by Julie Beard
"What is wrong?" she crooned, stroking his damp, cold temples as she knelt before him. Then she tipped up his chin with the crook of her finger and burrowed her eyes into his, hers narrowing with sudden insight. "It's marriage, isn't it? The very thought of it makes you ill. You can't even talk about it seriously without the risk of fainting. Jack, oh, my poor darling, I am so sorry for you. It's about your parents, isn't it?"
He nodded and leaned into her when she embraced him. He laid his head on her shoulder and allowed her to stroke his hair as he breathed deep to quell the dizziness.
"My poor darling, we must cure you."
He snorted a laugh. "You aren't the first woman who's wanted to cure me."
She caught his mirth and kissed the corner of his mouth
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sweetly. "No, but I'm the first one who will succeed."
"How?"
She crossed her arms and sank back on her heels, regarding him with a slight tilt to her head. "I'll warrant you've never spent more than an hour or two with any of your paramours."
"Two hours on a good night."
"What you need, sir, is companionship. You need to spend enough time with a woman to know you can do so without calamity striking. I don't think you quite trust yourself."
"My family doesn't exactly have a good track record when it comes to love of any sort."
"Even if I agreed to break off with Lord Barrington and accept your offer, what good would that do? You'd simply fall into a fit on the altar. No, whether or not we were meant to be, you must overcome this phobia."
He raised his head. Sweat had beaded above his upper lip, but at least he could breathe again, and the pounding had receded. "How? How do you propose I do that?"
Her eyes lit with excitement. "I know exactly how it can be done."
He adored her pragmatism. Was that all he'd needed all this time, a sensible woman? He grinned in open admiration. 'Tell me, my love, and I'll do whatever you say."
"Lord Barrington has unexpectedly gone away for three days. Let us spend that time together. Let us imagine we are man and wife."
He pulled a face. "Then we would never make love and never speak to each other."
"Stop being cynical! We're in the country, not among the haut ton. It's perfectly acceptable here for husbands
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and wives to love one another. Every time you feel ill, or feel like running away, tell me and I'll stroke your head and soothe you until you associate marriage with good things. Do you think you can manage that?"
He gave her a weak smile. "Do you think that will work? I really do want to m-m-m—"
"Don't say it." She held her forefinger to his lips. "Can you pretend to court me now, Mr. Fairchild, and simply enjoy the time left to us?"
He nodded, resolving then and there to enjoy her company while he could, for she was right. He was in no condition to follow through on his offer of marriage. It was time to learn the pleasures a woman offered outside the boudoir.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
n the coming days, Liza and Jacked slipped away whenever they could. They were always in the company of others, of course, but never with anyone so watchful that they couldn't sneak a knowing glance, an intimate smile, or a short stroll that allowed for a whispered conversation.
Aunt Patty and Celia were willing conspirators, always turning a blind eye at critical moments, and, in Patty's case, even turning a deaf ear. Even Liza's mother seemed to be in on the conspiracy. She never asked Liza where she was after long, unchaperoned absences, and whenever Jack came to the house, she always flitted around like a butterfly in spring, smiling and welcoming and then disappearing into a different wing of the house.
With each passing moment spent in Liza's presence, Jack's very outlook on life began to change. After sharing a great deal of laughter and confidences, he began to think of her as the best friend he'd ever had. No longer was she
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a woman to be wooed and pleased. She was simply his constant companion and his lover.
They whispered in closed carriages, and were equally content to be silent together, communicating only through entwined fingers. They laughed at private jokes and played cards until late at night with Celia and Aunt Patty, learning to be partners even in that field of battle. Amidst so much happiness, it was difficult for Jack to be gloomy about anything, though the viscount's return was just days away, and Jack's imprisonment loomed in a matter of weeks. Even his lingering sorrow and bitterness seemed to lessen simply for having shared with the remarkable Miss Liza Cranshaw his thoughts and feelings about his parents' deaths.
He almost began to feel as if he were part of the Cranshaw family, and he considered asking Bartholomew if he could borrow the three thousand he owed to Lord Abbington. It would probably tickle Cranshaw to no end to bail the future Lord Tutley out from impending disaster. But Jack's pride would have none of it, and with good reason. How could he help Liza if he were so indebted to her father that he dared not offend him by challenging Lord Barrington's proposal?
Truth was, Jack had no answers and no predictions for the future. All that was left for him was the present, and he was enjoying it thoroughly.
On their third day together, he and Liza traveled with her aunt and mother to Waverly to visit Sir Walter Dewey's family at Fulthrop Grange. They sat in the Cranshaws' carriage side by side, facing the older women.
As Rosalind and Patty chatted amiably, Jack clutched his walking stick, determined to keep his hands to himself. Now and then they shared a secret smile. He inhaled her
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unique woman's scent and longed to touch the hollow at the base of her neck, taste and kiss it. She was so close, yet so far. This was their last day together before Barrington's return. Would they find time alone? Could he have one last kiss? Or more?
He wanted to simply hold her, but that was too much to ask in polite society, and he thought about Harding's comment that waking up with a woman was a privilege reserved for marriage. If only Jack had been wise enough to offer for Liza eight years ago, he would not be in misery today.
"Do you plan to take a wife, Mr. Fairchild?" Rosalind said unexpectedly before they reached the grange, as if reading his thoughts. The gabled roof of the quaint building appeared in the distance, rising above a mist that had settled along the way. "I hope you do not think me too bold in asking, but the baronet has two daughters of marriageable age."
Jack looked to Liza and she turned her doleful eyes his way. So much was said without words. It was just as he imagined a good marriage to be. A silent communion. He turned his attention back to Liza's mother.
"I never thought I would care to marry, ma'am," he said, "but I've recently had a change of heart. I would treasure the companionship of a good woman. In fact, I should very much like to marry."
He turned back to Liza with a slow, triumphant grin. He'd actually said it without so much as breaking out in a cold sweat.
When they arrived at the grange, Sir Walter and his wife, Lady Dewey, greeted them on the drive. Jack was spared the tedium of being introduced to the baronet's marriageable daughters, as they had taken a trip to a
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cousin's estate. The laughing Lady Dewey, who put on only the slightest of airs, nevertheless praised her daughters' good qualities all throughout tea.
After refreshments were taken, Jack and Liza followed the others to the field behind the house to view Sir Walter's new stallion. Mist lurked around their feet as they walked along the stone wall that bordered the pasture. Jack and Liza slowed their pace in silent conspiracy, putting distance between themselves and the others.
When they were finally alone, separated from the others by a wall of fog, he grabbed her shoulder and turned her quickly, stealing a slow, sensual kiss.
"I think you've cured me, Miss Cranshaw."
"All it took," she replied evenly, "was a bit of pleasure."
"More than that, I think. You should acknowledge your own contribution to th
e cause."
"You simply learned that you were sacrificing your own happiness as a sort of punishment for your parents' mistakes. We cannot make up for the past, nor sacrifice the future for it. You will make someone such a splendid husband, Jack."
"It should be you."
She shivered at his certainty. A tiny door opened in her mind, letting a brief flash of light into the morbid darkness. Was it possible for them to be together after all? Had his acceptance of his own desire for marriage changed everything? She had forgiven him, but could she finally also trust him to be there for her?
Sir Walter's laughter rose out of the fog. They would be missed by the others soon.
"When we return," she whispered, moving on, "go to
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Birch Road in your carriage and meet me where I fell. Do you remember where that was?"
"Of course."
"It's time I told you why I agreed to Barrington's terms."
******************
Liza could scarcely wait until the visit to Fulthrop Grange was over. When they returned to Cranshaw Park, Jack made his farewells and rode off in his own carriage. Liza waited a discreet amount of time, then strolled through the garden and hurried through the woods to their appointed meeting place.
She walked briskly through the mists to the rise in Birch Road and waited patiently by the side of the road until she heard the rumbling approach of carriage wheels. She heard the crunch of gravel before she saw Jack's handsome carriage cut through the silver fog.
Knowing the risk she was about to take, her pulse pounded in her throat and she felt lightheaded. She could not tell him everything. But even a fraction of the truth would be enough for any ordinary gentleman to have disgust for her. She would risk it only because Jack was no ordinary man.
The coach eased to a stop, and the door opened. He acted as his own footman, lowering the step and exiting, offering her his hand. His coachman waited patiently, eyes forward. Had Jack prepared him for this scandalous little rendezvous? Doubtless, Jack's employees had long ago been trained to look away at all the right moments.
She climbed in and sat on the plush seat, eager for him to join her. He sat beside her, shut the door, banged on the roof, and the coach lurched forward. The momentum threw her into his arms. She'd come to talk, but suddenly
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she was ensnared in his mesmerizing sensuality.
He pulled her close and splayed a warm hand over her cheek. His lips found hers and he feasted with bone-melting intensity. He kissed her as if the world would end tomorrow, and for her it would. She reached up and clutched his neck, tugging hard, wanting all of him. She nearly burned his lips with friction as she kissed and nibbled and groaned and kissed again.
"You are like a beautiful china doll, except you're definitely not cool to the touch," he said huskily, stroking the creamy skin at the base of her neck. She sprawled languorously across his lap, lolling in his arms, gazing at his sharp and handsome profile.
"Do you know what I have on underneath this gown, Mr. Fairchild?" She tempted him with her heavy-lidded eyes.
He grinned and shook his head. "A chastity belt, Miss Cranshaw?"
'Too late for that," she murmured with a sultry laugh. "You'll have to find out for yourself."
He slowly slid his hand up her leg, around the swell of her calf, over the garters that held her stockings in place. And then he felt hot, silky skin and his knuckles brushed against the nest of hair that hid her secret place of pleasure. She sucked in a quivering breath.
"Now you know," she said, biting her lower lip as he caressed her intimately and felt liquid heat.
"I love this about you, Liza," he said urgently. "I love your sexuality, my darling girl. Like you, it's bold and honest."
She gazed at him from beneath her thick lashes with sultry eyes. 'Touch me, Jack."
He probed her moist crevice and smiled when she
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arched her back and spread her legs further. "Yes, Jack, that's what I want. That's what I've been wanting for the last three days."
"So much for companionship," he murmured sardonically.
When he slid two fingers deep inside her, she groaned and shut her eyes. He deftly maneuvered, touching a place so deep and foreign it unleashed a primal hunger that demanded satisfaction.
"Make love to me," she rasped.
"Here?" he asked tauntingly.
"Yes." Her voice quivered each time he thrust and parried inside her.
He sighed his acquiescence, wanting so very badly to give her every conceivable pleasure known to man. Still touching her, he unfastened his trousers with his other hand. Then he sat back against the seat and lifted her up, moving her so that she knelt over him, straddling his legs.
She felt the cool air between her hot thighs as he positioned her just so. He slid his warm palms up and down her derriere, squeezing and massaging as his mouth sought her breasts through her gown. He nipped at her hardened nipples, then freed his hard member, guiding it to her opening. As he pulled her down, the head delved into her tightness and her body parted for him. She sank down and took all the hard length of him there was to take.
"Oh, Jack, you're impossibly perfect."
It felt so good, so right to be thus impaled. This was real. This was all that mattered. Loving Jack. Letting him fill her with his honest desire.
"Liza, I cannot seem to get enough of you," he said hoarsely as he squeezed her buttocks.
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She rose up slowly, pulling away from the pleasure, then sank down hard again, feeling the stab of him in that deep place.
"I feel the same way," she replied, looking intently in his eyes. There was no mood, no thought, no fear that separated them. The carriage moved forward slowly, rumbling softly beneath them.
He lifted her hips and then pulled her down hard again.
"Oh, Jack, I want you forever. Forever. Forever." She spoke in the rhythm of their bodies, then fell silent as she concentrated on the pleasure. He pulled her down harder, faster, and met her thrust for thrust. He reached down, fumbling through the folds of her gown, and massaged the secret place between her legs. Soon she arched with spasms of ecstasy, one wave after another. Hearing her stifled, flailing cries of passion, he arched, thrusting hard as he growled with painful pleasure, lifting her hips high in the air as he came into her depths. When the last pulse ripped through him, he collapsed onto the carriage seat, sweating, breathless, feeling utterly satisfied. And still the carriage rode on, driving a convoluted path of country roads, as Jack had instructed the driver to do.
In cozy silence, he leaned up and kissed her tenderly, tongues tangled in a soul-deep dance. Then he pulled back and grinned wickedly. "Want to do that again?"
She gave him a half smile. "Are you serious?"
"I suppose we can't drive around forever," he said at last, chuckling deeply. "And you did want to discuss something of great importance, as I recall."
She rose off of him, collapsing next to Jack, and they straightened their garments. Finally catching their breath, they sat shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand, as Liza collected her thoughts.
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"Jack," she began.
"Yes, darling lover?"
"If I don't marry Lord Barrington, he will tell the world about Desiree. That is the only reason I gave in to his demands." Liza tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry. "Desiree is a ... a distant relative. She was once an infamous French courtesan, and before that, here in England, I believe she was something far less romantic in nature, a barque of frailty, a trollop even."
She glanced up wincingly, expecting to see the beginning of his withdrawal, but he merely regarded her with patience and kindness.
Encouraged, she continued, "Desiree was even more beautiful than my mother and Aunt Patty. But whereas my mother strives to be proper, Desiree cared nothing for the family's reputation. She lived openly as the mistress of an earl and bore a child out of wedlock. I'm quite sure my father kno
ws nothing about her or the child. I didn't know myself until the viscount told me. That is what Barrington is threatening to expose. I did not want to tell you for I knew that it would mean you could not accept me with such a past. You will, after all, one day be Lord Tutley."
He frowned, and touched her chin, forcing her to look directly into his loving eyes. "Do you know me so little? Liza, I do not care. And neither will Society if she's a distant relation. You cannot be blamed for the actions of someone you never even knew. Every family has skeletons in the closet."
Liza shook her head quickly. "You don't understand. My mother has spent a great deal of time, money, and effort pretending that she came from a well-educated, genteel, and very proper upper gentry family. You heard her
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boasting in the portrait gallery. If this comes out, everyone will know what a liar she has been. Her whole life will be seen as an indiscreet lie."
"But a distant relative—"
"My mother rarely even talks about Aunt Patty's late husband because he was so poor."
"If Barrington mentions Desiree to anyone, simply deny her existence. I've never heard anyone in the Ton speak of this Desiree. So she's not that infamous."
Liza shook her head impatiently. "Barrington says he has proof that Desiree is related to my mother, though the precise nature of that proof remains a mystery. Perhaps he has nothing, but I dare not call his bluff. He has the power not only to ruin my mother's reputation, but to destroy Celia's chances of making a good match. My family would be ruined."
"Liza—"
She turned to him. "Jack, you know I do not care a whit about myself."
"Perhaps you should."
"But I do have to think about Celia. And I simply cannot let my father find out about Desiree from the viscount."
"Then tell him yourself."
Liza bit her lower lip and her eyes glistened. "No. I love him too much to hurt him. The secret must remain precisely that. I very much fear if he realized the extent of my mother's deception, he would stop loving her. And me.