Jilted By A Cad (Jilted Brides Trilogy Book 1)

by Cheryl Holt

  They were quiet, and she presumed he’d fallen asleep, but he hadn’t.

  “I went to visit Evan and Amelia,” he said.

  “How was it? Are they still angry?”

  “They weren’t there. Their house is shuttered.”

  “They left town?”

  “Yes. I talked to their neighbor, but he claimed he had no idea where they were.”

  “You didn’t believe him?”

  “No. He was rude and curt and didn’t invite me in.”

  “That must have been embarrassing.”

  “It was.” After a bit, he admitted, “Evan gave him a letter for me.”

  “Was it bad?”

  “Yes. He was positive I’d slink in sooner or later, that I’d want to justify my behavior and worm my way back into their good graces.”

  “Well, you did want to do that.”

  “He said I shouldn’t pester them. They are moving on with their life, and I should move on with mine.”

  She sighed. “I’m sorry. I realize you were counting on a different ending.”

  “I’ve known him forever. He’s like a brother to me. Amelia is like a sister. I’m stunned that they’d cut ties.”

  “It’s early yet, Peyton. They need space to fume and recover. If all of you are as close as you assume, they’ll get over it.”

  “What if they don’t?”

  “Then the three of you weren’t as close as you imagined.”

  “Yes, I suppose.” Very quietly, he added, “He’s requested a transfer.”

  “Out of the navy?”

  “No—to another ship. He was always my First Officer. Ever since we were boys, we sailed together, but he’s finished with me. It’s a hard blow.”

  He fell asleep then, and she dozed too. When she awoke, she wasn’t sure how much time had passed. He wasn’t in the bed, and she figured he’d sneaked out without a goodbye. But he was over by the window, leaned on the sill and gazing out at the stars.

  He’d shed his coat, shirt, boots, and stockings, so he was attired just in his trousers. In the moonlight, his skin was a silvery color, so he appeared ghostly and ethereal, like the most solitary man in the world.

  She braced herself on an elbow.

  “Why are you out of bed?” she inquired. “Aren’t you freezing?”

  “Not really. I’m too agitated to feel the chill.”

  “Are you fretting about Evan and Amelia? Please don’t. You can’t fix it tonight anyway.”

  “They are vexing me, but it’s everything else too. Are you weary of listening to me complain?”

  “Yes, I’m very weary of it.”

  She lifted the quilt, coaxing him to her, but he didn’t budge. He simply stared at her, his focus riveting and unnerving. He was particularly morose, and his demeanor frightened her.

  Suddenly, she was terrified he was about to leave her. Or perhaps he couldn’t support her and Daisy after all. Perhaps he was out of money or Barbara Prescott had renewed her nagging about his relationship with them.

  Jo had no illusions. He was buried in controversies. They seemed small to her, but they were weighing him down. Was she a burden he would no longer carry?

  “I need to ask you a question,” he said.

  His tone was so somber that her alarm soared. “What is it? Just tell me.”

  “Don’t laugh, and don’t answer right away. You have to think about it.”

  “Yes, I’ll think about it. I promise.”

  A lengthy pause spiraled out. He looked miserable and dejected, and she was awash with anxiety. So when the question was posed, she was glad she was lying down. If she hadn’t been, she might have fainted.

  “Would you marry me?” he asked.

  She cocked her head, not certain she’d heard him correctly. “Marry you? Is that what you said?”

  “Yes. Would you?”

  Her initial reaction was one of unbridled joy. She was astonished by his proposal, but despite her immediate surge of euphoria, she retained a modicum of common sense. Why would he wish to wed her? Why would he suggest it?

  They’d never discussed the notion, and he’d never hinted that he might be interested in her being his wife. In fact, the few occasions matrimony had been raised, he’d stridently insisted he wasn’t prepared to marry. It was at the root of his quarrel with Evan and Amelia Boyle.

  If he wasn’t ready to wed Miss Boyle, whom he’d known all his life, he definitely wasn’t ready to wed Jo. She wasn’t a suitable bride for him.

  The biggest obstacle would be his family. They’d never accept her as his countess. If she mentioned that problem though, he’d swear he wasn’t concerned about their opinions.

  But she’d had a bleak and dismal view of the ramifications when two disparate people married. Her father had been lured into folly by his affection for his nanny. It had been such a bizarre choice that, all these years later, neighbors still snickered and gossiped.

  A man and woman who were so dissimilar in their backgrounds and ancestry shouldn’t wind up together. Society had strict, unwritten rules about such odd pairings because experience had proven them to be unfeasible. He couldn’t have reflected on any of those issues.

  As to herself, she had once nearly shackled herself to a cad who hadn’t been serious in his intentions. She wouldn’t put herself in such a humiliating position ever again. She didn’t necessarily suppose Peyton Prescott would jilt her at the altar, but he could definitely develop second thoughts.

  At the moment, he imagined they should wed, but what if they proceeded, and ultimately, he recognized how foolish he’d been? What if he started to rue and regret?

  It would be a different sort of jilt, and she declined to ever arrive at a point where he was dissatisfied with her. She would never agree to a scenario where she would be devastated by his disregard.

  “Why would you want to marry me?” she asked.

  “I was pondering you all day. I can’t stand to be separated from you for a single minute. We’ve grown so close, and I can’t have anything happen that might split us apart.”

  “Nothing will split us apart,” she declared, even though she didn’t believe it. “You’re overly distressed this evening. Your visit to Evan Boyle, along with you meeting your old sailing friends, has you exceedingly morose.”

  A ghost of a smile flitted across his lips. “You could be right.”

  “You’re feeling sorry for yourself, and you’re trying to cheer up.”

  “It would cheer me immensely if you were my bride.”

  “Would it?”

  The query hung in the air between them. He wasn’t a cheery fellow, and she could never be the cure for what ailed him.

  “Are you refusing me?” he asked.

  “Not refusing precisely. I’m simply struggling to figure out why you proposed in the first place.”

  “Could it be because I’d like you to be my wife? Is that so hard to fathom?”

  “Yes, it’s very hard to fathom.”

  He snorted with disgust. “What if I went back to the navy and left England? Would you miss me?”

  “Of course.”

  “How much.”

  “With every fiber of my being,” she honestly replied, and she patted the mattress again. “Lie down, would you? You’re in an awful state, and I can’t bear to see you so troubled.”

  “Will you soothe me into a better mood?”

  “I’m hoping I can.”

  “If you’d agree to wed me, it would work wonders.”

  “For the moment, it might, but I’m betting you’d suffer doubts pretty fast.”

  He scowled. “You suppose I’d regret it?”

  “Yes,” she firmly insisted. “We wouldn’t have to walk to the altar for you to question your decision. I’m sure you’d be aghast much sooner than that.”

  “You’re a difficult woman, Jo Bates.”

  “So you keep telling me. Now come and
lie down.”

  * * * *

  Peyton hurried to the bed, both of them laughing as he slid next to her. His skin was icy, and she was warm and toasty. She drew the blankets over them, snuggling them in a tight cocoon.

  He nuzzled at her nape, inhaling her lush scent that drove him wild. It urged him on, making him anxious to engage in behaviors that were dangerous and destructive and—once embarked upon—could never be reversed.

  Why had he proposed? What had he been thinking?

  He was irked by her rejection, but incredibly glad too. When the words had spewed from his mouth, he’d been stunned to hear them voiced aloud. He wasn’t ready to marry, and with his recent elevation to a higher social plane, he had to be careful in picking a bride. He couldn’t blithely select a beautiful, intriguing commoner who didn’t have two pennies to rub together.

  His eagerness was rooted in deeper issues. He was restless and bored, impatient to return to the navy, and he was missing Evan too. He hated that they’d parted on such bad terms. Every facet of his life seemed wrong and out of joint. How often would he bemoan that fact before he took steps to mend his dilemma?

  Jo was his sole link to normalcy. He’d gotten her away from the prying eyes at the town house. He’d found her and Daisy a safe, quiet home where they could develop a routine. He was trying to remain outside the space they were creating for themselves. He only visited occasionally, and he forced himself to avoid them for long stretches, not wanting to be a nuisance, not wanting to overstay his welcome.

  Yet when he was away from Jo, he thought about her constantly. She was like an addictive drug, and he couldn’t stop obsessing. He’d convinced himself—if he didn’t ponder her so relentlessly—his enthrallment would wane, but as he’d stood by the window a bit earlier, watching her sleep so peacefully, he’d been swamped by a perilous yearning.

  He’d offered matrimony without any consideration. She’d declined, but he was very vain, and her rebuff had merely ignited his need to possess her in every wicked way possible. He was desperate to bind her so securely that she could never escape.

  The impulse was so strong that it scared him. In his current glum condition, he might commit any terrible act.

  “I can’t believe you refused me,” he said.

  “One of us has to keep a level head. If I let you take the lead, there’s no predicting where we’d end up.”

  “We’re not in such a horrid spot though. Are we?”

  “No. We’re in a very, very good spot.”

  He gazed into her blue eyes, so overcome with emotion that he felt as if he was drowning. He began kissing her and kissing her, and each minute of the embrace dragged him further into his morass of affection.

  He’d desired her from the moment they’d met. Perhaps if he pushed them to the ultimate conclusion, he’d be shed of her intoxicating appeal. Should he deflower her? Was that his plan? Had that been his plan all along?

  If she wasn’t interested in having him as her husband, he shouldn’t be in her room, in her bed, but he wasn’t about to walk away. She was being perfectly ridiculous, and he didn’t have to listen to her. He never listened to women, so why start with her?

  Besides, if they waltzed to iniquity, he might realize that marriage to her was a brilliant idea. She might realize it too.

  Or maybe it was the lust talking. His anatomy had a deed in mind that could never resolve to her benefit, but in his present chaotic state, he was weary of all his mental wrangling and was keen for a more basic event to occur. He was an active, physical man, and sexual play was a vital physical activity. If a bout of fornication couldn’t fix what was wrong, what could?

  If there was a warning bell clanging out the message that he was on the verge of reprehensible conduct, he didn’t have to pay attention to it.

  She was wearing a nightgown and robe, but in his opinion, she had on entirely too many clothes. Swiftly, he divested her of her robe. The nightgown was white and virginal, with tiny straps over her shoulders and pretty flowers embroidered on the bodice.

  Gradually, he tugged down the straps to bare her bosom, and he dipped down and feasted on her exquisite breasts. He continued forever, sucking, nibbling, moving from one to the other as he worked the hem of her nightgown up her legs. His busy fingers roamed up and up until he could slip them into her tight sheath and send her soaring to the heavens.

  She cried out with joy, and he held her, preening as she reached her peak, as she tumbled down.

  “How do you do that to me?” she asked when she could speak again.

  “It’s simple. You’re a trollop at heart.”

  Her jaw dropped in protest. “I am not a trollop.”

  He chuckled. “I didn’t say you were. You merely have the heart of one, but I don’t deem that a negative trait in a female.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  He’d slyly wedged his torso between her shapely thighs, his body positioned precisely where he needed it to be. He felt as if he was perched on a cliff, and he had two choices. He could run to the edge and jump over or he could retreat and forget about committing an irresponsible act.

  Unfortunately for both of them, the cliff beckoned, and the safe route vanished in a fog of passion.

  “I want you to give me something special,” he said.

  “What is it?”

  “You know what.”

  “You want to…to…”

  She didn’t possess the appropriate terminology, and her lack of prurient edification underscored how awfully he was behaving. But he didn’t, didn’t, didn’t care!

  “It’s marital conduct,” she said, “and we’re not married.”

  “We don’t have to be married.”

  “If we’re not husband and wife, it’s a sin.”

  “Preachers claim it is, but I’m not a religious man.”

  “Is that your excuse? You’re not religious, so sin is irrelevant?”

  “Yes.” He kissed her again and again, and he was melting her defenses. “Let me be with you like this, Jo.”

  “We shouldn’t, Peyton.”

  “Probably not, but don’t you see? This is the only path for us.”

  “You just proposed, and I refused you. My decision should have quelled any notion of proceeding.”

  “Nothing could shove us off this road. It’s meant to be. Can’t you feel it?”

  “I feel a certain emotion,” she churlishly replied, “but I don’t suppose it’s Fate harping at me to ruin myself.”

  “Please? It will make me so happy.”

  She frowned at him, then groaned with dismay. “You don’t play fair, and you use my fondness against me. I can’t ever stand up to you.”

  “You’re allowed to make me happy. I’m much nicer when I am.”

  “That’s debatable.” She scoffed with annoyance. “You’re exploiting my good nature and pressuring me into misdeeds I shouldn’t attempt.”

  “Am I pressuring you, Jo? Really? Tell me you don’t wish to be closer to me.”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  “Do you trust me?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you trust me.”

  “I trust you in some ways, but not in all ways.”

  “Trust me in this. It will be wonderful. I swear it.”

  “What if you plant a babe in my belly? What then?”

  At the question, he nearly raised a fist in triumph. If she was thinking about consequences, he was obviously succeeding in his quest to gain her acquiescence.

  “I know how to avoid it,” he said.

  “Promise me you’ll be careful. Promise you won’t hurt me.”

  “Hurt you! I’d rather cut off my arm.”

  Their banter dwindled, and she seemed to be out of arguments. Or perhaps she was actually keen to continue, but was too morally inclined to admit it. She nodded or at least he persuaded himself that’s what he saw.

&nbs
p; And why wouldn’t she be amenable? They were so besotted, and even though she’d stupidly rejected his proposal, her reticence didn’t alter anything. It didn’t tamp down the ardent desire that simmered below the surface.

  He started in, driving her up and up the spiral of amour. He was nursing at her breasts, touching her between her legs. All the while, he was preparing himself, unbuttoning his trousers, tugging them down to his flanks, freeing his cock and centering it.

  Another orgasm swept over her, and as she tensed, he clutched at her hips and raced to folly. There was no other choice. When he’d told her their relationship was meant to be, he truly believed it. Fate had tossed her into his path, and she was destined to be his.

  He flexed with his hips, once, twice, and just that easily, he was fully impaled.

  She exhaled a puff of breath and murmured, “Oh.”

  “My God, but you are so sweet.”

  “Am I…are we…will you…? Is that it?”

  “Almost. Are you all right?”

  She scowled, taking stock. “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “Hold on while I finish, so you can learn how it ends.”

  He began to thrust, pushing in all the way, pulling out to the tip. He’d intended a long, slow fornication, but she was tight and wet, her virgin’s blood urging him on, coaxing his seed from his loins much before he was ready.

  He couldn’t delay, and he plunged in deep and spilled himself against her womb. Though his brain was yelling at him to yank away, to conclude in a sane manner, he was so overwhelmed that he couldn’t exercise any caution.

  You’re mine now! Mine!

  The words riveted him, and he preened with satisfaction. He’d been reckless and negligent, but he wasn’t sorry. In the morning, when he was more lucid, he would suffer no remorse. They had arrived precisely where they were supposed to be.

  He flexed until the last drop was spent, then he collapsed onto her. He lay very still, feeling her tremble beneath him. After a bit, he drew away, their bodies separating. He rolled onto his side, and she rolled too so they were nose to nose.

  “What did you think of that, Josephine Bates?” he asked.

  “It was quite shocking, Commander Prescott.”

  “Yes, the first time definitely can be, but it gets better with repetition.”