The Captain's Bluestocking Mistress (6 page)

Snowbound?

Jane wrapped her arms around her chest to keep from flinging them wide and twirling about the parlor in glee.
Snowbound.

She had been soundly rejected upon her arrival and hadn’t yet decided whether the humiliation or the disappointment had hurt more... but this morning’s conversation had made it plain that Captain Grey was not immune to her, and—snowbound! She couldn’t have planned for a more promising turn of events. There was still a chance!

Of course, if she were to nurture that chance, the first order of business was to improve his terrible mood.

He was understandably less enthusiastic than she was about the ongoing snowstorm. Being trapped in here with him meant his staff was trapped somewhere else, and there were meals to prepare and hearths to stock and cat fur covering most of the cottage.

There wasn’t much Jane could do about the abundance of fur or the dearth of firewood, but while Captain Grey was fixing breakfast, she collected the linens Egui had destroyed and safely hid away whatever the cat had not yet found. It might take Captain Grey an extra half hour to find his clean shirts, but at least they would be whole when he did so.

She sat at the dining table and placed three stockings and a waistcoat into her lap. The more unfortunate items were either in dire need of de-furring or had been clawed to shreds, but these were still salvageable. She could darn the stockings and sew new buttons onto the waistcoat before he’d even finish toasting the bread.

Nor was it an unusual morning chore. After so many years with Egui, she not only carried a mending bag at all times, she’d become quite clever at cross-stitch and embroidery. ’Twas the only female “accomplishment” she’d ever found practical. She had yet to be begged to perform critical pianoforte scales or paint an emergency watercolor.

Sewing, at least, gave her something useful to do while Captain Grey was in the kitchen fixing meals. An extra flourish here and there gave her hems a personal touch. And helped to pass the time.

She finished the last of the day’s mending just as he emerged from the kitchen. From the set of his jaw, he had no intention of engaging in polite small talk or otherwise passing an agreeable morning in shared companionship.

Jane had no intention of wasting a single second. The snow could melt at any moment, and when it did so, she intended to be… well, if not indispensable, then at least thoroughly ravished.

She had proposed becoming his mistress not because she thought it a likely turn of events, but because it gave her higher ground from which to haggle. Sharing a town house with her brother had taught her that one’s starting point very often determined one’s outcome.

If Captain Grey said, “I shall not touch you,” and Jane begged, “Oh, please, won’t you kiss me?” there wasn’t much room for compromise. But if Captain Grey said, “I shall not touch you,” and Jane suggested, “Why not be lovers?” then perhaps a conciliatory kiss wouldn’t be wholly out of the question.

Foremost, however, was getting him to stop glowering at her as if she had orchestrated a seduction
and
the sudden snowstorm.

She took a sip of her tea as she considered the problem. The first step to defuse a male in a wretched mood was to not toss new complaints upon the fire.

“Thank you for preparing breakfast.” She ate a third of her toasted bread before meeting his eyes and smiling. “The toast is lovely, and the tea is just what I needed.”

He glared back at her without a sound.

Of course he couldn’t make a sound. Compliments and
thank you
were incredibly difficult sallies to argue with. She hid her smile. Once he found he could not provoke her into an argument, perhaps they could move on to better topics.

This had to be tough for him. As a soldier—more specifically, a captain—he would be far more accustomed to giving orders than to receiving them. He would not have risen in the ranks so quickly if he had not been a respected, skillful commander every step of the way.

It was not hard to imagine a man as strong and honorable as him leading cavalry into battle or playing mentor to the aspiring officers among his troops. His epaulets and his title spoke to his courage and heroism.

What she was more interested in was the man behind the regimentals. Or rather, beneath them. He had not always been a soldier, and now that the war was over, he found himself facing the unenviable prospect of becoming what he once was: just a man.

Except no man was “just” a man. Everybody carried their unique hopes, dreams, and passions in their hearts. The trick was finding someone who shared them. Or would at least listen.

This was where Jane excelled. She was extremely adept at listening. She nibbled her toast. This morning was as good a start as any. She
had
to make the most of the situation. If Captain Grey looked at her and thought of carnal acts, plural, then she was determined to try as many as she could before she had to leave.

Her spine straightened. If she was going to be ruined, then by God she wanted to do it right. She wanted hot enough memories to keep her warm for the rest of her lonely, spinster life.

“The expression on your face is quite disturbing,” Captain Grey said as he reached for the teapot. “Napoleon was said to look just that way before charging off to conquer a neighboring country.”

Jane smiled. Such a statement was obviously meant to nettle, but she didn’t rise to the bait. Whether he realized it or not, his disgruntlement now was mostly for show. He’d even refilled her teacup before attending to his own.

“Close enough,” she said lightly, lifting her cup to her lips and breathing in the fragrant steam. If she wished for him to warm up to her, she must choose a less incendiary topic than lovemaking. “I was thinking about how difficult it must be to be a soldier and how honorably you must have acquitted yourself in order to earn the rank of captain.”

He slammed down the teapot hard enough to crack the handle. “You know nothing of battle and even less about soldiers. Do not romanticize me or the war.
Any
war. ’Tis nothing more than troops of killers murdering other killers in the name of their esteemed leader, who is likely to be far more bloodthirsty than brilliant.”

Her mouth fell open. “How can you say that? Napoleon was mad—and, yes, our own king has been deemed unfit to rule—but that does not make the cause you fought for any less worthy. What of Wellington? And the Fifteenth Regiment of Dragoons? I have read countless accounts on all the skirmishes, and—”

“Hearsay,” he spat with disgust. “You are proving my point. You know nothing of life if your only knowledge of it comes from books.”

Her teeth clenched. He wanted a row? Fine. “Only an ignoramus would claim there’s no knowledge to be found in books. Literature may not provide firsthand experience, but reading still has value. Perhaps if the leaders you hate knew their history a little better, war wouldn’t break out so easily.”

“Battle changes people, Miss Downing. I know you can’t understand what that means, but—”

“Why can’t I? Because of books again? You might recall that I also interact with
people
upon occasion.” She set down her teacup before she threw it at him. “My best friend married
your
best friend, who returned from the selfsame war just as heroic and as honorable as he went in. But you’re right. Not everyone did. The privateer sent to rescue Grace’s mother had captained a ship in the Royal Navy, fighting Napoleon from the sea. Before enlisting, that man was a
barrister
. So don’t tell me I don’t understand that war can change people, Captain Grey. I do know. I’ve seen it. I can also see you.”

His chest expanded and he crossed his thick arms before it. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I haven’t forgotten who you were before you became what you are now,” she said in exasperation. “You and Lord Carlisle and Major Blackpool were intermittently present at the same events and soirées I myself attended. The earl had not yet lost his father. The major had not yet lost his leg and his brother. And you had not yet lost your reason. The fact that you’re feeling well enough to argue with me today proves that no matter how the war changed you,
you kept changing
. You’re not the empty shell of a man Carlisle dragged through London like an oversize doll. You’re you again.”

He glared at her in silence.

She lowered her voice. “War is terrible. I recognize that. But now it’s over. What happens next is up to you.”

He pushed to his feet and piled the dishes and silverware into a stack. “It’s not that simple, and we’re done talking about it.”

She gathered the cups and the teapot and followed him into the kitchen. “Of course it’s not simple. Did you know Major Blackpool was one of only two people who ever bothered to stand up to dance with me at a ball? That moment will literally never happen again. He no longer attends balls. He’s missing a leg. From what I understand, he can barely walk and shall never dance again. But
his
life isn’t over
.”

Captain Grey submerged the plates into a bucket of water and pushed it out of her reach. “Who was the other man you danced with?”

“My brother. Why won’t you let me wash the dishes?”

“Scullery work is hard on the skin, and you have pretty hands.” He began to scrub the first plate. “Blackpool is a hero. I am not. You’d do well to remember that. It would be the height of foolishness to trust a man who doesn’t trust himself.”

She shook her head. “Fighting for innocents and defending your country is inherently heroic. I believe in you. Closing yourself off won’t change that. No matter what you do, your heroism will always—”

He grabbed her face with wet hands and closed his mouth over hers with bruising force. No doubt he expected her to swoon, or slap him, or some other such nonsense.

She gripped his arms and held on tight.

His lips were wide and firm against hers. The rough hands cradling her face dripped with water, but all she felt was warm. Desired. He wasn’t simply kissing her. He was holding her in place as if he never wanted to let her go. Hope soared within her. She pressed herself even closer and let her eyes flutter closed.

Even through his clothes, the muscles of his arms were tight and firm beneath her ungloved hands. What would it be like to feel them wrapped around her? Would he hold her close with the same desperate passion that had begun this kiss? Or would his embrace be tender, as his lips were now, brushing against hers with gentle insistence?

As he suckled her lower lip, her mouth parted—not in surprise, but in eagerness. Just because it was her first kiss didn’t mean she was ignorant of what pleasures it might bring. She rose on her toes to meet him.

She had researched the matter extensively and was delighted to discover that he had been right about book knowledge failing to communicate the complete picture. No mere words on parchment could remotely convey the heat and immediacy and…
dizziness
of having his mouth mold to hers. The heady sensation of need and shared desire.

Being kissed was more than she’d ever imagined. Being kissed by
him
was more than she’d ever dreamed.

Her fingers trembled—her entire body trembled—and she clutched his neck with abandon. She could no longer stand. She couldn’t feel her legs, her knees, anything except her mouth on his and their bodies cleaving together. The rest of the world melted away. It was as if she’d been waiting for this moment, this man, all of her life.

She licked at his lower lip and thrilled when a raw groan escaped his throat. Her heart hammered against her ribs, pushing her bosom against his chest with every staccato beat. All she could think was that she never wanted their kiss to end. This was heaven.

His tongue met hers and a delicious shiver shot down her spine, electrifying her skin. He tasted of tea, but also of a spice she could not define. He tasted of virile man, she supposed. Of Captain Xavier Grey. Everything about him was strong and sure and masculine and completely irresistible. She wanted to be his. She wanted him to be hers.

Her knees weakened. He felt like home and danger and hope all wrapped into one. Her breath escaped in tiny bursts when she remembered to breathe at all. He didn’t just make her
feel
desirable. He proved with every consuming kiss, with the thundering of his own heart against hers, that his desire for her was powerful enough to devour them both.

She was already lost.

He pulled away, gasping, and ran a shaking hand through his hair.

It was all she could do not to sway right back into his embrace.

“Was that heroic?” he rasped. “Or was it a selfish man doing what selfish men do?”

She gazed back at him in wonder. Her lips were tender from his kiss. “It was beautiful.”

“It was foolish.” He turned back to the bucket and reached for the next dirty saucer. “It shan’t be repeated.”