His Favorite Mistake

by Aydra Richards

  She had been on the verge of something incredible, there in the darkness, during the interlude after the third act. He had wasted not a single moment of time after Robert and Nora had deserted them once again, and while she had believed him when he had agreed not to unbutton her gown, she had certainly not expected him to shove his hands beneath her skirts.

  Not that she had protested. And when he’d touched her in a place that had made her head swim until she’d had to brace it against the wall—well, if she had even considered protesting, it had been driven from her mind, along with every other thought contained in her head. And her hips had surged into the tender caress of his fingers of their own accord; he had turned her into some sort of shameless creature without a care for anything but seeking pleasure. And he had reveled in his power over her. She had heard it in his softly crooning voice, the smug satisfaction of a man who knew he’d won.

  She hadn’t cared at the time. She had been mindless, heedless of anything but the powerful sensations he had evoked in her. He had whispered all sorts of wicked things in her ear, things she had hardly heard in the moment, but that had echoed in her head long afterward. Things that had tumbled through her head through the entirety of the fourth act, while she had sat stiffly in her seat beside him, still trembling from the unrelieved tension he had wrought in her. Things he had repeated during the fourth act interlude, when he’d effortlessly pitched her right back into that fevered madness.

  “Darling Jilly,” he’d murmured in her ear. “Someday I’ll kiss you…right here.” His fingers had stroked her agonized flesh, somehow knowing precisely how to touch her to elicit a shiver or a whimper.

  That had shocked her enough to wrench a protest from her lungs. “No,” she’d said desperately. “That’s…that has to be wrong.”

  His chuckle had singed her ear. “I promise you’ll like it.”

  She’d thrashed her head in denial, but he had shocked her yet further by putting truth to Nora’s claims on the matter of physical intimacy, and breaching her body with one long finger, stealing the startled cry from her mouth with a kiss. She had hovered there on the precipice of something terrible and wonderful, as he’d invaded her body in that strange new way, working a kind of dark magic on her.

  And he had whispered in her ear, “I would do it now, except that I don’t know what sort of sounds you’ll make, and I don’t trust you not to scream your pleasure for the whole theatre to hear. I’m going to have you, Jilly, but not because you’re forced into it. You’re going to marry me because you want to, because you want me.” And then he had done something particularly wicked, and shoved her straight over into paradise, and she would have screamed had he not blanketed her mouth with his, smothering it before it could erupt.

  She had never experienced anything like it. She hadn’t known that that kind of bliss existed. Nora had been right—it wasn’t at all dignified, but somehow that made it all the better. That neither of them had been dignified or polite or proper, and it had still been the most glorious moment of her life.

  And he had known it. And despite the licentious words he’d filled her ears with, he’d gathered her so gently into his arms, holding her when her legs would have failed to support her, crooning soothing nonsense to her as if he had known how he had shattered her, how devastating she had found his touch.

  He had straightened and smoothed her skirts, had managed, even in the darkness, to tuck her stray curls back into place. And then he had kissed her, not fiercely as he had before, not with a surfeit of passion, but so tenderly that she could almost believe that he did hold some affection for her. And his hands had stroked her back, her shoulders, the nape of her neck with soothing sweeps, as if he had thought she needed the comfort he provided. And she had—she didn’t know why, but she had. She should have felt ashamed. She had been raised better than to act as she had. Instead she had felt cherished, protected. As much as he had jeopardized her reputation with his carefully-orchestrated seduction, he had also protected it. It was a level of courtesy that she had grown not to expect from men.

  And then he had whispered into her ear, “I’ve already procured a special license. When you’re ready, I’ll be waiting. Don’t make me wait too long, darling.”

  She flopped onto her back, let out a long, gusty sigh. She couldn’t marry a man simply because she had let passion overwhelm her good sense. She didn’t know him, not really—and her judgment was irreparably compromised, besides.

  She had loved Adrian, after all, and he had proved faithless. She didn’t think she would ever be able to trust like that again. It simply wasn’t possible.

  She didn’t want to marry at all. Did she?

  If she did—if she did marry him, she would be secure. She would be free of the restrictions society placed on unmarried women. She would have a husband who, even if he did not love her, would certainly be courteous and kind. A husband who would ensure that she found pleasure in their marriage bed.

  A husband who would give her babies, who could give her the close, happy family she had always wanted. The sort of family she’d had when she’d been a child. Maybe he wouldn’t love her, but surely he liked her. Maybe having a husband she liked, and who liked her, would be better than love. At least then she couldn’t be hurt.

  After all, if she never gave him her heart, he could never break it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “You’re falling in love with her,” Nick accused as he sipped his champagne.

  “I most certainly am not,” James replied sourly, jerking round to pin Nick with a glare. “What are you doing here? Your duty’s done for the moment.” He flicked his hand in a dismissive gesture. “You might as well shove off; if you keep showing up at these things, the ambitious mamas are going to get ideas and start casting their little darlings at your head.”

  Nick shrugged, but a knowing grin lurked at the corners of his mouth. “I can handle them,” he said. “I’m more interested in how your, er…courtship is going.” He shoved a couple of tiny sandwiches onto a plate. “Because from where I’m standing, it would appear that you have far more interest in her than she has in you. And you look extremely interested.”

  “I’m not.” He was. “I’m making certain Kirkland hasn’t gotten any ideas into his head, keeping a watch out for him.” He was trying to entice Jilly to look his way, to see if he could read her thoughts on her face. He’d yet to approach her this evening, but the moment he had entered the ballroom his eyes had unerringly found her, tucked away in a corner, chattering animatedly with her friend Lady Ravenhurst.

  “You know Lady Ravenhurst wouldn’t have invited Kirkland to her ball,” Nick said coolly as he bit into a sandwich. “Try again. This time, try being honest.”

  “Not being invited rarely stops the truly dedicated.” And that was true enough. Kirkland was bound to show his face again sooner or later. And he wouldn’t leave Jilly to weather that on her own.

  “You’ve not been down to the club all week,” Nick observed. “Does she have you on that short a leash already?”

  “Of course not,” he bit off. “I’ve been…otherwise occupied.” The club had simply lost its appeal. He found more pleasure in escorting Jilly to her engagements than he had ever found in the turn of a card. That was grating indeed—he had never planned to actually enjoy her company.

  He had never planned to feel the sort of raw desire for her that he had suffered of late. He had never expected her to be so abandoned in his arms, so passionate—he regretted only that he hadn’t seen her face as she reached her peak, that he had had to stifle her cry. But she had trembled in his arms afterward, and it had been so sweet to hold her, to feel the mist of perspiration on her skin, to know that she had been swept away by his caresses.

  He wanted her in the light, in privacy—he wanted to watch desire sweep over her features, hear the noises she made in the heights of rapture. He wanted to feel her soft, strong legs clamped around his hips instead of his thigh. He wanted to stake his clai
m on her in the most primal way possible, to plunge himself inside her hot velvet depths and spill himself inside her.

  And he would. Eventually. It was all but inevitable.

  “Oh—she’s looking this way.” Nick gestured with his sandwich, but when James whipped his head toward her she was still engaged in conversation. “Ha,” Nick said, his voice a study in amusement. “You see? You can’t help yourself.” He polished off the last of his sandwich and set his plate aside. “You’re not going to be able to do it,” Nick said.

  “Of course I will,” James said. “She doesn’t mean anything. She’s just a means to an end.” A beautiful, passionate, intelligent means to an end. But a means to an end none the less.

  “She would make you a good wife,” Nick said. “She doesn’t give a fig about your title. She’s not seeking prestige or wealth. If you make her fall in love with you, and you don’t intend to keep her, well…I’m sorry for you. You’ll have thrown away something precious. A woman with whom you could be happy.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” James snapped. “I’m not seeking a wife, and when I do marry, it won’t be someone I could love. That would be a special kind of hell.” He suppressed a shudder at the thought—a wife who would command his time and attention, a wife who would expect monogamy, fidelity, all the virtues that he had long since surrendered, all the goodness and honor that had long forsaken him. A wife who would own him as surely as if he’d been bought and paid for. He didn’t want that.

  “I always thought the same,” Nick said slowly. “But watching you watch her—I think if I ever found a woman who could incite that level of feeling, I would never let her go. Not for revenge. Not for anything.” He set aside his empty plate. “You can’t see your face right now, but I can, and you’re a fool if you think you don’t love her.”

  James felt a peculiar sensation somewhere in the vicinity of where his heart might’ve been, had he been in possession of one. He didn’t love her—he couldn’t. But even if he did, it wouldn’t matter. Love did not factor into his plans.

  ∞∞∞

  “What happened between the two of you at the theatre?” Nora asked, her dark eyes fixed on Jilly’s face and the scarlet blush that rose there.

  “Nothing,” she said, too quickly, too stridently. “Nothing happened. Why would you think anything had happened?”

  “Because the air fairly sizzles between the two of you,” Nora said, fanning herself with her fingers as though she were in danger of swooning. Her lustrous dark curls bobbed with the motion, shimmering in the candlelight, and she fluttered her lashes in coquettish suggestion.

  “Don’t be ridiculous—”

  “Sizzles, Jilly.” She lowered her voice to a murmur. “He’s been staring at you all evening. I swear I’ve never seen a man so besotted. I’d thought to ask what he did to you, but I think the fairer question would be: what did you do to him?”

  “Nothing!” Jilly said again, and at least that much was true. She had done nothing; she had not known anything to do. Which, now that she considered it, seemed terribly unfair. She might not possess a great deal of experience in matters carnal, but she was relatively certain that what had passed between them had not been nearly as satisfying for James as it had been for her. And she thought that if she were to discuss it with Nora, Nora would be shocked, scandalized, and also probably too delighted for Jilly’s comfort. It wasn’t that she couldn’t trust Nora to keep a secret, or even that she felt that Nora would condemn her for her behavior—that was certainly not the case. It was just that what had happened felt far too private and personal to share, even with her closest friend.

  “I’m certain something happened,” Nora said. “For the love of God, Robert is six racehorses richer this morning, Jilly—six.” She gave a longsuffering sigh. “I shall never hear the end of it. Honestly, you owe me for that alone—my husband is crowing to anyone who will listen of his good fortune. It’s just horses in his head now.”

  Jilly choked on her champagne. “He’s not telling people—”

  “Oh, of course not,” Nora said, waving her hand dismissively. “He’s saying he won them off Rushton in a wager. He wants those horses, but not at the expense of your reputation.” She slanted Jilly a coy glance. “Of course, now Rushton’s reputation as an inveterate gambler is making the rounds. He’s doubtless the laughingstock of his club.”

  Somehow, Jilly didn’t think James would care. He knew the truth of how he’d lost the horses. And she didn’t think he would spill their secret merely to salvage his own reputation.

  “Oh, come on,” Nora said. “You must tell me.” She seized Jilly by the wrist and dragged her toward the terrace. And Jilly went, but only because she could feel the heat of James’ gaze on her from across the ballroom, and it sizzled on her skin just as Nora had said.

  The heat of the day had been chased away by a smattering of cloud cover, and Jilly felt rain in the air, the humidity collecting in her artfully arranged curls. Though it was only a little past ten at night, already a slick of dew coated the grass, and she caught her skirts in her hands to save the hem as Nora dragged her across the lawn to the pergola settled beneath a climbing lattice of roses, the sweet scent of them redolent in the breeze.

  “Tell me everything,” Nora demanded imperiously, smoothing her skirts as she took the seat beside Jilly on the small bench. “Did he kiss you?”

  “Shh!” Jilly chided, glancing around to ascertain whether or not anyone else had crept out onto the terrace for a bit of privacy.

  “Was it wonderful?” Nora continued. And then, with a searching glance at Jilly’s face, she asked, “Did he do more than kiss you?” Apparently Jilly’s face held the answer she had been seeking, for she smothered her gasp with her gloved fingers and said, “I knew it.”

  “I haven’t said anything!” Jilly hissed. “I won’t say anything!”

  “You didn’t have to—it’s all over your face. Oh, this is glorious.” She clasped her hands together, looking for all the world like an ambitious mama whose matrimonial dreams for her darling offspring had just come true. “You ought to marry him,” she said. “You’d be a duchess—you’d make the match of the Season, and you’d be the envy of all the Ton.”

  “I don’t want to be a duchess, and I don’t want to marry,” Jilly said, although for the first time the words rang a little hollow, even in her head.

  “Oh, darling,” Nora said. “Of course you do. You always have. It’s just that you expected to marry Lord Kirkland, and you were forced to let go of that dream rather suddenly.”

  Jilly pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose, preparing for the sudden burst of pain that had always arrived whenever someone mentioned Adrian. But it did not come. Flummoxed, she pushed back the stray curl that had escaped its pins and said, “Passion is a poor reason to marry.”

  “So there was passion?” Nora inquired gleefully. “Well, if you don’t intend to marry the duke, you must take precautions.”

  “Take…precautions?” Baffled, Jilly canted her head to the side.

  Nora squeezed her hand. “My dear friend, if you are engaging in, er…passionate activities in a theatre box, it’s really only a matter of time before you are engaging in the sort of relations that carry inherent risks.”

  “Risks,” Jilly echoed, still confused.

  “Babies, darling.”

  “Babies!” Jilly took a startled breath, her hand over her heart. There it was, that ache in her breast—not for Adrian, but for the babies he might have given her. Only instead of the dark haired, dark eyed children she had once imagined, instead there rose an image of a strawberry blond daughter with soft blue eyes—James’ eyes. How had that happened? When had that happened? When had those babies she had spent the last three years pining over ceased to be—when had they been replaced in her mind with James’ children?

  “Yes. So unless you wish to be terribly, terribly scandalous, you must listen closely,” Nora said. “Because there are things from which
your reputation would never recover. And while it could survive a hasty marriage, it will not survive bearing a child out of wedlock. So pay attention, Jilly, please.”

  ∞∞∞

  James listened with some degree of shock as Lady Ravenhurst began to matter-of-factly disseminate the facts of life to Jilly, along with myriad ways in which she might prevent life from occurring of a liaison between them. He ought to put a stop to it, really—it was just that it was so amusing to hear Jilly’s every scandalized gasp and hesitantly whispered question.

  He would have explained to her anything she wished to know, but somehow he suspected that some things were easier to learn when they came from other women. And Lady Ravenhurst seemed to have a fairly decent handling of the situation.

  If only Gloriana had had a friend like Lady Ravenhurst to prepare her—to help her make better choices, and to protect her against the consequences of them.

  “It does sound an awful lot like planting a garden,” Jilly was saying, her voice conveying her befuddlement. “Seeds and whatnot. I don’t understand it.”

  Lady Ravenhurst laughed lightly. “You need not understand it, so long as you are sufficiently prepared to guard against the seeds, er…taking root, as it were.”

  “Taking root,” Jilly echoed, and James fancied he could hear the blush in her voice. “Oh—you mean becoming a baby.” There was a moment of silence, then: “I feel very stupid.” Her voice quavered with uncertainty.

  “Oh, no, Jilly,” came Lady Ravenhurst’s sympathetic murmur. “It’s hardly your fault. How could you know what no one tells ladies?” Her voice shook with savage intensity. “My mother would have been content to let me believe babies were found under cabbage leaves.” She heaved a sigh. “Thank God for Robert.”

  Jilly gave a mirthless laugh. “I don’t know what I would do without you, Nora. I’m in such a tangle.”