Catch a Falling Heiress: An American Heiress in London (29 page)

As for restoring his sanity, well, walking away from Linnet when he was in this state proved it was already too late for that.

L
INNET WATCHED HIM
go. She couldn’t have followed him, even if she’d wanted to, for she couldn’t seem to move. His words of a moment ago were reverberating through her mind like rifle shots, their impact every bit as powerful, hitting her square in the chest.

It wasn’t his erotic confessions that held her riveted in place, as gratifying as those had been to hear. And it wasn’t his assurance that he intended to continue this newfound resolve to behave like a gentleman, for truth be told, that particular promise left her feeling rather let down. No, none of those were what paralyzed her and left her feeling as stunned as a bird that had just hit a window.

Trust is always a choice . . . but you won’t know if it’s the right one until after you’ve made it.

Yesterday, making that choice had seemed impossible, and yet now, standing here, she realized she’d already made it. Having her horse brought round instead of paying calls with the other ladies, riding the park in search of him, following him into the woods, hinting for him to kiss her . . . all of those things had been part of making her choice, part of handing over her trust, her heart, her life, and her future to him.

Now, standing here in the aftermath, she felt none of the agony or doubt that had been plaguing her since their very first meeting. She felt sure, with every fiber of her being, that her choice had been the right one. Because she loved him.

Galvanized by this discovery, she moved to follow him, to tell him, but then, she stopped, remembering that he didn’t want to be near her, not right now. He wanted distance, and she had to give it to him. Slowly, she walked to her horse, untied the reins, and mounted. By the time she led her mare out of the woods and onto the long stretch of turf, he had disappeared.

He didn’t come down to dinner that night either. He stayed in his room, pleading a slew of business correspondence that required his attention, but Linnet knew that wasn’t what kept him away, and she hugged that knowledge to herself, a secret that made it easy to smile and laugh with the other guests. Jack’s torrid words kept running through her head, and every time they did, she felt exhilarated, dazed, and happier than she’d ever felt in her life.

If she’d told anyone else what she was feeling and why, they’d call her crazy. Girlfriends would be shocked that a man’s confession of illicit, wicked imaginings would evoke more joy in her heart than his declaration of love had done, and the idea that his kisses had thrilled her more than his marriage proposals was one they’d find unfathomable. As for shamelessly following him into the woods and flinging herself at him, they’d be horrified.

Linnet grinned every time she thought of it.

He wasn’t at breakfast the next morning either. Just as he’d told her he would be, he was gone all day. But that gave her time to comply with his wishes. She said farewells to other house-party guests and stood with Lady Trubridge and her mother waving good-bye as each carriage departed for the train station.

Carrington, Tufton, and even Hansborough all made polite inquiries about seeing her again, but as tactfully as she was able, she made it clear that wasn’t going to be possible, and each time she made the point, it only seemed to hammer home the certainty she felt about her decision.

None of her suitors seemed surprised to be put aside, and she could only conclude that everyone else had seen long before she had just which way the wind was blowing. But she didn’t mind being a foregone conclusion, not this time, not even when her mother made a delicate inquiry about Jack’s intentions and murmured the names of possible dressmakers for wedding gowns. She didn’t respond, for she had no intention of telling her mother anything until she’d seen Jack.

Jack, however, continued to elude her all day, and all evening. By bedtime, he still hadn’t returned, and she began to appreciate with a vengeance just what it had been like for him during the past few days.

That didn’t matter, though, for she knew her course was set, her choice was made, and there was no going back. Still, when everyone else was in bed, she sat by her window in the dark, looking out over the moonlit drive, hoping he’d come back, waiting for the moment when she saw his horse come up the lane. She wanted to tell him now, tonight, how she felt, what she’d decided, and how right he’d been.

You have to go by what you feel is right. When you do what’s right, you can’t ever go wrong.

Jack’s words of the other night echoed back, and she appreciated for the first time just how true that was. Even her past mistakes weren’t really mistakes because they’d led her here, to this man and this moment, and she didn’t have a single scrap of regret. She’d throw her reputation away a thousand times over and do it happily, and she wanted to tell him that as soon as possible.

She grinned, contemplating it. The look on his face was going to be worth every shock he’d ever given her, that was for sure. And when she told him she loved him, too, well, he’d better throw his newfound sense of propriety out the window and start acting on some of those torrid thoughts he’d been having about her. Otherwise, she’d have to ravish him. She still didn’t quite know what ravishment was, but her grin widened, and her anticipation grew as she attempted to imagine it, for she knew whatever it entailed, ravishing Jack Featherstone was going to be fun.

Chapter 16

It was late by the time Jack returned to the house, but, fortunately, the moon was full, lighting his way as he rode home from the village. He was tired though he knew it wasn’t the lateness of the hour or his day of aimlessly wandering around Maidstone that had done him in. Love, when it hit a chap, was an exhausting business, and his pledge to her in the park made it obvious that many more strenuous days lay ahead.

He handed the horse back over to the stableboy waiting up to receive it, and paused below stairs long enough to inquire of the hall boy—the only other servant still about—if the other house-party guests had gone. Much to his relief, they had, though he couldn’t be quite sure Linnet had told them all good-bye. He doubted he’d ever be sure of anything when it came to that woman. That, he supposed, was part of her charm.

Obtaining an oil lamp from the boy, he went upstairs to his room. There, he found one letter and one telegram awaiting him on the writing desk near the bed. He opened the letter first. It was from his agents in Paris, confirming they’d found a tenant to sublet his town house for the remainder of his lease. The telegram was from Ephraim Holland, informing him of his arrival from New York in one week’s time, expressing the hope that news of Jack’s engagement to Linnet would be forthcoming upon his arrival. If so, his share of the capital for their venture with Margrave could be made over to him at once.

He didn’t want to think about what might happen if, despite all his efforts, Linnet refused to marry him. Facing her father would be difficult, and her reputation would be more damaged than ever. And then there was his heart, which would be shredded utterly if she refused him.

He didn’t want to think about any of that. Contemplating failure was pointless. He tossed the correspondence back onto the writing desk and moved to the washstand. What he wanted right now was a bath and a shave, for he smelled of road dust, horses, sweat, pub food, and other gentlemen’s cigar smoke, and his face was as rough as sandpaper. He hated slipping between sheets in this sort of condition. Besides, he wasn’t the least bit sleepy, and lying in the dark, unable to sleep, would lead to thoughts of Linnet, and what man needed that sort of agony?

He moved to the washstand, hopeful. Sure enough, Maguire had laid out a towel, his razor, and his shaving soap and brush for him before seeking his own bed.

Relieved and grateful his valet knew him so well, Jack pulled a clean pair of trousers from the armoire, grabbed one of the towels and the water basin, and left his room. He traversed the length of the bachelor’s corridor to the bathroom that serviced this wing of the house, glad his sister-in-law was an American and had an American’s passion for cleanliness, modern plumbing, and hot-water boilers. He turned the taps, filled the slipper bath half-full, and opened one of the jars of soap that had been placed by the bathtub for guests. He washed all traces of the day from his skin and hair, then dried off, filled the basin he’d brought with fresh, hot water, slipped on the clean trousers, scooped up his dirty clothes, and returned to his room.

He dropped the clothes into the closest corner of the room, took the basin to the washstand, and prepared to shave, glad to have a task that required his full concentration. But after he’d shaved, after he’d rinsed the blade one last time, dried it, and flipped it back into its ivory sheath, he began to feel a bit desperate. Keeping thoughts of Linnet at bay had proved harder and harder as the day wore on, and now, because he was still wide-awake, going to bed would only bring back memories of the torrid things he’d said to her the day before.

Even as that thought passed through his mind, his body began to ache, and arousal began stirring.

I think about bedding you, and taking your virtue, and making you totally mine.

He set his jaw, fighting all the erotic images dancing through his mind, and leaned closer to the mirror to dab the last vestiges of shaving soap from his chin with the towel. He would not think of her again. Not tonight.

That resolve had barely passed through his mind when he heard the click of the latch, and when he turned his head, he saw the door open to reveal the very object of his thoughts standing in the doorway, her loosened hair tousled and tawny and hanging down around her shoulders.

“Linnet? What are you doing down here?” He dropped the ends of the towel, and they fell to his chest as he strode to the door. “Are you mad? You can’t be in this wing of the house. This is the bachelor’s corridor.”

“But you’re the only bachelor here now. Other than you, this part of the house is empty.”

“Yes, but still—” His gaze slid down her body, over a frothy white nightgown and pale pink silk robe, all the way down to the floor, to where her bare toes peeped out from beneath pristine white lace.

Fire curled in his loins.

“You are killing me,” he muttered as he grabbed her arm, hauled her in from the corridor, and shut the door behind her. “Killing me by inches.”

“I’ve been thinking about the things you said,” she whispered. “Ever since you said them, I’ve been thinking about them.”

Just now, he couldn’t remember what he’d said even though he knew in the vague recesses of his addled masculine brain that he’d been thinking about those very things just half a minute ago. All the more reason why she shouldn’t be in his room. Her virtue wasn’t safe with him, not in his present state, and if they were caught, her reputation wouldn’t just be tainted, it would be ruined, and even all Belinda’s hints and delicate inferences wouldn’t save her if he didn’t marry her. He had to get her out of here, send her back to her own room. He should tell her that.

He didn’t speak.

He ought to grab her, shove her pretty little bum out into the corridor, and lock the door behind her.

He didn’t move.

Instead, he made the mistake of looking down again, and he saw those pretty toes curl, vanishing under that absurd, frilly hem. Desperate, he forced his gaze back to her face and strove to find order amid the chaos inside him.

“Linnet, for God’s sake, I don’t remember what I said in the woods, but I’m sure it was all terribly naughty and not worthy of discussion at one o’clock in the morning, especially not in my bedroom. You are going back to your own room right now.”

He put his hand on her arm and reached for the doorknob, but she—stubborn, strong-willed woman that she was—didn’t seem any more inclined to follow his orders than she had three weeks ago.

“You said we’d proceed at the pace I’d like.” She pulled her arm away and smiled, shaking back her hair as she looked up at him. “This is the pace I’ve decided to set.”

He shook his head. “You don’t have a clue what you’re saying.”

“Yes, I do. Jack. You said you’d be a perfect gentleman until I agreed to marry you. That’s why I came.” She spread her hands, opened her arms. “I’m saying yes. I’ll marry you.”

He stilled, staring into her upturned, smiling face. “You will?”

“Yes.” Her smile widened. “You proved what I asked you to prove. I watched you holding baby Colin and playing with him, and I fell in love with you right there on the spot.”

“You did?”

She nodded, and he plunked his hands on his hips and let out his breath in a huff of frustration. “Well, you might have told me that at the time, Linnet,” he said, feeling quite nettled. “I’ve been through three days of agony, while you flounced around with Carrington and Hansborough and near drove me mad.”

“You deserved it,” she told him, and eased closer to him, smiling a little. “Using an innocent little baby to soften me up. It was a shameful, blatant ploy on your part.”

He refused to smile back. “And what about Carrington and Hansborough, and Tufton? You made it clear to them today they haven’t a prayer, I hope?”

“Yes, Jack.” She sounded so meek, so sweet, and very unlike the Linnet he knew, but then she gave him a wicked smile. “After all the shocking things you said to me yesterday, I’m afraid their skill at conversation pales by comparison.”

He didn’t move. He remained rigid as she pressed herself closer to him. “And near as I can recall, Linnet, one of the things I said was about taking your virtue. And if we do what you’re so prettily asking for by coming here, your virtue’s gone. Do you know what that means?”

“Yes. At least . . .” She bit her lip. “I think so.”

He suspected she didn’t have a clue. He doubted virgins ever did. And anyway, this was the girl who thought a man’s fingertip caressing her palm was the pinnacle of carnality.

The problem was that right now he just didn’t have the fortitude to call a halt and explain that cabbage patches and storks were fiction. He settled for something simple and unequivocal. “If we do this, there’s no going back. Do you understand? You’ll have to marry me.”

“Is that a proposal?” she asked, smiling. “Or an order?”

“Given your complete inability to follow any order if I’m the one issuing it,” he muttered, “this has to be a proposal, doesn’t it?”

She laughed. “I accept.”

She looked so incredibly beautiful when she smiled and laughed. His own radiant, golden lioness. And she was his now, she had, at last, agreed to marry him. He bent his head to seal the engagement with a kiss, but just as his lips touched hers, his brain insisted on remembering certain inconvenient little difficulties. Like other deals, deals with her father.

He jerked back. “Linnet, there are things we have to talk about if you’re going to marry me.”

“I don’t want to talk now.” She lifted her arms, entwining them around his neck, and when the tips of her breasts brushed his naked chest, he felt his resolve slip another notch.

“You did a lot of talking in the woods about what you wanted to do to me, Jack Featherstone,” she went on, molding her body against him, rising on her toes. “It’s time to back up all that talk with some decisive action. Kiss me. Make love to me. Just like you said you wanted to.”

His wits were slipping more with every word she spoke. He made one last valiant attempt to keep his head. “I thought you wanted me to be a perfect gentleman.”

“You thought wrong.” Her hands raked through his hair, and she rose on her toes and kissed him. “Perfect gentlemen,” she said against his mouth, “are overrated.”

He groaned in capitulation, good intentions went straight south where they were always wont to go, and any notions of discussing deals and dowries went right out of his head. He caught her up, wrapping his arms tight around her, and he bent his head, capturing her mouth with his.

As he held her tight and kissed her, Linnet’s mind went dreamily back to that night in Newport. This was similar in so many ways. His embrace was just as strong and powerful, and his kiss every bit as hot and demanding. But this kiss wasn’t quite the same. She wasn’t the same shocked, outraged woman she’d been a few weeks ago, offended by the possessive kiss of a perfect stranger.

And this man wasn’t a stranger anymore. This was Jack, the infuriating, outrageous man who said things to her no man ever dared to say, who did things to her no man had ever dared to do, who called her bluff and took up her dare and never backed down, no matter what challenge she threw at him.

So now, instead of fighting what he’d made her feel in Newport, this time, she savored it. She relished the scorching intimacy of his full, open-mouth kiss, tasted him as deeply as he tasted her. This was part of what she’d come for. To feel his powerful, shocking, tumultuous kiss. Her arms tightened around his neck.

Without warning, he broke the contact with her lips and pulled back, panting. “You’re sure about this?” he muttered, cupping her face, pressing kisses to her forehead, her nose, her cheeks. “You’ll marry me?”

Even before she nodded, he was reaching for the satin sash of her robe. “We’ll have to be quiet,” he told her. “No noise. Even if this wing is empty, we can’t take any chances. I don’t want you going down the aisle double shamed.”

She assumed he was going to do to her all those wicked things he’d told her yesterday, and she didn’t quite see why those things would be noisy, but she didn’t want to ask and show how naïve she really was. “I understand.”

He pulled at the edges of her robe, and when she lowered her arms, the garment came apart, and he slid it from her shoulders. As it fell to the floor behind her, he lifted his hands to her collar and started slipping buttons free. Down, down, until by the time he reached her navel, she was quivering inside, and when he caught up handfuls of her nainsook nightgown in his fists and dragged it off her shoulders, down her arms, and over her hips, the garment pooled around her ankles, and the cool air on her skin made her shiver, not with cold, but with intense, aching heat.

Suddenly, he stopped. With his hands on her arms, he took a step back, and when she saw his gaze skim downward, she realized with a jolt of alarm that she was bare to his gaze, and he was seeing what until now he’d only seen in his imagination. If she’d had time to think about it, she might have felt shame at standing here before him naked as a jaybird, but he spoke before there was time for shame.