Promise of Pleasure (24 page)

He bent over and tugged a comb from her hair, so that the lengthy tresses fell down her back.

“Why did you do that?” she griped.

“I’m not going to make love to you while you’re all nice and tidy.”

“And I’m not going to make love to you at all. We’re simply kissing, remember? Kissing I can handle. Kissing I like. Not ... the other.”

She made a fluttering motion with her fingers, not having the salacious vocabulary to discuss sexual relations, and it occurred to him that—in many ways—she was still a virgin. She hadn’t been taught the lighter side of carnality, so she wasn’t aware of how satisfying it could be.

He went to the outer room, grabbed the liquor decanter, and returned to her. He drank straight from the bottle, frantic to dull the perception that he was swimming in deep waters and couldn’t see the shore.

“Here,” he said, offering it to her.

“I don’t need any more.”

“Yes, you do. There’s nothing going on between us that a hearty infusion of alcohol can’t fix.”

She glowered, then took the decanter and downed several swallows before giving it back.

“Are you feeling better?” she asked.

“Much,” he claimed, though he was fibbing again. He was a mess, overwhelmed by the sight and smell of her, fraught with unwonted yearnings and wishes.

He crawled next to her and stretched out as she studied him with some perplexity.

“What is it now?” she queried.

“You’re very pretty,” he murmured.

She rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to flatter me. I’m already in your bed; no coaxing is necessary to keep me here.”

“No, you are. Very pretty. I just want you to know my opinion.” He frowned, completely out of his element for once, and he grumbled, “Oh, to hell with it.”

“To hell with what?”

“I like you more than I ought,” he admitted. “I have to face it and move on.”

“What do you mean, you
like
me? About what are you babbling?”

“I had planned to be a cad and seduce you for sport, but instead, I find that I’m simply so glad you’re here.”

He shrugged, flushing with chagrin.

“Was that another compliment?”

“I believe it was.”

“Then ... what a perfectly lovely thing to say.” She smiled. “I’m glad I’m here, too.”

“It’s more fun than dancing with Redvers and your mother.”

“Definitely more fun than that.”

She chuckled, then they were silent, staring, and she cradled his cheek with her palm. A powerful connection surged to life. He’d never felt anything like it, and it scared him to death.

He broke away and started in again, nuzzling at her nape, then working down. He kneaded her breasts through the fabric of her dress, and he tugged at the bodice, dipping under the edge to locate a taut, pink nipple. For an eternity, he licked and sucked at it, keeping on till she was gasping with delight and surprise. She was so distracted that she hadn’t noticed how he had raised the hem of her skirt.

As he touched her between her legs for the first time, she was pushed into an immediate and violent orgasm. She cried out with such energetic astonishment that he wondered if she’d ever previously found her pleasure, and he had a sneaking suspicion that she hadn’t.

“Good Lord, Mr. Adair,” she said when she could talk again, “what was that?”

“That
was sexual satisfaction. Haven’t you ever felt it before?”

“I don’t think so. I’d have remembered.”

“And since I have my hand up your twat, I suppose you should call me Paxton.”

He slid onto her, too aroused to be tepid or gentle, but he hadn’t needed to worry about her being afraid any longer. The brandy and the orgasm were taking their toll. Her limbs were loose as a ragdoll’s.

“Are you going to have your way with me now?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Will it hurt?”

“Only me—if I’m not inside you in the next five seconds.”

She gave a throaty, lusty laugh.

“I don’t want this from you,” she insisted.

“I know, but you’ll get over it once you discover how marvelous I can be.”

“You are so vain.”

“Yes, I am.”

He kissed her, as he unbuttoned his trousers, as he eased himself into her. She was very wet, very relaxed, and though she tensed slightly, he entered her with no problem.

“Oh ...” she breathed.

“Oh, indeed.”

“You were correct. It didn’t hurt a bit.”

“No. It never will with me.”

That strange wave of affection was back.

It felt so right to be joined with her, so perfect, as if he’d finally arrived exactly where he’d always belonged. The notion that he was smitten didn’t sit any better than it had when it initially dawned on him.

He was aghast.

She sensed their heightened bond, too, and she didn’t look any more pleased than he. She scowled, seeming as if she might complain, but he couldn’t bear to listen.

“Don’t say a word,” he told her.

“I won’t. It’s just that—”

“Hush.”

He laid a finger against her lips, as he began to flex, slowly at first, then more vigorously. In light of her past, he probably should have fretted over how she was weathering the ordeal, but he couldn’t delay.

He suckled her breast, waiting, holding back, as her desire crested. He followed her in ecstasy, relishing a few last thrusts, then he withdrew and spilled himself on her stomach.

Neither of them spoke, and eventually, he slipped away. He went to the dresser and poured a bowl of water so he could swab her belly, so he could wipe away all traces of his seed. As he finished, he perched a hip on the mattress.

“There at the end,” she said, “why did you pull out?”

“So we wouldn’t make a babe.”

“Oh.”

“That’s how it’s done,” he quietly explained. “The man plants his seed in the woman’s womb. It can take root and grow.”

She blushed. “I didn’t know that. I’m a widow, and I didn’t know.”

To his dismay, she appeared as if she might burst into tears.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I had sex. It was splendid; I enjoyed it.”

“Well, don’t cry about it,” he murmured. “Don’t be sorry.”

“I’m not sorry. I’m just ... just ... I don’t know what I am, but I’m not sorry.” She sat up. “I should go back to my room.”

“Are you mad? We’re just getting started. You can’t go. Not yet.”

“I need to think about this. I need to ... to ...”

She was never at a loss for words, and he felt he should say something to ease her discomfort, but he couldn’t imagine what it would be.

He fornicated with women who were aware of what they were doing and why they were doing it. There were no fears regarding the act, no sordid history with which to deal, no ghosts of sadistic deceased husbands to vanquish.

She scrambled to the floor and stood, so he stood, too, and he dawdled like an imbecile as she straightened her clothes. There was no hope for her hair. It was down and curled around her shoulders, and she didn’t try to pin it up.

“I didn’t even take off my shoes,” she said, smiling.

“I was too swept away to let you.”

He clasped her hand and kissed her knuckles.

“It was very grand.”

“Yes, it was.”

She stepped away and headed out, and he hurried after her.

“Would you like me to walk you to your room?” he inquired.

“No.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind.”

“I’m fine. A little tipsy, but fine.”

“If you’re positive?”

“I am.”

She was an adult and had lived in the bloody house for twenty-two years. She could certainly find her way without any assistance. He was only pestering her because—to his horror—he was pathetically eager to spend a few more minutes with her.

“Good night, Cassie.” He retreated into his suite before he made an even bigger fool of himself.

“Good night, Paxton.”

She sauntered away, and he closed his door and went back to his bed, where he was delighted to discover her hair combs still scattered across his mattress.

Like a besotted swain, he stacked them on the pillow and gazed at them, as he drank brandy till dawn.

Finally, he fell over in a heap, to sleep the sleep of the dead.

“MISS Barnes, would you like to—”

Mary slipped off into the crowd without waiting for the entire question to be voiced, and Jordan gnashed his teeth.

From the moment the fiddler had played the first note, he’d been trying to ask her to dance, but she kept skittering away before he could.

Initially, he’d assumed it was an accident, that she simply hadn’t heard his request, but the longer she continued, the clearer it became that she was avoiding him, and her behavior had him in a furious temper.

How dare she ignore him! How dare she refuse to fraternize!

He’d only attended the blasted party because he’d thought it would be an innocent way to socialize with her. Since she rarely interacted with her family, he never saw her unless he sneaked to her room in the middle of the night.

“Damned woman,” he muttered to himself.

“What was that, Lord Redvers? Did you say something?”

The event was to have been held out on the village green, but rain sprinkles had forced it into the blacksmith’s barn, and the building was packed. The musicians were at one end, food tables at the other, and the dancers were marching down the center, stepping out the rhythms of the various tunes.

As the guest of honor, he was seated in a chair that gave him a good view of the festivities. Unfortunately, the more prominent neighbors were seated with him, so he’d found himself next to Harold Talbot and his homely cousin, Gertrude.

Talbot seemed to think they were chums.

“No,” he replied to Talbot’s inquiry. “I’m fine.”

“I’m not much for dancing myself,” Talbot mentioned.

“I can see that.”

It was the sole benefit of the evening so far. If Jordan had had to watch Talbot parading down the floor with Mary, Jordan might have thrown himself off a cliff.

Apparently, he was ..
jealous
of Harold Talbot. The notion was too ludicrous for words.

“Don’t let me keep you from joining in the fun,” Talbot said.

“I won’t.”

Gertrude leaned across Talbot and asked, “How are you enjoying our humble village social, Lord Redvers? I’m sure it’s quaint compared to what you’re used to in London.”

“I’m having a marvelous time.”

The statement was such a lie that he was surprised he wasn’t struck by lightning.

He was surrounded by people he didn’t know and didn’t like, and he was bored to tears. Paxton had stayed behind at Barnes Manor, and Lauretta was being obnoxious. The only person he wanted to talk to was Mary, and she wouldn’t so much as glance in his direction.

She was too busy to bother. In an almost feverish frenzy, she’d partnered with every male who asked, and as she twirled by on the arm of another handsome young man, Jordan was goaded to jealousy again. The man said something, she said something back, and they both laughed.

Harold and Gertrude Talbot stiffened with affront.

“Did you see her?” Gertrude whispered to Harold, though Jordan could hear.

“Yes, I did.” Harold was whispering, too.

“She is such a flirt,” Gertrude charged. “I really don’t know how you tolerate it, Harold. She’s shameless.”

“Yes, she is,” Talbot agreed.

Jordan nearly guffawed aloud. Quiet, demure Mary Barnes was a brazen hussy?

He couldn’t fathom why the Talbots were grousing about Mary, why they were gossiping to her detriment. He was incensed on her behalf.

Gertrude leaned over again. “Lord Redvers, how long will you be at Barnes Manor? Mother Talbot and I would be honored to invite you to supper—that is, if you have time to fit us into your schedule.”

Acting like the worst snob ever, Jordan glared at her. By his haughty attitude, he made it clear that he deemed her to be very far beneath his notice.

“I don’t believe I’ll ever be available.”

It was a hideous slight, and by their shocked expressions, she and Harold both knew it.

Jordan stood. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to find Mary Barnes. I’m in the mood for a little shameless flirting.”

He stomped off as Gertrude mumbled an indignant, “Well! I never!”

Hopefully, he’d offended them sufficiently that Harold would change his mind about Mary. If Jordan accomplished nothing else while visiting Barnes Manor, he would see to it that Mary’s secret engagement was broken.

Jordan might not be able to marry her, but he wouldn’t let Talbot marry her, either. After Jordan wed Felicity, he’d be the male head of the family, so he’d have the authority to refuse a match between Mary and Talbot.