Angel eyes held him. “Yes, Wolferton. It might be the change I seek. When?”
Ahh, to be so young and hopeful. “Tomorrow, early afternoon. We’ll take Loup and Kort with us. Let’s spend the time in relaxed activities. Have you ever ridden a horse?” he asked Jaclyn.
“No, never, but I would like to learn. Does it require a lot of time?”
The eyes that burnished tears now cleared in wide-eyed wonder. Her smile beamed at him. The metamorphosis transformed her mood from sadness to a grin of laughter. He curled a smile at the corner of his mouth at how it pleased him to see the happy side of her.
“Yes, but we all start somewhere. I’ll teach you. You will get better with each practice. Hmm, Camille, you were a good rider as I remember. Did we purchase a riding outfit for Jaclyn? And do you have one for yourself?”
Camille nodded. “Jaclyn and I both have them. It’s about time for a celebration of sorts, one which allows us to be who we are without a care in the world.”
“I believe, my dear, your friend Josette and her father might one day like to join us there,” said Camille.
“Splendid idea. We can make plans when we return, or better yet invite them to Hertfordshire. Perhaps we’ll invite others, too,” Wolferton said. Halifax would not get an invitation unless it was to a duel.
“Camille, after we are there for a day or two, you might wish to have a picnic. Nothing too big, but something the gentry could attend.”
Camille laughed. “We can decide as we go along. I am anxious for the touch of brilliant sunshine on my face and fare from the gardens. There’s nothing like fresh root vegetables newly picked. I can taste them now, roasted, smothered in rosemary herbs and butter. Good night, brother.”
He arose. “Good night, sister. Pray for us.” Then he turned to Jaclyn. “Good night,” he said, and his gaze followed as they left.
****
The six-hour ride along the Great North Road to Wolferton’s country estate contained a pleasant conversation about lighthearted subjects. They stopped at toll gates along the way, and halfway there, they exchanged the hired horses for fresh ones.
When the country home came into view, he realized how much he loved the tall architecture against the massive expanse of puffed clouds in a blue sky. Built in the eleventh century and then refurbished and modernized during the past years, its magnificence stunned everyone who came upon it.
“This has been the home of my ancestral family for many decades, and it was special to me at one time. I’ve been away much too long.” Wolferton furrowed his brow at the thought, and he wondered, why? The answer never changed. His father preferred city-life. When Wolferton inherited, he placed his personal stamp on this home. The estate was his legacy for his people. He could make changes for the better with the power he now had. How could he have forgotten? So engrossed in his past, he forgot about his future.
As the servants came forth to greet their patron, the family descended the coach and climbed the broad steps to the ivy-vined portico.
The sight of Jaclyn’s mouth agape caused titillation in him.
“My goodness, where does it begin and end?” She clung to Camille’s arm with her gaze elevated to the pinnacles.
Halbert instructed the staff to transport the luggage to the appropriate rooms. Camille and Jaclyn were in the east wing while Wolferton occupied the west wing chambers all former dukes used. He’d had the suite refurbished to his tastes, with the special elimination of painted walls of centaurs, Olympian gods, naked women, and burgeoning men. He moved to another suite because of the sexual innuendo of the Bacchanalian decor. Now it had a combination of classic elegance with a Turkish influence of minarets framed against a calm sea and a sunny background. His needs were few, and he only occupied two of the four-room suite.
Halbert issued instructions that the family was to dine together in three hours. More than enough time for the ladies to rest or prowl about the premises. Wolferton surmised which endeavor would suit Jaclyn.
Before Jaclyn and Camille ascended the staircase, Wolferton advised he’d spend time in the study. However, if they wanted to tour the large conservatory, he’d be available. Jaclyn was quick to indicate her delight at the prospect.
Wolferton contented himself to gaze at Jaclyn’s pretty backside as she scooted up to her designated room in carefree abandon. Good, so far his plan appeared to work, but as any military man would know, it wasn’t over until he won the last battle.
Chapter Twenty-Five
A Moral Definition in Disguise
Wolferton leaned back in the big chair behind his desk, feet crossed on its edge. Suddenly the patter of footsteps and prowling paw pads approached. The sight of Jaclyn and Loup in the room he so loved brightened his heart. He enjoyed the newness of observing her in awe of the books as she scanned every nook and cranny of his spacious study, and it more than pleased him. The richness of the room crammed with bookcases from floor to ceiling, with a fine antique ladder on wheels to reach the upper books, was a special addition of his. Many times in the past, the gilt-edged tomes were all he’d had for comfort. The ones designated as unworthy by his father because of their non-sexual content resided at the inconvenient highest shelves, so Wolferton read subjects of extreme interest to him.
“If I were you, Your Grace, I’d never leave this place. One gets a sense of freedom and serenity like nowhere in the city.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’ll never miss its foul air and rutty streets.”
She twirled about as her skirts lifted to display a fine ankle.
Jaclyn’s long slim fingers skimmed along the shelves and touched the fine binders. “Do you have to change to other clothes? Or do you wear a gardener’s apron in your conservatory here?”
“No, to both questions. The best part of life here is, I am one with the earth and its landscape. Many times during the wars, there was comfort when I sifted the dirt through my hands. The soil speaks if one takes the time to listen…to study and smell its properties. The loam is unique to specific areas.” He turned to her. “There are times I think too much about extraneous subjects.”
He wondered why he had not thought to bring Jaclyn here before? Possibly two reasons, the first being the love he held for the place as a young child escaped him in his grown up years. His father never cared for country life, so he lived a good time in London. The second hit further to his heart because this is where he fell in love with Isabella. The end of that relationship duplicated a Greek tragedy.
He closed the folders on his desk, rose, and came around to Jaclyn’s side. Wolferton extended his hand and smiled again. “Come, let’s walk along the back garden path. There’s so much beauty to see. I had made up my mind not to lecture you, but I would ask you to take care if you value my life for I’m getting too old to fight duels over you.” While his tone held mirth, the constant thought nagged. Halifax could push him too far.
She stopped him, stood tall and wide-eyed. “I more than value your life. You are everything to me.” Unreadable lowered eyelids appeared to disguise her emotions. His mind envisioned her journal and her comments about him. Please let Radolf love me as I love him.
They were near the lakefront at a bench with a one-hundred-eighty-degree view of the land and hills. He led her to the seat. “When it appeared you had run away, all I could think was you were alone and vulnerable.” He took a deep breath, a slight pause, and held his gaze to hers. “Miss Jaclyn, there are unscrupulous men and women of every class who will lure you into horrendous situations. They seek beautiful women whom they can sell to the harems of the Orient or put them to use in brothels in faraway countries where there is no escape. So I envisioned I’d have to hire a pirate ship if only to discover you in some Sultan’s private domain and disguise myself as a eunuch to gain entry. Or at worst, find you dead somewhere.”
He reached for her hand and held it a while. “Certainly not a pleasant thought.” Wolferton arose and lifted her to him. He took both her hands to his chest. “Feel my he
art.” He wanted to say it beat only for her, since he yearned to go where the innocent beauty beckoned him but couldn’t because she might not believe him.
He released her and placed both his hands on the side of her head. Trusting eyes, so deep and wondrous, gazed back at him.
“I should thank you for your rescue of me at the ball. Much to my regret, I realize there’s flirtation and then there’s something else called seduction,” she whispered at the use of that word.
Without caution, Wolferton lowered his hands to her shoulders, then realized he almost shook her. “What do you know about seduction?” Fear crept through his innards. Had Halifax, despite his vigilance, ruined her somehow? Her shocked expression at his spontaneous reaction held him. He stepped back as if struck. “Miss Jaclyn, you can tell me anything, and I won’t disparage you, but I will kill Halifax. You are precious to me. More than you know.” He smashed one fist into his other hand.
She took both his palms in hers. “Dear sir, I promise I won’t do such a foolish thing ever again unless…it’s with you.”
The last three whispered words pleased him, but he had to ask, “Did he…” He held his breath, afraid of her answer to his pained question.
“No, he didn’t seduce me, if this is your question.” Jaclyn removed her gaze from his.
He exhaled a sigh so great it blew the tendrils of her hair, then he kissed her forehead with gentleness, though tumultuous emotions within roiled unbidden. “Camille told me you wouldn’t marry anyone because your heart belongs to someone else. Who is he? Do I know him?”
The stroke of her hand on his cheek undid him. His voice hitched, and he waited for her answer, but nothing came forth. The touch of her fingers on the side of his head tantalized. He stilled them. “Tell me.” He demanded.
“The matter is between the gentleman and me, Your Grace. You ask too much.”
Like a dagger to his heart, her answer told him he wasn’t the one! Yet in her diary, her written words were for him.
Without a thought at who might see him and whether what he wanted to do was wrong or right, he pulled Jaclyn to him, bent his head low, and tilted her chin in absolute alignment to his lips. Perfection was within his grasp.
Her lips were soft as satin, sweet as nectar, and when she clasped him around his neck, what else could he do but coax her mouth to open to his. When she did, the gossamer thread of sensuality mated with intense desire and overcame him. Not his true intent, Jaclyn’s reaction to his advances drenched his weary heart. He surmised this might seem foreign to such an innocent, and when she returned equal ardor, his body imprisoned her in a web of his love. No, much stronger, his adoration for her consumed his soul. The fullness of her breasts crushed against his chest became a silent request for more of the same kisses.
“Does your intended kiss you like I do?”
She didn’t answer because he maneuvered her out of sight against a tree. Her maiden’s glance and blush affirmed he hadn’t lost the effect of persuasive lips. Different from his past dalliances, these kisses were meant only for her. In their short time together, she had imprinted his heart with the true worth of love. Such a dangerous sensation to a man such as he. Was it puppy love on her part when he wanted it to be forever?
“If you had asked me, I would have given you lessons, but it would be improper. I withdraw the offer.” He frowned and inhaled.
****
Sweet heaven, Jaclyn sighed. He backed her into a tree, and all she wanted was for him to reclaim her lips. He was a man hungry for a demonstration of her love. His lips, warm and moist, sent the pit of her stomach into a wild swirl and left her body on fire. Goodness, his voice rolled over her like a lover’s touch. Trapped between a fully aroused man with decadent kisses and the sturdy unyielding oak at her back, he made her wish for more of his masterful touch. The weight of his body pressed against her, feverish for his touch. With willful abandon, she accepted his lips as they feather-touched her eyes, nose, and throat. Blind instinct led her, and with unspoken words, she kissed his eyebrows, one by one. Then his cheeks and his mouth again. Sweet heaven, what happened to her, and what had she done in the name of love? She tingled from head to toe sure she would burst into unquenchable fire.
And then he did a terrible thing. His thumb skimmed her lips with a gentle touch. Molten desire sluiced through her like a rivulet of lava, all the quicker to ignite every unknown desire she ever conjured. Shocked at her eager response at the touch of those wondrous lips and his marvelous use of them, his masculinity claimed her, tender one moment and rigorous the next.
The dreamy intimacy caught her at a complete loss, and the pain of her heartbeat knocked against her rib cage and deprived her of much-needed air. Here and now, he was the danger represented in one prolonged kiss. Or was it more than one? Her anxious heart would remember his kisses for a lifetime. With only lips and a swift tongue, he’d claimed her as his.
But one kiss—or two—could never be enough.
In this short interlude, he gave her the opportunity to feel—taste—touch, for one moment, and all she could think about was the unbearable desire to have more of his mouth, his lips, and his wicked, wicked, wicked tongue. Lost in the moment, when he showered wet kisses along her jaw, and then her throat, she purred. His masculine nearness required, and then demanded satisfaction.
A wolf-like growl left his mouth. A slow, lazy burn threatened to ignite into an inferno until he stepped back three steps. Each step tore Jaclyn apart. “Don’t leave me like this, Wolferton.” He must not leave her at this moment. She became a depraved, wanton female. Sweet heaven, she was headed straight to hell!
“I demonstrated how a man kisses a woman he desires and wants as a wife. If your mysterious intended takes you before marriage, he will disabuse you. Will you now tell me about him?”
Jaclyn wanted to beat against his chest. Damn him. All of this was a moral lesson about the consequences of seduction. Well, she’d find a way to make him pay, for she would make sure the next time he’d be the one who crawled away on his knees without satisfaction. She would assure there would be a next time. Bereft as an empty vessel, the effort needed to breathe almost choked her.
“You are a scoundrel, scandalous, dangerous—and brooding,” she whispered. “I will never tell you who he is.” She went to push him away, his nearness still too close, his desire too obvious.
Unmovable as granite, he brushed his hand on the side of her head and pushed a hairpin into place, his laughter mocked her. “Very well, I’m sure you’ll tell me when the appropriate time comes. Shall we continue our stroll, my Jaclyn?”
Had she heard correctly? He called her My Jaclyn.
First on her list was to read about sensual women of the Bible, those who drove men to wild imaginings and ultimately consigned them to hell. With a determination born of desire, she plotted as they continued along the path, and disguised her formidable anger.
“Wolferton, rest assured you’ll be the last to know.” Then she forced a seductive smile, blew him a kiss, and walked quickly out of his hearing.
Idiot, it is you. I don’t know whether to be happy or sad. There never could be anyone else.
Chapter Twenty-Six
A Promise of Love
“Wait for me,” said Wolferton. Not sure what possessed him, he felt it his solemn duty to show Jaclyn the error of romantic notions when one of the two parties lacked sincerity. The irksome arousal during their passionate interlude drained every ounce of control, for he wanted her then and there, as much as he sensed her want of him. The only exception was, she didn’t understand love, sex, or bed-sport required a satisfaction for both parties. He had this troublesome jealousy of all other men. His sister was correct in her assertion no man in existence could qualify as Jaclyn’s husband.
In all truth, he enjoyed his hours in the country with her. His naked imagination took flight since this was only the start of all his plans to dissuade Jaclyn from any further infatuation with Halifax. And this suited as
a goal for the moment.
Wolferton caught up with her. She seemed annoyed, as he expected. So he walked along in silence, hands clasped behind his back, prepared to speak when necessary. The absence of words in some ways offered the opportunity for further thought on his part.
“Is the large glass-domed building your conservatory?”
“Yes, my great-great grandfather had it constructed during the war to assure food would be available for sustenance to his tenants, and flowers for their natural fragrance and beauty. A connoisseur of all nature’s bounty, he appreciated their value.”
He gathered her closer. “This structure has the perfect climate for my black roses. I confess the arborist tells me he believes he has conquered the formula so we may grow them for sale to elite florists in London. Wouldn’t it be grand? It would lend a profit to all other estate ventures.” He took her hand. “Come inside, and let me show you.”
Wolferton led Jaclyn through the door where there were young trees, palms, florals, and, of course, his roses.
“Do you spend a lot of time here?” she asked, her head turned upward to the glass ceiling.
“No, when I first inherited, most of my time was spent in London with the barristers and bankers who guided me in the operation of the dukedom. I made brief visits here as the heir, but my memories are of my childhood. I’ve been remiss. However, because of those same memories, I will spend more time here.”
“I can see how your inheritance also became a burden. You continue to amaze me.” She shared a smile with him.
“My Jaclyn, my dearest desire is for your happiness in our days here.” He pouted and focused his gaze away from her sweet face. How had he made such a slip to call her My Jaclyn again? He’d have to exercise restraint. After all, she did say she had a particular husband in mind. Damn Halifax. If he was her chosen one, it would lead to disaster.
The Blue-Eyed Black-Hearted Duke Page 12