by Laura Landon
The air caught in her throat as the temper she very seldom experienced exploded within her chest. She threw the covers back and jumped from her bed, standing less than an arm’s length away from him.
She couldn’t believe this. “You are angry because I closed my eyes and refused to read your lips?”
“You will never shut me out like that again, Jesse. I won’t have it.”
“You won’t have it?” Jessica stomped her foot in frustration. “You won’t have it! It’s perfectly acceptable for you to ignore my inquiries whenever you feel like it, but when the slipper is on the other foot and I ignore you, you will not have it? Well, you can bloody well think on that again, my lord.”
“Mind your tongue, wife.”
“I have only learned such language from you, my lord. It seems to be all that comes from your mouth.”
Jessica saw his anger.
He stared at her with the blackest look of foreboding while he clenched his fists at his sides. His brows furrowed so deeply she thought she could hide a farthing in the creases. And he locked his jaw so tightly the knots on either side of his face jumped in agitation.
“With whom are you angry, Simon? Me or your mistress?”
The air hung heavy between them. His eyes opened wide, and he stared at her with the most flagrant look of astonishment she had ever seen.
She would not back down. “Are you upset with me because I refused to sit quietly at your side and listen obediently while you made up lies to convince me that your mistress’s appearance at the ball tonight was an accident?”
Jessica ignored the crude expletives she read on Simon’s lips. She was not even familiar with some of the words, but she was not about to stop now and have him explain their meaning.
“Or are you angry with your mistress because she embarrassed you by so brazenly showing herself at the same ball as your wife?”
Jessica bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. And to keep the tears from forming in her eyes.
“How dare you expect me to come face-to-face with the woman all of London knows you would have married but did not because she did not come with the dowry I brought you.”
Her husband cursed again, and this time she understood all the words.
“There is no need to use such language with me, Simon. I’m not at all impressed or intimidated by it.”
“I do not expect you to be impressed by anything I have to tell you, wife. Obviously, you already think the worst of me.”
Jessica bit back the emotion that threatened to spill from her eyes. Her chest tightened painfully. “Did you know she was coming to the ball? Did you plan it that way?”
“Saints help us, Jesse. Is that what you think?”
“I know what I saw.” She wrapped her arms around her middle to stop the ache. “I know what the people around us said.”
“Of course. And you chose to believe every word of gossip you heard. You will take even a stranger’s word over mine.”
“Please, Simon. Don’t make up any lies. Let’s get all this out into the open and deal with it there.”
“Very well, Jessica. Let’s do get this all out into the open and deal with it.” Simon pulled out a chair and sat down, crossing his arms over his chest as if he sat in judgment. “Who told you the woman you saw tonight was my mistress?”
Jessica sat on the edge of the bed, then rose to her feet again. She preferred the slight advantage standing gave her. “I read the Earl of Chitwood’s lips, and he said everyone knows you’re in love with her, but you were forced to marry me because of the money.”
“And you believe him?”
Jessica placed her fingers at her temples and rubbed. “I don’t know.”
“Have I given you cause to think I have a mistress? Have I committed one indiscretion that makes you think I have been unfaithful?”
Jessica shook her head. “No. The earl said you would probably be discreet until I had given you an heir.”
Simon bolted to his feet and slammed his hand against the back of the chair. It fell over backward, but he didn’t bother to pick it up. “Bloody hell, Jessica. Your curse is not that you are deaf, but that you hear too much. And not all of it is worth hearing.”
Simon raked his fingers through his hair, then took a step closer to her. “Watch my lips, wife. And understand every word I speak, for I will say this to you only once.” He grasped her by the shoulders and held her. “The woman you saw tonight is not my mistress.”
Jessica turned her head away from him and knew the cry of anguish buried deep in her breast had escaped. “Oh, Simon,” she moaned. “Don’t—”
Before she could continue, he cupped her face with his hands and turned her toward him. That telltale vein stood out on his neck. “She is not my mistress.”
An ache tightened in her chest. “That’s not what I saw. That’s not how she looked at you, Simon.”
“It doesn’t matter how she looked at me. I married you. You are my wife.” Simon grasped her by the shoulders. “Rosalind was in the past, Jessica. She is no longer important.”
“How can you say that? She is important, Simon. She is very important.”
“Not to me!”
Simon’s dark brows knitted together in a harsh line, and spikes of blatant anger flashed from his black eyes. She didn’t care. All she could think of was the beautiful woman in the red satin gown with the sultry look in her eyes that had issued the challenge to have him as her own.
Jessica twisted out of his arms. Torrential waves of panic washed over her, robbing her senses of all calmness. “It was a mistake to go tonight,” she said, hugging her arms around her middle. “I knew it would be a disaster. I wish I had never listened to you.”
Jessica wasn’t sure she had said her words aloud, but when Simon’s hands clamped around her upper arms and turned her around to face him, she knew she had.
“Tonight went perfectly,” he said through clenched teeth, the look in his eyes as focused as any she’d ever seen. “You took your rightful place in society, both as my wife and as the Countess of Northcote. The evening was perfect.”
“No. It was not perfect,” she argued, wadding the open material of his shirt in her hands. She tried to take a deep breath, but the air caught in her throat, escaping in a ragged shudder. “She knows I can’t hear. She saw I couldn’t answer her when she spoke behind her fan. She knows,” Jessica cried, “and now everyone will know you’ve married someone who is deaf.”
Every fear Jessica had ever envisioned swirled in her head, reminding her of all the reasons she should not have tried to pass herself off as normal.
Simon lifted her chin so she could see his lips. “Rosalind will tell them nothing. She will not dare.”
“Yes, she will.” The hungry look she saw in Rosalind’s eyes flashed before her like the warning of a tragedy to come. Jessica fought the overwhelming fear that slammed her heart against her ribs. What had she been thinking?
She pushed her hands against Simon’s chest, struggling to free herself from his grasp. She wanted to run away. She wanted to be somewhere safe. Someplace where the outside world could not hurt her.
She twisted to escape, but his arms clamped around her like two bands of hardened steel. “Let me go, Simon,”
she cried, turning her face so he wouldn’t see the moisture welling in her eyes. “There is no need for you to pretend anymore.”
She pushed hard against his chest, but with a hard jerk he brought her around to face him squarely. “You are my wife. There is no way to pretend you are not.”
“How long can you pretend you care for me? How long can you pretend you would rather have me at your side than…?” A lump formed in her throat, and Jessica fought to swallow past it. “How long, Simon?”
Her breaths came out short and ragged. The ache in her chest tightened painfully. The open, undisguised look in his eyes caused her heart to beat wildly. Her skin tingled when he cupped her cheeks in his strong hands, forcing her to loo
k directly at him.
“You are my wife.” He rubbed his thumb over her lips. “Neither of us will ever forget it.”
Before she had time to catch her breath, Simon brought his mouth down on hers, crushing her against him. His kiss was not tender and loving, but harsh and possessive. He ground his lips against hers, controlling her movements, demanding her submission. She fought him with all her strength, but his demands forced her to yield to his dominance.
“Give over to me,” he said, holding her gaze. “Give over at least in this.”
She struggled as long as possible, but in the end she gave up. This was what she wanted, what she thought she would never have. A man whose strength she could lean on, whose power she could count on to protect her, whose arms she could rely on to hold her.
Jessica wrapped her arms around Simon’s neck and held him to her. The moment he invaded her mouth an explosion of fevered emotions erupted within her. No matter how much he gave, she needed more. She needed to touch him and hold him to her and have him within her. She needed to pretend he’d made his vow to never love her because he feared losing his heart.
Not that he had already lost his heart and it belonged to Rosalind.
Jessica drew her fingers through Simon’s thick, dark hair, holding him close as he kissed her deeply. Heaven help her but she wanted him. A painful thought tugged at her heart. She’d come to care for him too much. An image of the beautiful Rosalind flashed in Jessica’s mind, a sultry smile on the temptress’s face as she lifted her glass and beckoned Simon with a beguiling look.
His hands raked across her flesh, blazing a path wherever he touched. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. She could tell by his kisses, by the way he ravished every inch of her skin, by the tenseness of his flesh as it knotted beneath her fingers.
The frantic need to make him hers became more intense. Jessica fattened her palms on Simon’s chest beneath his open shirt and moved her hands over his shoulders, atop each corded muscle that rippled beneath her fingers. A huge gasp of air rushed from her lungs when he lifted his mouth from hers and blazed a path with his lips down the side of her neck to the base of her throat.
With expert ease, he pushed her soft muslin gown from her shoulders, then carried her to the bed.
Jessica wanted to think only of Simon and the pleasure they could give each other, but in a flashing glint behind her eyes, a beautiful woman with gleaming black hair and a red satin gown crooked a seductive finger and smiled a sultry smile. Jessica tried to block it out, but Rosalind’s image wouldn’t go away.
“She intends to have you for her own,” Jessica gasped, not realizing she’d spoken the words out loud. With an abrupt halt, his movements stopped and he cupped her face in his hands and stared down at her. The look in his eyes depicted a strange and uncontrolled fury.
“You will not speak of her, Jesse. Rosalind has no place between us.”
Jessica wanted to tell Simon what she feared. She wanted to tell him what everyone at the ball had seen. That Rosalind intended to take him away from her. And deep in her heart, Jessica knew Rosalind would not give up until she had him.
“Love me, Simon.”
Jessica didn’t want tenderness or compassion. Their lovemaking was a battle to prove possession. She met and matched every thrust as she struggled to maintain a hold on her husband.
Higher and higher they soared until Jessica leaped from the highest pinnacle, spiraling through the air into a vast abyss of weightless abandon. With a violent shudder, Simon arched his back and followed her over the edge.
He remained atop her for several long minutes, his panting body wonderfully heavy, amazingly secure. When he moved to leave her, she tightened her grip and refused to let him go.
With one arm anchored around her shoulders and the other around her waist, Simon rolled to his back, keeping her against him all the while.
Jessica draped an arm across his chest and snuggled her face into the crook of his neck. She matched each breath Simon took with one of her own until she was positive he had fallen asleep.
“I will not give you up without a fight,” she whispered against his neck as he slept.
A painful tug pulled at her heart, and she blinked back the tears that threatened to roll from her eyes. “Please, do not want to give me up either.”
Rosalind climbed the stairs that led to her bedroom and swung open the door to the sitting room. Her startled lady’s maid jumped in her chair and fluttered open her eyes, then bolted from her seat. She did not react quickly enough to reach the wrap Rosalind dropped before it hit the floor.
Without giving the half-asleep servant time to retrieve the cloak, Rosalind lifted a mass of shiny, black hair from her shoulders and waited impatiently while the slow-wit fumbled with the row of buttons down the back of her gown. When the last button was open and the laces undone, she dismissed the servant with a wave of her hand and went into her bedroom.
A candle was lit beside her bed and the covers turned down as she’d demanded. Even though the temperature was not overly cold, a fire blazed in the fireplace. Rosalind could not abide being chilled.
With undeniable grace, she sauntered to her dressing table and dropped her jewelry, piece by piece, onto a china tray. Then she pushed her black and red satin gown from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Each piece of red satin underclothing slowly, seductively, joined the gown.
When she was gloriously naked, Rosalind lifted a long, tapered leg and stepped over the puddle of satin around her ankles. She stretched her arms above her head and purred like a relaxed, satisfied alley cat. She slowly lowered her arms and skimmed over each vivacious curve of her body.
She smiled. Not a bulge or an extra ounce of flesh anywhere. She ran her hands over the full, hard mounds of her breasts and down to the narrow dip of her waist, then over the perfectly rounded curve of her hips. Her body was still as youthful as ever. More desirable than ever.
With a loud sigh of satisfaction, she reached into her wardrobe and pulled out a robe made of the sheerest fuchsia mesh imaginable. She belted the satin tie around her middle and glanced at herself in the mirror. She could not keep the grin of approval off her face. This gown was so transparent she’d be just as covered if she wore nothing.
“Well, did you see her?”
Rosalind slowly turned her head and gazed over her shoulder at the blond Adonis lounging in a soft chair near the bed. “Have you had an enjoyable evening, my lord?” she asked, lifting her mouth in a smooth, seductive smile.
“You certainly took your time. I thought perhaps you didn’t intend to return home tonight.” The man shifted in his chair. “Did you see her?”
“Yes, I saw her.”
“And?”
Rosalind sauntered closer, concentrating on her lover’s long, muscular legs. He’d stretched them out before him and crossed his ankles in a relaxed pose while slowly turning a half-empty glass of brandy in his fingers.
Rosalind took the glass from his hand. “She’s not at all how you described her,” she said over the rim of the glass. “She’s not the gangly, unattractive freak you remembered before you left.” Rosalind took a sip from his glass and handed it back to him.
“Northcote had her out in public?”
Rosalind remembered the young thing hanging on Simon’s arm, and a violent wave of jealousy heated her blood. She thought Simon’s wife would resemble the wild animal she’d been given to believe she was, but she didn’t. She’d looked whole. Innocent.
Perfect.
“Did she say anything? Did you hear her speak?”
“No. She couldn’t hear a word I said. She stood at Simon’s side and left with him as soon as I arrived.”
He drained his glass, then reached for the crystal decanter and filled it again. “That explains it. I doubt she’s much more than a trained animal. Even bears on a leash can be taught to walk at their master’s side.”
Rosalind lifted her foot and straddled his legs, feeling the heat
from his thighs. She reached for his glass and held it to her lips, letting him feast on her breasts, then smiled when his gaze moved lower.
His white satin shirt gaped open to his waist while long tapered fingers clenched on the arm of the burgundy-striped chair.
She loved the effect she had on men. She loved to watch their breathing grow heavy and labored with lust and their eyes turn black with passion. It was a power so few females realized they possessed. So few knew how to use. The knowledge was as heady as anything she could imagine. His voice pulled her back.
“What about Northcote? Did your blood boil when you saw him, Rosalind?”
She smiled a slow, easy smile. She would not let him know just how much she had warmed at seeing Simon again. But she would not let him think she was unaffected. “The earl has not lost his appeal,” she said, slowly running her tongue up the side of the glass to catch a drip. “But London is full of men who have not lost their appeal.”
He leaned his head back against the cushion and laughed. He was in a good mood tonight. As of late, such moods were rare. It was no doubt due to the amount of liquor he’d consumed and the fact that he was already celebrating because he was so close to getting what he wanted.
She knew it would be in her best interest to take advantage of his rare good humor. “How soon before we have the money?”
“Your greed is showing again, Rosalind,” he said, the laughter in his voice harsh. “Don’t worry, there is more than enough. Even you couldn’t spend so much money in a hundred lifetimes.” He took a sip of brandy, his gaze far away as if he were deep in thought. “It will take a little time. I have to make sure everything is perfect. I want to enjoy every second of this.”
She put her hand on his shoulder and ran a long fingernail down his chest. “It’s not just the money. You know that,” she said with a pout on her lips.
He pulled her down, straddling her on his lap, and gripped a hand at her waist. “Be patient, Rosalind. Everything must be in place before Northcote realizes what I’ve done. He has not suffered enough yet.”
“Why does he have to suffer? He hasn’t done anything.”