by Lucy Monroe
If dancing with him had been dangerous, conversing with him was lethal to her peace of mind. "I’m sorry. I will try to do better." She took a deep breath, wracking her mind for something of interest to add. "I grow small China roses in the conservatory and some tea roses as well. They’re quite lovely and terribly fragile. They make me feel needed."
She hadn’t meant to say that last bit. It had slipped out in her effort to talk in paragraphs. She wasn’t used to it. One word answers were safer and silence was safest. There was less chance of words being taken out of context that way, or her comments being misinterpreted by others.
"Will you dance with me again?"
His question caught her by surprise and she stared at him in stunned shock, much as he had reacted to her earlier.
His black brow rose in sardonic query. "Is the idea of repeating the experience so appalling?"
"No." It was much, much, too appealing.
He put his hand out in peremptory demand. "Then, come."
She stared at his hand and felt the seductive draw of his warmth and vitality. What could it hurt? She would not return to Lady Ashton’s during the house party. She would not see Jared again. Surely, she could withstand one more dance with him.
Reaching out, she placed her hand in his, her fingers trembling as his warmth enveloped them through the two layers of their gloves. He pulled her into his arms and onto the ballroom floor as the orchestra struck up a waltz. A waltz. She had been prepared for a country dance, but not this. This holding of her person, his large body so close to her own.
Her trembling increased.
He squeezed her hand. "An angel need not fear a mere mortal, even if he is a beast."
Her head snapped up and unaccustomed anger flared inside her. "I am not an angel and you are no beast. Please do not refer to yourself in such a fashion in my company."
His thumb moved in a strangely affecting caress against the indentation of her waist and she shivered. Did he have any idea the impact his nearness had on her? She felt that tiny movement of his thumb with every fiber of her being.
His lips quirked in mockery. "The rest of the ton sees me as such. Why are you so sure they are wrong?"
"I know a beast when I see one...now."
He did not ask how or even what she meant, for which she was grateful. He merely nodded. "But you fit the role of angel to perfection."
Despair washed over her. That hated word...perfection. She was not perfect as her husband and the rest of his family had made pains to point out. Others had paid the price for her inability to attain the ideal.
She hated the sight of herself in a looking glass. Her own outward beauty served as a mocking reminder of how far short of perfection she fell where it counted...inside. She was weak, a coward. She had let others be hurt because she had withdrawn behind her walls of icy reserve, her only defense against the slights and cruelties Clairborne had been so good at serving up.
She could have made stronger efforts to protect her servants from his wrath, but she had been terrified of standing up to him. The final price of her own cowardice had been too high, the lesson of her own fallibility too well learned. Because of her, a young girl – a sweet child full of vitality and joy - had died. She could never forgive herself or forget that she was more sinner than angel.
"Appearances are deceptive."
CHAPTER TWO
Jared read bleak despair in Calantha’s eyes before it disappeared behind a composed façade.
What did she mean? Was she as much a monster as her dead husband? Jared had been prepared to accept that as truth before, but now he questioned the probability.
She radiated a vulnerability that did not coincide with a cruel nature. Had she been as much a victim of her husband as the other woman? The thought left him filled with cold rage.
"Have I said something to anger you?" she asked quietly, her eyes once again mirroring nervous fear before she hid it.
He glared at her, finding the workings of her feminine mind incomprehensible. Why should he be angry with her? "Of course not," he growled.
She tried to step out of his grasp, but he tightened his hold and continued to dance. "The music has not ended."
She ceased her struggles, but her body remained stiff in his arms and her movements had grown jerky as she tried to follow him through the waltz.
"Have you decided I’m a beast after all?"
She shook her head, making another useless attempt to pull away from his arms. "I am sorry. I’m merely tired. Perhaps it is time I found my carriage and went home."
The ball was not half over. Damn it. She was afraid of him. "Perhaps if I left, you would be willing to stay," he said with sarcastic honesty.
Her hand against his arm tightened in what seemed like a reflexive gesture and her gaze flew to his. "No. Please. I don’t want you to go."
"But you want to escape me."
She didn’t deny it.
"Why did you ask me to dance, Calantha?"
"I don’t know."
"It seems out of character for an angel."
She winced. "Yes."
"So why did you do it?"
She shook her head as if trying to dislodge the question from her mind, but he wasn’t going to let her go until she answered. He needed to know.
He squeezed her small waist with his hand. "Tell me."
"Why does it matter?"
"I want to know."
Her gaze locked with his. "The chit, Beatrice, lied. She was afraid to dance with you and it made me angry."
"You’re afraid of me, too."
Once again she didn’t deny his accusation.
"Say it, damn you. Tell me you are afraid of me."
Her gaze did not so much as waver. "Yes. I am afraid of you," she all but whispered.
"But you asked me to dance anyway."
"Yes."
"Why? Bloody hell. Tell me why."
"I’ve told you. Because Beatrice lied."
"Why do you care? You don’t know me. You’re afraid of me the same as she is."
"No."
"Yes. You bloody well admitted it." He hated liars and it twisted his guts for her to resort to being one.
"No. I did not admit to fearing you like she does. She’s a fool who only sees the outer man and she fears that man. I’m afraid of who you are on the inside."
Did she think he harbored the same sort of inner depravity as her deceased husband? "You do think I’m a beast, but more than just in appearance, is that it?"
"Stop it." She looked as shocked by her nearly shouted words as he was.
She kept her emotions tightly controlled. When he had first seen her, she had put him in mind of a beautiful marble statue, but now she trembled with her feelings.
Other dancers turned their heads to stare. Jared stopped dancing and pulled her out through a set of French doors into the darkness of the garden. Although summer, the air had cooled. It felt good after the heat of the ballroom.
"Stop what? Stop trying to understand the workings of an angel’s mind?"
"I’m not an angel. I’ve said it before, but clearly you did not understand. Angels are perfect and I fall far short of such a standard. I don’t think you are a beast either and I want you to stop saying that. I can’t stand it."
She sounded almost hysterical and Heaven alone knew why, but he pulled her to him in an effort to comfort her, just as he would have Hannah.
Pressing her head against one shoulder, he soothed her shaking with a light caress up and down her back. "Shh."
Her hand fisted in the fabric of his coat, crushing it. "This is what I’m afraid of. This gentleness I sensed the first night I saw you. You’re a very strong man, Jared, and you frighten me because of it."
He didn’t laugh at her description of him because her feelings were too fragile right now, but her assessment was ridiculous. He agreed that he was strong, stronger than most men, but gentle? No. He was rough. Forceful. Impatient. Anything but gentle. Not only were
her words laughable, they made no sense. How could his strength frighten her if she believed him to be gentle? Even if it was an erroneous belief, it should have calmed her fears.
"Explain to me again why you are afraid."
"Combined with your sort of power, your gentleness is terrifying." He could tell she found that difficult to admit, but he was still far from understanding.
"What kind of power is that?"
"The power to make me feel."
She might as well have landed a punch with the force of Gentleman Jackson to his midsection, her words slammed into him so hard. He made her feel? She was afraid of him because of what he made her feel?
"You are not afraid I will hurt your person?" he asked, just to clarify, his arms almost slack around her, his shock was so great.
"No, of course not."
She honestly did not think he was a monster. Far from it, she thought he was a man of power. A man. Not a beast.
For the first time since Mary's death, another person besides his family looked on him with acceptance. It soothed some of the pain at her loss, though he did not understand why. That he found comfort in the company of the widow to a man he could not help but hate confused him too.
Calantha pushed against him, this time succeeding in breaking his weakened hold. "I have to leave."
He looked down at her, his face set. "No."
"Please, Jared. You must realize that I cannot stay here with you. Not now." The light from the house illuminated the troubled, almost desperate, expression on her face.
"Because you’ve spoken the truth?" And it struck him that she had not lied about anything...yet.
"Please. Surely, I’ve answered enough of your questions. Let me go home now that you understand."
"But I don’t understand you. Not yet. Though I fully intend to." He reached out and took her shoulders in a light grip and began to pull her toward him, noting again her instant flinching at his touch.
However, she did not look frightened, nor did she pull against his hold. He knew, from somewhere deep inside him, it was not him personally that made her shy from the physical contact. It was something else and one day she would explain it, he would see to it.
He lowered his head until his mouth was a breath away from hers, inhaling the scent of roses and her own sweet feminine fragrance. "There’s so much more I have to learn."
"Please..."
He didn’t know if it was a plea to release her, or kiss her. He chose to do the latter.
***
As Jared’s lips tenderly caressed her own, Calantha feared she would faint from the feelings coursing through her. She had never experienced a sensation so exquisite, had never had her lips treated with such reverence.
This was insanity, the stuff of fantasy. She could not truly be standing in a darkened garden, allowing a gentleman she had met less than an hour ago kiss her. It was preposterous and yet she felt as if she would give a year of her life, nay five years, for the opportunity to experience a few more moments of such utter bliss.
His hands moved up from her shoulders to cup her neck and face and she raised her own to grip his wrists. The heat of his skin seared her and she wanted to tear off both his gloves and her own so she could feel the warmth of his fingers, the sinewy strength of his hands.
She heard a moan and realized with shock it had come from her. Her brain registered that her behavior was not at all proper, but she could not make herself care. For just this moment in time, she wanted to feel.
And feel she did.
Jared’s lips, oh such talented lips, moved against her own in a soft caress that she instinctively felt she should emulate, but she didn’t know how. So, she just experienced and reveled in the connection with another human being - with Jared.
Allowing him to nibble at her mouth was its own reward as it caused shivers of pleasure to rush down to her most private, feminine place in a wholly unexpected way. Heavens. Had other women felt this way before? Had her mother? No one had told her that she could experience such things.
And she had definitely not done so at her husband’s hand. But she would not think of him now. He had no place in this moment of beauty.
Jared pulled his head away from hers and she tried to follow it, to bring their lips back into contact, but he wouldn’t let her. She wanted to cry. Was it over, then? This was all she would have of such Heaven?
"Kiss me back," he demanded in a guttural voice.
She stared at him and all the inadequacies that had plagued her since her marriage came rushing forward to torment her. She had not been enough of a woman for Clairborne and she was not woman enough for Jared either. She couldn’t do what he asked because she didn’t know how. She felt tears that she had not allowed herself to shed since very early in her marriage prick at her eyes.
"I don’t know how," she admitted in a shamed whisper. "I’m sorry."
He said something very foul, in a voice rough with fury and she tried to pull away from the hands that held her face so gently. His thumbs pressed against the underside of her chin and forced her to lift her head so she had no choice, but to meet his gaze.
Even in the shadows, she could not mistake the intensity in his dark eyes. "Do you trust me?"
She felt herself nod even as her brain screamed that no man, no matter how gentle and strong, could be trusted. But her heart would not listen.
"Let me show you how."
"Yes." She wanted that. Very much.
He brushed her lips with his own, a light caress that made her want more, not just for the physical sensations it brought, but for the way it fed her frozen, hungry soul.
He let go of her, dropping his hands to his side. "Now you do it."
She did not think of denying him. She would do anything for just one more soul-stirring kiss. Cautiously, she took his face in her hands, feeling the rough skin of his scar through the thin covering of her glove. It reminded her of his sacrifice on his sister’s behalf and another kind of pleasure altogether burned through her. The pleasure of knowing a human being capable of and willing to sacrifice for those he loved.
She pulled his head down so that her lips could meet his. As she brushed them, incredible heat seared deep inside where she had been cold for so very long. He put his hands over hers, holding them against his cheeks and he kissed her again. This time nibbling gently at her lower lip for several seconds. She felt her body sway toward him, but his hold against her hands stopped her from actually coming close enough to touch him.
Lifting his mouth a fraction of an inch from hers, he said, "It’s your turn again."
He wanted her to nibble his lip? Did she have the courage to do it? He waited patiently as she made up her mind.
Then she pulled him down that last bit and pressed her lips to his before taking his lower lip between her teeth and nibbled as if tasting a marvelous new treat. Indeed, that is exactly how he tasted. Rare and wonderful.
She had never tasted another human being before and that he should make himself available for her pleasure in doing so added indescribable delight to the experience. She nibbled far longer than he had, allowing herself the luxury of tasting every bit of his bottom lip and going back to a press her full mouth against his every few seconds.
He made a growling noise deep in his throat and pushed against her hand, forcing her to release her hold on his lips.
She did not want to let go. "Was I doing it wrong?"
"No, mon ange, you were doing very well."
For the first time in six years, she felt as if the hated name, Angel, was actually an endearment – not a reminder that she must live up to an unattainable standard of perfection. Perhaps because he made it possessive and had called her his angel. Regardless, it sent another wave of warmth cascading through her.
"Oh," she replied.
He lowered his mouth to hers before she finished uttering the word and he... Oh, my goodness. His tongue was inside her mouth. It was improper. No lady, particularly an angel, should allo
w such a thing and yet... Yet, it felt good. Very, very good. He probed her mouth, as if inviting her to play. She wanted to. Yes. She definitely wanted to, but how?
She experimentally touched the tip of her tongue to his and he shuddered, his grip on her hands against his face tightening. Emboldened by his response, she tried it again and then she was lost in sensation after sensation as he tasted her and invited her to taste him in every possible way.
Warm tears tracked wetly down her cheeks as the sheer enormity of her feelings and the beauty of the moment overwhelmed her. She had not known such intimacy existed, that a man could accept her faltering efforts and make them something wonderful. Something...almost perfect.
But then he was withdrawing again and this time she wanted to scream out in frustration, in denial. She did not want this kiss to end.
His breath came in warm gasps against the skin of her cheek. "Your turn."
Her eyes, which had fluttered shut, flew open. "You want me to kiss you that way?"
"Yes. You want it, too, little angel. Don’t pretend to me that you don’t." His eyes burned into hers. "Do not ever lie to me. In any way."
"No," she whispered, "I won’t."
"Kiss me. Now." Although he spoke the command with his customary arrogance, she sensed an underlying need that gave her the courage to act in such a bold manner.
She let her mouth pressing against his be her answer. He parted his lips and after only a brief hesitation, she tentatively slipped her tongue inside. He was hot. So very hot and he tasted like champagne and spice.
She emulated his actions in inviting him to kiss her back. He accepted the invitation with alacrity and she felt the excitement all the way to her most secret place. She deepened the kiss just as he’d shown her and they both groaned.
The sound of music filled her head and at first, she thought it was part of the amazing results of kissing Jared, but then reality intruded in the sound of voices. Someone had opened the French doors and joined them in the garden.
Jared broke the kiss and swore softly as he pulled her hands from his face. "Go back inside," he said with typical brusqueness. "I’ll walk around the house and re-enter the ballroom from the interior."