Had he retained any of his clothing? She hesitated, less than prudent, before stepping in the direction of the discarded garment.
I only proceed out of concern for this person’s welfare. Because, honestly, who in his right mind abandoned important articles of his outerwear?
She hadn’t taken more than a dozen steps on her detour when a cravat, its pristine white emphasized by the moon, summoned her further. When a lady’s glove joined a man’s shirt, Kate paused. No doubt what awaited ahead was nothing like innocent child’s play.
The prospect wasn’t great enough to prevent her from venturing on. Not after she’d gone this far. Besides, whatever she found would be far more intriguing than returning to the ball and suffering endless prying into her marital state.
She’d been a faultless lady, a dutiful daughter to a duke, and would soon be a respectful wife. When would she ever be ‘just Kate?’ This could be her single chance.
Even while pretending to be daring, a sigh of relief slipped past her lips when the trees parted to expose a shallow pond without her stumbling upon a pair of breeches or a cast-off gown. She wasn’t prepared to discover that much.
Cast in the shadow of the trees, Kate surveyed the opening with its glistening waters and inviting bench. The perfect place to contemplate her future. As she approached, a deep moan filled the night, pulling her scrutiny to the source.
Expecting a gravely injured man who’d had the hardship of losing half his clothing, she gaped at the sight before her.
Propped against the base of a tree, a half-naked man had his hands full. Extremely full considering one very large palm cupped the bared breast of a woman. Who might have retained her gown but lacked the fortune of keeping her bodice where her modiste had intended, while his mouth feasted on her freely offered neck.
Compelled by the intimate sight, Kate stood frozen. Her sensible upbringing scolded her boldness and begged for her to sneak away. The unrecognizable brashness that had seized her upon escaping the ballroom and discovering the mysterious tree, tempted her to stay.
As her eyes traced over the muscled arm the man had wrapped around his companion’s waist, Kate became mesmerized by how the beams of light highlighted each dip and curve of his limb. Do all men have such powerful appendages hidden under their perfectly tailored coats? Given how the flawless specimen in her eyesight had a solid abdomen lacking the obvious paunch several gentlemen in the ballroom sported, she doubted his physique was typical.
Tingles, comparable to when she’d touched the gnarled tree, snaked through her as she skimmed his solid chest. Only to land on his face. The very face no longer hidden in the neck of the woman he held. Heat washed away the tingles as Kate realized his focus had abandoned the bundle in his arms . . . and was now locked on her.
Shielded from such wanton displays all of her life, Kate didn’t know how to react. Moments between a man and woman should be private, reserved only for the bedroom. Despite her need to be outraged, she couldn’t tear away from the depths of his eyes. Or prevent the warmth flaring within that had nothing to do with embarrassment.
Despite her discomfiture, something kept her from rushing back to the duty awaiting her in the ballroom. The same peculiar sensation rekindled, that which had surged through her when she’d touched the tree. Even though the man was a stranger, her body seemed to recognize him.
She just knew, if she left now, she’d regret it forever.
Chapter 3
Little in life surprised Jackson Cooper. In fact, more often than not, life’s predictability annoyed the hell out of him.
But not tonight.
Not as his gaze locked on the beauty interrupting his evening tryst with the widowed Lady Somerby.
Even before he’d spied the feminine intruder, he knew his amusement had come to an end. All it had taken was for her startled gasp to eclipse the moans of the willing woman in his arms. As he’d lifted his head from the tempting curve of pale flesh splayed before him and his gaze had instead met wide-eyed, gaping shock, he’d ascertained his cock was about to be denied gratification.
He had no objection of proceeding with an audience. That wasn’t what caused him to halt. The sudden feeling of wrongness rushing over him, as he considered the loveliness of the young woman before him, cooled his ardor. Suddenly, having his fingers splayed over Lady Somerby’s ample breast felt like a dire offense.
Before the intruder found her voice, Jackson removed his hand and righted the widow’s bodice, never breaking visual contact with the mystery woman. Definitely not one in approval of an audience, the moment her dress properly covered her breasts, Lady Somerby muttered a very indelicate oath and fled into the night, not once glancing at their uninvited guest. Or offering a word of farewell.
Leaving Jackson alone with the properly dressed lady lingering at the edge of the thicker foliage. Faced with her scrutiny, Jackson felt more exposed than if he wore nothing, rather than his hose and breeches.
Who is this miss? Drawn, as any man would be to her loveliness, he pushed away from the tree and approached. Apprehension, swarming with something far more enticing, gathered in her eyes with each step he took.
Through it all, she stood firm.
Again, he wondered what had led her to him . . . and silently gave thanks to whatever it was.
Given her finery, he suspected she’d traveled too far from the Mosley’s ballroom. Despite his family being invited to their neighbor’s soiree, he’d declined the offer. As he did with all invitations. Unlike his father, Viscount Middleton, and his older brother, Edward, Jackson had no desire to rub elbows with the snobs who viewed the title granted his father by King George as purchased and therefore, inferior. All of which discredited his father’s loyal service during the war with America.
Presented with an enchanting woman, he applauded his decision. Normally the private grove of trees positioned between his father’s house and the two adjoining properties offered discretion. Tonight, he was glad someone—more accurately, the vision before him—had invaded such privacy.
Her beauty was unmistakable, even in the muted light, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she’d be willing to continue where Lady Somerby had left off.
As soon as the thought entered his mind, something in his soul revolted at the idea. Even with him as the beneficiary, he didn’t care for the idea of such a pretty miss offering herself to a stranger in a copse of trees.
When she didn’t startle at his nearness, he spoke. “Are you a tree nymph or has God blessed me?”
Even knowing he wouldn’t be partaking in her exquisiteness, he couldn’t avoid teasing her. Not when his body had tautened with unfulfilled desire.
Instead of bolting, her brow lifted. Did she mock him? His excitement grew. He doubted boredom would be a factor with her.
“Are you generally this arrogant or did God decide to punish me?” Contrary to her demure appearance, nothing about her tone was sweet and docile.
A deep laugh rumbled from his chest. Yes, dullness would not be an issue.
“Or maybe the cold has addled your brain. Perhaps you should gather your clothing.” She nodded toward his chest.
He doubted she truly wanted him properly covered. The flash of interest in her eyes as they roamed his body suggested she didn’t.
He couldn’t resist encroaching further. “You forget, you interrupted my private celebration. As host, I decide the dress code, therefore you seem to be the one overdressed.”
“Considering your lady friend vanished without a word, I’m led to believe you are a dismal host.” Moonlight twinkled in her chocolate eyes, emphasizing her mirth.
“Should I hone my skills with you?” He eyed his mystery woman, confident she’d flee into the night at his bold overture.
She continued to surprise him. “In order to perfect an ability
, you would first have to possess the skill. Nothing I’ve seen indicates you do.”
At her insult, he stepped into the space before her and traced his finger along the curve of her collarbone, thankful her modiste had foreseen the insightfulness of a low bodice. Not to mention she’d enough sense to forgo wearing a ridiculous fichu. “Shall we see about that?”
Her gasp filled his ears but she didn’t back away. Taking her stillness as encouragement, Jackson traced his fingertips across the soft skin of her bare arm, and over the smooth silk of her opera-length glove. His fingers danced with hers before retreating up her arm. Only to slide back down . . . removing her glove in the process.
Her breath hitched as he gave a gentle tug and freed the delicate fabric from her hand. Lost in her beauty, he tossed the glove onto a bush and tangled her warm fingers with his.
Keeping her gaze locked with his, he raised her hand until her soft palm was positioned before his mouth. Bending ever so slightly, he placed a kiss against the center. Her faint sigh encouraged him as he flicked his tongue against her sweet skin.
Her sigh became a shaky moan, causing his arousal to spike and his cock to strain against his breeches.
His mouth caressed along the sensitive mound beneath her thumb, and slowly drifted to her wrist while he slipped his free hand around her waist, molding her breasts to his naked chest. He lost the connection of her eyes as he raised her arm so he could feather more kisses along the inside of her elbow. Through it all he remained focused on his eventual destination—the moment when he could sink into the ultimate kiss.
“You taste like forbidden fruit.” He nuzzled against her skin.
As soon as the words spilled from him, she tugged her arm free and clamped her palm over her mouth.
She gaped at him for a few seconds, her hand slipping down her throat as she backed away, out of his reach. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing. Forgive me.”
Her apology was contritely executed and he mourned the sprite who’d verbally spared with him—and had become emboldened by his touch. The woman now facing him was not the same who’d been breathless in his arms. His tree nymph’s eyes had flashed with spirit . . . not remorse.
He preferred the spark.
“There is nothing to forgive.” His assurance was offered a moment too late as she spun, retrieved her discarded glove, and fled in the direction of the Mosley’s.
Familiar with the layout of the private grove, Jackson knew if he gave chase, he’d easily catch her.
What would I do with her then?
As bold as she’d appeared, he knew she was not a lady he could—or should—trifle with. An innocent, not a bit o’ muslin. Since he had no intention of being leg shackled, he needed to stay far from his wood nymph. Despite the lust flowing through his veins.
With a deep breath, Jackson attempted to settle his arousal. As his breeches became less constricting, the moonlight caught something shiny on the ground.
Looking for a distraction to melt the heat simmering in his blood, he bent and retrieved the item. A delicate band of gold with a small solitary gem flickered in the passing light. Not appearing to be of great value, he was about to toss the ring into the grass when he remembered the slight tug he’d given his anonymous lady’s glove to loosen the silk. The ring must have been on her hand and then fell to the ground as he removed her glove.
Without thinking on it overmuch, Jackson slipped the narrow band into his pocket. With his once promising evening destroyed, he retrieved his clothing, prepared to search out a new distraction. The night was far too young to return to his father’s house. He was three and twenty, for God’s sake, not a lad of twelve.
His perfectly tailored coat, shirt, and Hessian boots restored, Jackson ambled along the path that veered the furthest from the center of the grove . . . and the eerie tree he’d stumbled upon on his way to meet Lady Somerby. As foolish as it seemed, he had no desire to revisit the peculiar sight.
Renewed shivers crept through him at the mere thought of the gnarled trunk and twisted branches. Awareness broke over him, the same as when he’d brushed against the wide base.
Thankfully, Lady Somerby’s willing body entwined with his had managed to destroy his uneasiness over the mysterious tree. Especially since the vision had stirred the memory of an old legend his grandmother had told him as a child. A fairytale he had no wish to be part of.
Fortunately for him, his beautifully mysterious visitor had eradicated all thoughts of Lady Somerby. Some men are just blessed with good luck.
As Jackson approached the house, he pondered an unfortunate turn of events. While dismissing Lady Somerby had proven easy, the memory of his enchanting sprite wouldn’t leave his mind.
He feared the tree had committed unwanted damage.
Chapter 4
The next day, as she enjoyed a solitary mug of chocolate, Kate considered her success in reentering the ball without being noticed.
Her misfortune rested with something less expected . . . an inability to forget the man from the grove. As unimpressed as she’d been by his lavish charm, her erratic heartbeat couldn’t be denied.
Though her knowledge of men would fit on a grain of salt, she wasn’t a novice. There was no denying her reaction to his mouth caressing her hand. In control of her fluttering heart, she pushed aside thoughts of what the brush of his lips against her skin had done to her.
Despite him stirring something deep within her, thoughts of her betrothed and her duty intervened, altering her memory of the captivating stranger; the way the moonlight had glistened off his naked chest.
Kate took a careful sip of the hot liquid. At least I’ll never see him again. Her future was with Blackthorn. Her duty to her father demanded it. She had no room for daydreams over a handsome stranger.
“Has your headache improved?” Helena asked as she unceremoniously entered the morning room.
It was on the tip of Kate’s tongue to deny she ever had a headache, when she remembered the excuse she’d given as an explanation to her long absence the prior evening. “It has. A night of sleep must have been all I needed.”
Taking the seat opposite Kate, Helena eyed her from under a lowered brow. No doubt because Kate had never suffered from such an ailment in all her nineteen years. She was not the lightheaded, fainting type.
“What brings you by today?” Kate opted for changing the subject.
Snatching a scone from the tray on the low table, Helena answered between bites. “I came to fetch you.”
Kate watched a bit of pastry fall. “For what exactly?” Of her sisters, Helena was the one most likely to cause a scandal, and probably would have if not for becoming engaged to Hayward during her first season.
“Nothing to destroy your reputation as the perfect daughter. Though I can’t determine why you desire such an accolade.” Helena took another substantial bite of scone, ignoring the crumbs accumulating on her lap. “It seems rather tedious,” she mumbled around the treat in her mouth.
“Says the one who married the man Father hand-picked for her.”
Helena swallowed before her light laugh filled Kate’s ears. “Dear sister, you have much to learn. If Father thought I’d wanted to marry James, he would have found a different suitor. I knew I wanted to be James’s wife the night I met him. Which was several weeks before Father introduced us.”
Kate remained doubtful. Without raising a hand against his children, her father had effective methods for demanding their obedience. As sad as it was, Kate suspected she feared more than loved him.
Besides, Helena had never spoken of Hayward before their introduction. Surely meeting the man of one’s dreams would be something one shared with a beloved sister.
Either way, Kate knew her duty . . . to marry and marry well. She wouldn’t fail where her sisters had succeeded
.
“Where do you think you are taking me?” Kate pressed.
Her scone devoured, Helena brushed the crumbs from her lap. The tidiest sibling, she was not. “James’s sister is having a small garden party.”
It had been over two years since their marriage and Kate still wasn’t accustomed to her sister referring to her husband by his given name. It wasn’t done. Certainly, not in their household growing up. Then again, Helena rarely did the proper thing. Which made Kate think perhaps her sister had tricked their father into allowing Hayward’s courtship.
“I wasn’t invited,” Kate demurred.
Helena smiled. “Yes, you were. Just now. By me.”
“Wonderful reasoning, sister. But I doubt Lady Laura would appreciate you expanding her guest list.”
“Don’t be silly. The more, the merrier.”
Kate couldn’t help but join in Helena’s infectious mirth. Through all their differences, she loved her sisters and uninvited or not, Kate wouldn’t turn down an opportunity to spend the day with one of them.
“You win. Though, don’t say I didn’t warn you when Lady Laura turns me away,” Kate taunted.
~ ~ ~
Kate stood on the grass, observing the guests wandering about. Helena had been correct. Lady Laura clearly did follow the motto, ‘the more, the merrier.’
Her event was quickly becoming a crush. Which, considering it was being held outdoors, said a lot. Thankfully, during the season, Kate had perfected the art of navigating a highly-attended soiree.
She was less accustomed to escaping the relentless inquiry into her potential marriage to Blackthorn. Though he remained one of the few noblemen absent from the gathering, still she wasn’t spared.
Once Upon a Lady (The Soul Mate Tree Book 8) Page 2