by Lavinia Kent
“Well, it certainly would have been a different night if it had been his sister.”
“That’s true. I do hope he doesn’t send me back to London to fetch Lady Jasmine. One abduction is enough. And the wife was most displeased that I was home so late in that weather. Claimed she’d worried the whole night long. And keep those lips closed. There is no right comment you can make when a man complains about his wife. If you agree, you insult her, and if you disagree, he’ll still take it amiss.”
Cynthia supposed that was true. There were so many times when the best thing to do was nod and say nothing.
“I still don’t believe that he didn’t say anything about you grabbin’ the wrong lady.”
“I didn’t quite say that—”
But Cynthia heard no more. Her brain had filled with red mist. The wrong lady? Grabbing the wrong lady? It had taken her a moment, but now the words pierced her.
James was responsible for her abduction—not the duke. James had tried to take Jasmine, but he’d ended up with her. He was responsible for everything that had happened in the last days.
So much for his wanting her to be happy. Every suspicion she’d had coalesced into a steaming ball of anger.
—
Was Sin ever going to come back in? James paced across the small parlor, ignoring its delicate furnishings. It had always been his mother’s favorite room when she was in the country. He’d arranged to have Aunt Prudence called and had hoped Sin would come with her. With Prudence distracted there were several spots in the house he could sneak away to with Sin. When was the last time anyone had visited the long gallery? And it would be the perfect excuse to say he’d wanted to show her the family portraits—and perhaps a few other of his favorite paintings. Or he could give her a tour of all the unused bedrooms in the south wing, although it would be harder to explain such a detour. Perhaps he could claim to be showing her the bedroom Henry VIII had slept in. Although why anyone would have an interest in that dusty old chamber was beyond him. The oldest part of the house had not held up as well as one would have hoped.
He walked to the window and stared out. Did those clouds look like they might be bringing more rain? He hoped not, although maybe rain would drive Sin back into the house. She could be no more eager to be soaked to the skin again than he.
Pete and Michael came around the edge of the maze, carrying a couple of frost-bitten cabbages. No doubt a treat for the horses, from the kitchen garden. He’d have to be sure that he instructed them to stay out of sight. The last thing he needed was for Sin to see them again and to start to wonder further about her abduction. Perhaps he should send them to one of the other estates for a week or two. By that point he should have Sin’s agreement to marriage and then it would not matter. All he really needed was time.
He’d seen the look in her eyes before Aunt Prudence had come into the hall. Sin had wanted to be alone with him, had wanted his touch. She had not been pleased at all when Prudence took her walking.
So why wasn’t she back?
Was she hoping he’d come look for her? If he couldn’t see her, it probably meant she was in the maze, and he knew the maze well, knew every dark corner. His mind filled with laying her down in the grass, opening her bodice, lifting her skirts. He’d love to see the warm sun moving over her pale skin, to see her hair spread in the soft green grass.
Of course, none of that was likely to happen in February.
And although he’d read on her face exactly what she thought of the dress she’d borrowed from Aunt Prudence, he doubted that she’d be willing to ruin another dress in the mud.
Where else could he take her? Nowhere outside. Every place even remotely possible would be too reminiscent of the cabin and he wanted to keep her thoughts from traveling in that direction.
A flash of color through the hedges. Yes, Sin was in the maze.
Should he venture out? Even with the weather, a couple of stolen kisses should be possible—perhaps a little cuddle and feel. His hands burned with the need to cup her ass.
And if none of that was possible, there was always conversation—and talking to Sin was just as attractive as…Well, he couldn’t go quite that far, but he’d rather spend time with her any way possible than another moment alone.
Making up his mind, he called for his coat.
—
Cynthia heard him walking toward her. It might only have been less than a week, but she knew the weight and pace of his tread. She was tempted to flee. Fury still filled her at his deception. What was she going to say to him?
She took three steps away and then stopped.
That would not solve anything either. He would find her wherever she went. He always had been determined.
Turning, she pulled back her shoulders and pasted a smile on her face, her mind churning quickly. Until she knew what she wanted to do it would be foolish to antagonize him or put him on guard. And she’d be foolish to say anything here. Circumstance had just proved you never knew who was standing on the other side of the hedge.
“I thought you were pursing your ledgers,” she said as he came around the corner.
“I can only stare at numbers for so long before my eyes begin to cross. It’s the one aspect of managing the estate I have never been fond of. I am perfectly competent, but I’ve never found arithmetic fun.”
“Who does?” she asked.
Jasmine. The unspoken name hung between them. Jasmine had always loved arithmetic. Even when she’d been little, she’d enjoyed adding long columns of numbers. She’d kept the household accounts for the last several years and Cynthia knew it had been her favorite part of the day. Strangely, she’d been happier adding up columns of numbers than choosing a new gown.
Cynthia had never understood it. She certainly knew how to add columns and keep accounts, but she would never have described it as enjoyable.
A finger tapped on her nose. “You are thinking again.”
“Do you not like women who think?” The question came out a little sharper than she’d meant.
“I am fine with women who think, as long as they are thinking about me.” The side of his mouth quirked up.
Her eyes settled upon it. She knew he was teasing, but in this moment the words felt far too true. “And how do you know I was not thinking about you?” She tried to sound coquettish.
“You were thinking about Jasmine.”
“And you were, too.” For the briefest of moments her resentment died. He did know her too well. They both loved Jasmine. It should have united them, but instead it seemed to be one more thing that stood between them.
“Yes.” He took a step back, and turned away. “I can’t help wishing things were different.”
This would be the perfect chance to say that she knew what he had done, knew that he had arranged the abduction, but she held her tongue, unsure exactly what her goal was. “My mother used to say something about how wishing didn’t make it so, but I don’t remember her exact words.”
He stopped. “I think I remember that.”
“I don’t remember you visiting my house with Jasmine.”
He turned back toward her. “I think it must have been when you were very young. I have memories of being at your home when you could barely walk. I admit it’s strange that I should remember something your mother said, but I can see her sitting in the garden with my mother. I think there was a game of croquet being played.”
Again memory fought with her current feelings. Her mother’s death, a little less than two years ago, had left an empty space inside her and James’s memory crept into that space, making her wish to hear more. “I don’t remember that at all—I am not sure I ever remember croquet being played on the lawns at home.”
“I think your father won. Your mother stood beside him as he grinned like a fool.”
“Which probably means that she could have won if she wished. It was a joke between my parents. My mother had a talent for games of all types and yet she never won, didn’t consider it ladylike.” She snort
ed. “She despaired of me. I like to win.”
“So our mud fight proved.”
“I am not sure that I won that.”
“Don’t you think so?”
She stopped to consider. “Perhaps we both won.”
“I will accept that,” he said, and again her gaze fell to his lips, remembering that single sweet kiss.
He stepped closer.
Suddenly she did not feel so cold. “I am glad.” It seemed impossible to move her gaze from his lips.
She licked her own, which suddenly felt dry.
Chapter 15
His gaze shifted between her lips and her eyes. The moment seemed frozen, time stopped.
He should have been cold, but the longer he stared at her the more heated he became.
Her tongue moved across her lush lower lip.
He felt himself bending toward it.
Her eyes, which had been focused on his mouth in a most physical manner, suddenly lifted to his. His breath caught. A moment ago he had wondered if something was troubling her, she’d looked almost angry when he’d turned toward her. Perhaps Aunt Prudence had left her with a sour taste in her mouth. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d had that effect on someone.
But he wasn’t going to focus on Prudence at a moment like this. He was no man’s fool.
He leaned in, breathing in Sin’s scent, then exhaling, her hair waving as the air hit it.
Honey. How could she smell like honey in February?
And vanilla.
Sin smelled like biscuits—he’d always had a fondness for biscuits. And he was hungry now.
Her eyes gazed into his, wide and startled. She hadn’t been expecting this, not now. Earlier in the hallway, perhaps, but not now.
His body stirred at her innocence, her innocence and trust. Whatever had been in her eyes moments before, there was no mistaking her current look.
Her glance dropped to his mouth. He tensed his lips, then with slow deliberation parted them the tiniest bit.
She stopped breathing.
A little closer. It would have been hard to slide a sheet of paper between them and yet he did not touch her. Did not close the space.
She yearned for him. He could feel it wrapping about him, but he did not move.
Her eyes moved up to his, the green in them shining bright and clear. They spoke of desire—and of the need for him to move.
He did not.
Her tongue slipped between her teeth. Would she taste him?
No, she did not yet have that courage.
“Do you want me to kiss you?” he whispered, watching for every flicker of movement.
Sin nodded, the smallest of gestures.
He almost pressed forward, almost gave in to what she wanted, to what they both wanted, but he held himself back. In this moment, he had the power and he was not loath to use it. “How much do you want me to kiss you?”
Confusion flickered in her eyes.
He liked it, liked keeping her slightly off center.
He pressed his hips forward, again not touching her, but letting her feel the heat rising off his body.
He waited for her answer. When it did not come, he pulled back enough to see her whole face, to let her tongue dart out to wet her lips. “I can’t kiss you if I don’t know if you truly want me to.”
“I do.”
“But how much? What will you do to show me what you want?”
“Anythi—” She cut herself off. “What do you want me to do?”
Smart girl. Not quite willing to commit herself to more than she meant.
He considered. He hadn’t thought this out. It was her willingness he wanted, not some particular action.
But what would he like?
He gazed down at those pouting lips and could think of several things he’d like very much. His cock grew against his leg as a thousand pictures formed in his mind. But not one of them was appropriate to the time or season—or the woman. Some things must be nurtured with care.
“I want a promise,” he said.
“A promise?” More confusion.
“I want you to meet me tonight—in the long gallery. After everyone is in bed.”
A swirl of thought behind her eyes. Again he felt some fiery emotion there, something that was not desire.
For a moment he thought she’d refuse, but then her head bowed briefly. “I promise, although you’ll have to tell me how to get there. I believe Aunt Prudence may have pointed it out on her tour, but my only other memory is of slipping down from the nursery, with Jasmine, on a rainy day and even if I remembered clearly I’d have to start at the nursery to be sure of arriving at the correct destination.”
“Now, we don’t want that.” He leaned close again and whispered the directions into her ear. Then he laid a gentle kiss just below the lobe, one at the curve of her jaw, one halfway up her cheek, the corner of her mouth.
Her body softened and swayed toward him.
Again, he cursed the season, but only in his mind; his lips continued their journey, brushing across that lush lower lip that had featured so prominently in his dreams recently.
He parted his lips, his teeth, nibbled ever so softly.
A sigh escaped her.
A single perfect kiss right across the center of her mouth.
Her eyes stayed focused on his, not closing as so many women’s did. It was slightly disconcerting, but even more arousing. He could see every emotion that she felt as his lips passed over hers. Her eyes moved from bottle green to murky gray and back; the late afternoon sun reflecting back at him.
Another nibble. Another sigh.
He pressed tighter, letting his lips flatten against hers, felt hers part. Running his tongue along the opening seam, he watched the surprise fill her and then the delight. Despite everything they had done yesterday, she really was an innocent. It amazed him that he’d ever thought her experienced, ever thought she had worked at Madame Blanche’s.
He pulled his tongue in the other direction, the hardened tip seeking, but not entering.
Her lips parted farther.
He dared to enter, sweeping the soft underside of her lips.
Her eyes widened.
She liked that. Her chest expanded, her breasts pressing into his chest.
He curled his hands at his sides, not reaching up to cup her breasts, not wrapping about her to press her tighter still, to make her his captive. Patience. This was all about patience.
Soft. Soft. Sweet. He pressed his advantage. His tongue ventured between her teeth, beginning its dance.
He felt her palms rise, felt them caress his chest, felt them slip inside his greatcoat, tangle in his shirt.
He swept the inside of her mouth. Her tongue rose to meet his.
And he gave in, let loose.
His hands curved about her ass, pulling her hard against his swollen cock, the softness of her belly a momentary respite from the fire that urged him on. She moaned beneath his lips, wanting more.
Letting his tongue plunder her mouth, he pushed tighter against her belly, longing to lift her skirts and bury himself within her.
There was a bench about the next corner. It would be so easy to bend her over, to spread her cheeks wide, to…And it wouldn’t require much removal of clothing. All it would take was…
Blast, he’d promised not to risk getting her with child, if she was not already, and what he was imagining would very definitely put lie to that promise.
Tonight. He would wait until tonight.
He pulled back slightly, not separating them, but trying to slow the frenzy.
A small moan of protest slipped from her lips.
“Shhh. This isn’t the time or the place,” he murmured, between kisses.
“But…”
“Tonight.”
He pressed his lips to hers sweetly and then held back, lifting his hands to tangle in her gathered hair. He stared down into her eyes, watching heat slowly cool, seeing reason return.
Another
strange flash. What was that emotion she kept hidden from him? What was he missing? There was something there, but he did not begin to know how to question it.
Her fingers uncurled from his shirt. She lifted them and brushed her heated cheek. “I didn’t…I don’t…I’ve never had a kiss like that. I didn’t know a kiss could be like that.”
“And you’ve had a lot of kisses?”
“Not a lot, but enough that I thought I knew what a kiss was like. That was…was…Why do I have no words?”
That he could answer. “Some things are simply beyond words.”
“I’ve never thought so before.”
“Never?” he asked watching the flush deepen on her cheeks as her mind flew to their time in the cabin.
“We should head back to the house. I will need time to dress for dinner.”
“You are changing the subject.”
“Perhaps, but still it is true.”
He glanced up at the sky, noting that it was beginning to darken. Dinner was early at this time of year. Country hours.
Pressing one last kiss upon her lips, he stepped back and held out his arm, his mind skipping ahead to the late, late hours of the evening.
—
“What had she promised?” Cynthia stared down at the deep bodice of the dress—what had happened to Aunt Prudence’s insistence on high necklines?—and tried to pretend that she had not agreed to meet James in the long gallery. What had she been thinking? She hadn’t been thinking. That was clear enough.
And that wasn’t even considering this dress. Her breasts were pushed high enough that she could have served tea on them. She’d never worn a corset like this one, but the dress did demand that her body be reshaped—reshaped in such a way that her breasts were pushed up to her chin. She’d always known that her breasts were not small, but she’d never thought that they’d draw every eye in a room. Now there was no way to look away.
Perhaps a shawl?
Aunt Prudence would only take it from her. Clearly, the woman was convinced that a marriage needed to occur and that this dress was the way to make it happen. And it probably would have worked if James had been the problem. Unfortunately, being wrapped in sapphire silk with enough petticoats to contain an army and having her breasts pushed to the heavens in no way persuaded Cynthia that marriage to James was to her advantage.