents, and I have been offering to help you.” She pushed her scarf down, revealing pink lips lightly pursed in exasperation. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold. Her eyes a bright, clear gray. “You just haven’t been listening. Here. Let’s try again.”
Jasper stared at her hand as he considered yanking off his blades, stomping into the house, and pouring himself a tumbler of brandy. Surely, that made more sense than continuing to freeze his bollocks off. He didn’t know why everyone else wasn’t as miserable as he. You’d think by their laughter, they were frolicking about a meadow in the middle of summer, instead of risking their bloody necks on a sheet of treacherous ice in the dead of winter.
It didn’t make any damned sense.
But then, neither did his attraction to Lady Honora.
Honora was not the sort of woman who became a mistress. She was a lady. A stubborn, opinionated, headstrong lady, but a lady nevertheless. Which meant she was not the sort of woman who should have interested him. And yet, despite that small little fact, he found himself absolutely captivated.
Honora was like no one else he’d ever met. She infuriat
ed him and inflamed him. She made him want to pull out his hair, even as he yearned to kiss her. Her inexperience in the art of seduction was obvious, but her innocence brought out a protective side of him he’d never felt before. In short, he wanted her. But he also didn’t want her. It was a fine mess, and he didn’t know whether he wanted to untangle it…or run like hell in the opposite direction. Unfortunately, if he did try to run, he wasn’t going to get very far with these damned blades strapped to his boots.
“Fine,” he grumbled, shoving himself to his feet. For an instant he managed to stay upright, then his right ankle twisted beneath him and he staggered forward, nearly wiping out Honora and a random passerby in the process. “Sorry,” he grunted as he turned clumsily around. “Very sorry. I’ve almost gotten the knack of – bloody hell!”
His legs took off in opposite directions, and Jasper, unaccustomed to not having his limbs obey his every command, wind-milled his arms wildly in the air while he fought to keep himself upright. Honora’s twin sisters gave him a wide berth as they skated past, but Lady Hanover wasn’t quite as coordinated in her efforts to avoid him.
With a muffled shriek, she threw her hands up in front of her face to shield herself. A collision seemed unavoidable, but with impeccable timing and enviable coordination, Honora glided up beside him. Grabbing one of his arms, she pulled him to the left as Lady Hanover passed by on his right.
“That was close,” Honora commented as she guided him towards a sparser populated area of the pond. “You really are bad at this, aren’t you?”
“I am not bad at it.” Shaking off her hand, he staggered to the shore and sat down on a withered bed of dried cattails. “I’ve simply never done it before.”
Honora stopped in the middle of a flashy figure eight to look at him. “You’ve never skated before?”
Jasper snorted. “That’s like asking if I’ve ever willingly subjected myself to torture.”
“This is hardly torture. It’s an enjoyable seasonal pastime.”
“Says the woman who won’t wake up covered in bruises tomorrow.” He was hoping to elicit a small ounce of sympathy, perhaps even a kiss to make him feel better, but it was clear by Honora’s withering stare that she wasn’t having any of it.
Marquess Under the Mistletoe Page 7