by Eva Devon
A flash of fear crossed her features. “I don’t see how.”
Something strange was happening to him. Something completely unfamiliar and as he lowered his head, he whispered. “Sight isn’t very reliable my darling. But this is.”
He did not kiss her mouth, but tilted her face slightly and kissed her brow. Then reverently, worshipfully, he traced kisses along his beautiful, un-prepossessing wife’s face. And with each feather light press of his lips to her warm skin, his body unfurled with a passion so intense, he could scarce draw breath.
A soft gasp emanated from her and she tilted her head back, offering herself up to him.
Inwardly, Jack felt satisfaction that she was blossoming under his touch. Yes. He would help her see how beautiful she was. It was perhaps the one thing a man like himself could give her.
Her hands came up from her sides and tentatively rested on his shoulders. “Kiss me.”
“I am kissing you,” he teased softly.
Much to his amazement, she pounded a fist against his arm. “Properly,” she demanded.
He laughed. His darling Cordelia wanted what she wanted, and he couldn’t help but admire that. “And how exactly is that?” he asked against her soft skin as he slid his lips along her jaw.
Cordelia’s chest lifted up and down, her breasts pressing suggestively against her tight frock. “W-with passion.”
The hitch in her voice was nearly his undoing but he would not allow his passion to take rein. Not yet. Not when he needed to gain her trust so that she might enjoy her first bout of love making.
It was so tempting to brand her lips with his kiss but that wasn’t right. Not with Cordelia. “Kiss me.”
“What?”
He bent his head down until his lips were within her reach. “You kiss me. . . If you want to, that is.”
She licked her lower lip and stared at his lips for a moment as if this was an idea she had never contemplated. Slowly, she traced her hands up his arms, placed them atop his shoulders, lifted herself onto her toes, and kissed him. Hard.
He was tempted to pull back at the frontal assault to his mouth, but he wanted her to adventure into her unknown land, and to do that, he would follow her lead.
She leaned back, a look of frustration upon her face. “That wasn’t right.”
He refrained form grinning, knowing how she’d take it. “How do you want to be kissed? Think about that. Then kiss me in that way.”
She nodded and closed her eyes. A soft blush caressed her cheeks and her lips curved in a seductive smile.
“You’ve decided?” he asked, his own body alive with desire. Desire so intense he kept himself still, lest he drag her body against his.
She opened her eyes. Carefully, she brought one hand to rest upon his cheek. Tilting her head to the side, she touched her lips to his so softly at first it was barely a kiss at all, but then she began to open her mouth slightly, taking his bottom lip gently between hers and then she urged his face closer to hers and slipped her tongue into his mouth.
Jack’s brain nearly went blank. Good Christ. Cordelia’s mouth worked over his with a shockingly sensual skill and the feel of her delicate tongue tracing over his shoved him over the edge. He wrapped his arms about her, plastering her body against his and every curve of her form melded to his.
Splaying his hands over her back, he touched his tongue to hers giving now as much as taking.
At the onslaught, Cordelia slid her fingers through his hair, holding onto him for dear life as she threw herself wholeheartedly into their kiss.
The loud bang of a gunshot had Jack grabbing Cordy. He shoved her down to the floor and he tossed his body atop hers, his entire form going into battle shock.
Plasterwork showered down upon them and Jack glanced up, searching for the shooter. “Cease! It’s the Duke of Hunt.”
“Your Grace?” a voice called from the back of the house. Clearly, hiding behind a wall, making ready for another attack.
“Yes, damn it,” he growled.
“I don’t believe you,” the armed man called.
Jack let forth a blue streak of curses.
“Who is that?” Cordy hissed, her eyes wide and her face decidedly flushed from the weight of his body atop hers.
“One of Charles’ cracked soldiers. I believe its Harris.”
“C-cracked?”
“Now is not the opportune moment to explain,” Jack said. Explaining how Charles and Jack gave employment to men who were too shaken from the battle fields to do any sort of work was a time consuming business that most of the ton thought was complete nonsense. Charles had found the fellow to care for the Dukes’ Club’s private country gathering. “Harris?” he called.
“Password.” The other man said most determinedly.
Jack grimaced. “French Letter.”
Immediately, Harris shuffled out into the hall, his curly gold hair threaded with silver a blaze like an off balance halo in the morning light. “Pass friend.”
Jack sighed and rolled off Cordelia, refusing to contemplate the intimacy of their position, not when Harris was in the vicinity.
Cordy omphed as he re-distributed his weight and as soon as she could clearly breath again she asked, “Why in goodness name, would French communications be a password.”
Harris grinned. “Not communications ma’am. They’re—”
“Harris,” Jack growled before the other man could educate his wife in the practices of sheathing a cock for protection against the diseases of Venus. It was tempting to give the old soldier a set down, but ’twould do no good but to crush the other man, who no doubt took his hard won position very seriously. “Good work.”
Harris gave a nod. “Thank you, Your Grace. I was reading and heard most curious noises. I saw you, but one can never be too certain. Doubles don’t you know. Old Boney, he’s a sly one.”
Cordy glanced at Jack askance. “Boney?”
“Bonaparte,” Jack offered, somehow keeping his face straight lest he harm old Harris’s feelings. The old fellow had taken a musket butt to the head and never quite recovered. He’d saved the colors though, never letting them fall into enemy hands. He’d been a hero. A man that inspired hundreds of other men to face the French bravely, despite the seemingly never ending supply of soldiers in Napoleon’s infamous columns and cavalry.
Now, the rest of England found him to be an irritant. Someone expendable as though men like Harris weren’t saving the nation from tyranny and French rule. Jack shook the sadness aside, unwilling to dwell on such thoughts. Not with Cordy beside him. She was sunshine to his sorrow and he would never contaminate her with that side of his life.
She didn’t deserve that kind of poison. No. She deserved a million perfect days and someone to worship her as the prim and maddeningly seductive goddess she was.
“My apologies ma’am,” Harris said, sketching an odd little bow, his hair flopping about his ears. “But spies be everywhere. Couldn’t take the risk of failing Lord Charles or His Grace.”
Cordy stared for a moment before smiling. “You did your duty most successfully, I assure you. I for one understand how important it is to be diligent in the protection of what one values.”
Harris’s cheeks blossomed red.
Jack eyed his wife, a shocked sort of awe warming the general vicinity of his heart. Many would have offered a snide comment, or at best ignored the old soldier. Cordelia spoke with utter sincerity. It was beautiful and heart breaking at once because he could not recall one single person speaking thusly to himself.
Jack looked away quickly, horrified that he could be jealous of Harris and the kindness his wife bestowed upon the fellow. Jack sucked in a fortifying breath. He didn’t need kindness, nor sincere words. That was not what was at his core. And to think otherwise was foolish. Yes. Very foolish.
“What do you here, Your Grace?”
Jack snapped out of his reverie and focused on the servant. “We’ve come to stay the week.”
Harris ru
bbed his whiskered chin. “Oh aye. Secret business, no doubt?”
“Exactly,” Jack assured. “Can you fetch food from the village?”
“Certainly, Your Grace. Should you like me to lay a fire for the lady?”
“That would be most kind,” Cordelia said. “I should also like to wash.”
“Food first Harris. I’ll take care of the lady.”
A twinkle sparkled in the older man’s eye as if he was perhaps not as cracked as he seemed. “I’m sure ye will, Your Grace.”
Jack cleared his throat and started for the stair, gesturing for Cordelia to proceed him.
With a surprisingly bounding step, Cordelia headed up the stairs.
Jack’s gaze followed the swing of her hips as she ascended, that mysterious feeling still very much alive within his chest. And as she reached the landing and glanced back over her shoulder, a cheeky smile dimpling her cheeks, Jack wonder what the hell he had gotten himself into. For he had the very bad feeling if he was not careful, the student would quickly become the master.
Chapter 17
Cordelia gripped the windowsill, leaned forward, and immediately fogged up the pane. Scowling at the offending mist, she rubbed it off vigorously and resumed ogling her husband.
His jacket was off and his shirt was open at the neck. . . And he was pumping water most enthusiastically into wood buckets. She could only assume they were for her bath, but then in one astonishing move he dunked his entire head into a full bucket.
As he whipped his head back up, water flew everywhere and his hair tumbled about his head, liquid ink and the remaining water dampened his shirt, plastering it to his chest.
My God.
Cordelia had felt those muscles, but she had never been quite so intimately acquainted to the way they moved or their sculptural quality.
The impulse to bite him danced in her head and she gasped at her own audacity. How could one wish to bite another person? But she did, and oh that was not all she wished. Her breasts grew tight and much to her own shock, her nipples hardened beneath her frock. She drew in slow breaths, desperately trying to understand the present feelings ruling her body.
Just as he was about to resume pumping, he looked up.
For one moment, their eyes met. And then, he reached down to his waistband, pulled out his shirt and yanked it over his head.
Cordelia leaned forward and banged her nose against the windowpane.
A laugh poured from him, thundering along the small courtyard. Instantly, Cordy pulled back form the window. A mixture of discomfort, humiliation, and her earlier excitement making her usually quite reliable nerves as reliable as rival tribes killing a sheep together and making merry.
She crossed over to the fire, trailing her fingers along the simple yet beautifully carved mantle. The fire emanated a glorious warmth and she let out a sigh. Perhaps if she stood here for a solid hour she might feel some of the similar heat she had felt her whole life traveling from one ancient site to the next.
Or perhaps. Her eyes swung to the bed, her heart pounding in her chest. Perhaps, he could warm her.
That thought seemed to freeze any other threads of thought traipsing through her head. She stared at the thick, dark blue coverlet. She stared so long and hard her eyes began to burn. She understood the rudimentary ideas of lovemaking of course. Kathryn had intimated that the relations between a man and a woman could be quite pleasant, but from all the animal matings she had witnessed, her critical and fact seeking mind had difficulty accepting this. However, she couldn’t deny that the feelings brought to bear in her body whenever Jack was near were deliciously pleasurable.
The door swung open, breaking her reverie.
Jack, still delightfully damp, strode into the room, carrying two large buckets, one of them steaming. He carried them as if they weighed no more than pillows filled with down.
Harris followed behind, a copper hipbath over his shoulder.
Cordy stood to the side, resisting the urge to manage their labors and bit back a smile as Harris scooted to the fire, keeping his eyes askance. He plunked the tub down, then scuttled out of the room as if he stayed any longer he might be turned to salt, mumbling about “sin and the temptations of Babylon.”
“One would have thought he’d be used to Babylon by now,” Jack said as he poured the steaming bucket of water into the hipbath and then followed it with most of the cold.
Cordelia frowned. “I assume much Babylon has occurred here then?”
Jack tested the water with his fingertips, swirling them over the water in a most distracting way before he stood straight, his back tightening for a moment. “I shan’t deny it. But there has also been a considerable amount of simple conversation too.”
Drawing in a shaky breath, Cordelia wondered at the sudden distress curling through her stomach. Why should she give a care? She knew the kind of man her husband was. In fact, his superior knowledge of the bedchamber was one of the reasons it had not been difficult to agree to one week with him.
He turned to her, an eyebrow arching in a seductive challenge. “Are you jealous?”
She lifted her chin and sniffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Is it?”
She shifted on her feet, forcing herself to meet his gaze lest he think she was hiding her true feelings. “What?”
“Is it ridiculous,” he asked softly. “We are all jealous at some point.”
Folding her hands firmly together, she avoided the idea of claiming ownership to the man standing but a few feet from her. “You are not mine,” she pointed out. “How can I be jealous of what is not mine?”
He cocked his head to the side, his eyes growing suddenly languid. “What if I told you that I consider you mine?”
More heat, preposterous most confusing heat coiled in her abdomen turning her legs to jelly. Drawing in a restorative breath she managed, “I would say you were deluded.”
Silently, he crossed to her and slid his hand to the nape of her neck. His fingers wove gently into her coiled hair. “Delusion is a damned fine thing at times.”
Her lips parted and she glanced up at him, wondering if this was it then. Would this be the moment where she lost her virginity? She’d waited so long. It was all she could do to recall that this was no dream.
But Jack slid his fingers over her neck then carefully he turned her so that her back faced him.
Cordelia’s eyes flared as he deftly began untying laces and undoing buttons. He knew her gown better than she did, and at this moment she was quite glad. For it was stifling her. She wanted it off. She wanted his clothes removed as well. And she wanted all the time in the world to discover the mysterious of his body and how her body could interact with his.
In a matter of moments, her gown was naught but a pool of fabric on the floor and she stood in her chemise and stockings. Jack’s body was curved against her back, his power and presence enough to set her trembling with anticipation.
Carefully, he brushed a lock of hair form her neck, then so softy he almost might not have done it, he pressed a kiss to the curve where her throat met her shoulder. “I have wanted this since the moment I set eyes upon you,” he whispered.
Her eyes fluttered shut, and she dropped her head back, letting it rest against his chest. She couldn’t speak. It wasn’t possible to tell him she felt the same, for she would never let herself be that vulnerable. But his soft proclamation was nearly her undoing.
Jack’s hands came to rest on her hips. Slowly, he drew her chemise up, sliding the fabric deliciously over her skin until he whipped it up and over her head so that she stood in nothing but slippers and stockings.
To her shock he knelt down behind her, placed his hands on her waist. With a slight pressure to the curvature of her hips, he urged her to turn towards him.
Jack stared up at her, his face alight with what could only be termed as worship. Her heart slammed in her chest. No one had ever looked at her thusly. No one. Tears stung her eyes and out of sheer instinct, s
he tentatively held out a hand then wove it into his dark hair.
“You are beautiful,” he said gently.
And for once, by the way he beheld her, she finally believed it. A tear threatened to spill down her cheek, so she drew in a deep breath and said lightly, “You promised to show me.”
“So I did.” With that, Jack trailed his fingertips over her hips then down to her thighs, pausing to linger at the bows holding her stockings in place.
She waited for him to untie them, but instead, he leaned forward and kissed her hip. With deliberately delicate kisses, he made his way down her thigh and hovered over the bow. Then with shocking ease, he took the ribbon between his teeth and tugged.
The bow came free as did her stocking, which he rolled down her calf in agonizing degrees. Reverently, he removed her slipper and pulled her stocking off then tossed it, fluttering to the floor.
Cordy couldn’t stop her legs from shaking ever so slightly at his onslaught of sensual touch. It was not what she had expected at all. Really, she didn’t know what she had expected but certainly not this slow, sensual onslaught.
What ever would he do next?
He repeated the action with her other stocking. Once she stood naked before him, a wave of nerves whispered through her body. What if he did not care for what he saw? What if her reality did not live up to what he had desired.
As if he sensed her thoughts, he glanced up at her. “I am going to make love to you so often this week, you shan’t be able to walk.”
She gasped, not truly understanding what such a thing meant, but his voice alone was enough to evoke a desire so intense it was all she could do not to launch herself at him.
He stood, his body moving with a remarkable beauty. He took her hand in his and led her to the bathtub. “Let me take care of you.”
Inexplicably, she started to pull back.
The pressure of his hand on hers increased. “No one ever has, have they?”
She swallowed, a sense of panic taking over her desire.
“Cordelia,” he said gently. “What have you to lose by letting me take care of you?”