As she watched a particularly lighthearted match among several men and women, she felt a presence at her elbow. Laughing, she turned to make a witty comment to the newcomer. Instead of some innocuous stranger, she came face to face with the Duke. The fury on his face was frightening. His jaw was tightly clenched, and his eyes were like green ice. Jessica could only stare.
“Where is this other gentleman whom you are supposed to be with this evening?” His voice was quiet with repressed fury.
Jessica opened her mouth to reply, but no sound came out. Desperately, her mind groped for something to say, but all she could manage was a shake of her head. She had never believed anyone could look so angry and forbidding.
“No other gentleman?” he asked as he took hold of her elbow.
Jessica shook her head.
“Then you have two choices,” he said. “You can come quietly with me, or I will carry you out.”
She looked again into those green eyes and swallowed. She had no choice at all. The players at the table were drinking in every word, every glance, every nuance that passed between her and the Duke. To keep the gossip in check, she had to go with him. But even her acquiescence would be discussed behind fans and in quiet corners.
She nodded and allowed him to guide her to the door where he collected her cloak. He had not bothered to remove his own when he had come in, evidence of his intention to collect her quickly and be gone. Outside, he helped her into his waiting carriage, and they drove off.
The ride to his house was made in silence. The Duke stared out the window, and Jessica kept her eyes on her tightly clasped hands in her lap. Fearfully, she wondered what would happen to her once they reached their destination. What would the Duke do to her for defying him? He had told her he did not harm women, yet he was frightfully angry with her. She did not wish to contemplate her immediate future.
After what seemed like hours, but was only a matter of minutes, they arrived at the Duke’s house. Again, no words were exchanged as he helped her from the carriage and guided her up the front stairs and in through the door. He took her cloak from her shoulders and handed it to the butler with the directive that they were not to be disturbed. With a firm hand beneath her elbow, he steered her into the salon where he closed the door behind them.
Finally dropping his hand from her arm, he walked several steps, turned and faced her. With an obvious effort to keep his temper in check, he said, “I will not be made a fool, Jessica.”
Jessica’s temper flared, overcoming her fear. What about her feelings? “Then do not order me about, treating me like one of your servants,” she spat back at him. “I have told you before. I will not be owned.”
The Duke raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
“I told you last night that I would not come,” Jessica stated vehemently.
“It would seem that you were wrong, for you are here now.” His tone was sardonic.
“Do not mock me. If I had not come with you, there would have been a scene, and the resulting gossip would have ruined the respect Madame’s patrons have for me. As it is, it will be difficult to defuse the speculation concerning our relationship.”
“Why defuse it at all?” he tossed out.
“Because we have no relationship,” she snapped. As she spoke, she realized the house was very quiet, too quiet for there to be other dinner guests. “I thought you said you were having a dinner party. Where are your other guests?”
“There are no other guests,” he said quietly.
Her mouth dropped open. “You lied to me.”
He finally smiled, a wry twist of his lips. “On the contrary, my love. I said it was to be a small dinner party. I did not say how small.”
She stared at him, not trusting herself to speak. How could he be so arrogant, so insufferable? Taking a deep breath and raising her chin, she said with as much dignity as she could muster, “If you would be so kind as to have your carriage brought around, I will be leaving. If you deny me the use of it, I will leave on my own.” She turned to walk out.
“Jessica.” The tone of his voice made her stop, but she did not turn around. He paused, as if what he had to say was very hard. “I apologize for my rude behavior. Have you dined yet this evening?”
She whirled to face him. Was he mocking her again? His expression was earnest.
“I asked you a question,” he said softly when she did not answer.
She shook her head. “No.” Eating had not entered her mind. She had been so anxious to evade him that she’d had no appetite.
The corners of his mouth twitched upward. “How fortunate. My chef has created a magnificent feast, but alas, my dinner guest was last seen heading out the door. Will you take her place, my lady? Please?”
She hesitated. He could be so damned charming. There he stood, no longer arrogant, but thoroughly engaging, entreating her like some wounded lover to stay and dine. Against her better judgment, she decided to remain.
“You are very persuasive, Your Grace,” she said. “How can I refuse such a gallant request?”
He stepped forward and removed her mask. Taking her hand, he smiled. “You will not be sorry that you stayed, my love.” He kissed the palm of her hand, then led her to a small table that had been set up before the fire.
She thought she would be unable to eat anything with him sitting so near, but he teased and gently cajoled. The food was delicious, and she discovered she was quite hungry. He enticed her to try the many dishes and different wines. Although she only sipped at the wine, by the end of the meal she was quite light-headed.
He held her chair for her as she rose from the table. She lost her balance and grabbed his arm. Instead, she found herself leaning against his chest. She giggled. When she looked up at him, she was surprised into silence by the intense, hungry look in his eyes. He stared down at her a moment and ran his fingers across her cheek. Then, as if coming out of a trance, he smiled.
“Come,” he said. “Let’s sit before the fire and watch the flames dance.”
She allowed him to lead her to a settee. She sat at one end, and he sat very near. He draped his arm behind her. She could feel the soft velvet of his sleeve. It sent warm tendrils through her. Leaning back, she relaxed against him. She felt comfortable and content, and wanted the night to go on forever.
She realized what she was thinking. Would she really want to spend forever with him? She glanced up at him. His profile was turned to her as he watched the flames. It was a strong, aristocratic profile, and now that he was relaxed, it had softened and become gentle. He had shown her a side of himself tonight that was very endearing. Yes, she thought, she would very much like to spend forever with Damien… but not as his mistress. She sighed.
He looked down at her with gentle eyes. “What is it, my love?” He pulled her close.
The touch of his hand on her bare skin sent a delicious shiver through her and brought back memories of his touch on her body. She smiled up at him. “I was just daydreaming.”
She reached up and touched his cheek. She could not allow herself to become deeply involved with him. Margaret still demanded money, and Jason needed her. But tonight… Her body and her heart played traitor to her mind. She was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. She was being stupid and irresponsible.
“Make love to me, Damien,” she whispered, ignoring the tiny voice of caution that murmured in her head.
He gazed down into her eyes, two bottomless pools of limpid blue, now darkened by her desire for him. He was surprised by her advance and wondered briefly if this was some game she was playing. She was, after all, a courier for Madame. Besides the fact that he enjoyed her company, he had planned to get her to disclose information. That had been the purpose of the evening. At least, that is what he told himself.
He had expected some resistance on her part, so he had plied her with wine. But his plan was working far b
etter than he thought it would. He felt her hand at the back of his neck, her fingers curling in his hair. As she pulled his head down to place her warm, inviting lips to his, he decided that any game he lost this pleasantly was worth the price.
He kissed her deeply, probing her sweet mouth. Her tongue met his. He was drawn to this beautiful enigma. She was shy and coy one moment, then passionate the next. He wanted, needed to unravel her.
He stood, pulling her up with him. He tasted and nipped along her jaw and down her neck as he enfolded her in his arms. She was silky, supple. He cupped her bottom and held her tight against him. Her gasp of surprise was swallowed by his kiss. His need throbbed. Sweeping her up, he carried her upstairs to his room.
He stood her beside the bed in a shaft of moonlight and drank in her beauty. Slowly, she raised her arms and began pulling the pins out of her hair. He watched it tumble down to her waist. Then she held her arms out to him. He embraced her and claimed that soft mouth once more. He drowned in her.
Jessica’s senses reeled. A fire kindled inside her. That strange, wonderful pulsing made her throb. With her arms about him, she pressed close, feeling his hard, unyielding body down the length of her.
He stepped back, and she discovered he had unbuttoned her dress. Gently, he slid it from her shoulders, and it fell to the floor. She stepped out of her shoes and removed her stockings and petticoat. Nothing but her thin chemise covered her. With her eyes locked on his face, she untied the ribbons holding the garment closed and slipped it from her body. Naked, she stood before him and offered herself to him.
Not taking his eyes from her, he removed his clothes. When he had finished, she stood for a moment and admired his magnificent body. In one step, she pressed herself against him and slipped her arms around his neck.
“Make love to me, Damien,” she repeated.
She gazed into his eyes. She knew precisely what she was doing. The consequences be hanged. His lips crushed down onto hers, and they tumbled onto the bed. Their passion carried them far into the night.
It was still dark when Jessica awoke. The curtains had never been drawn, so the moonlight shone through the window. Damien was sleeping soundly, one arm and leg thrown possessively across her. She shifted beneath him. He sighed and turned in his sleep. Feeling the need to be away from the magnetism of his body, she eased out of bed. His shirt lay in a white puddle on the floor, so she picked it up and slipped it on as she walked to the window.
An enclosed garden spread out below her. Little was growing there at this time of year, but in a week or so, green shoots would begin to appear. The thought of spring brought a pang shooting through her chest. Spring was for new things and new love, something which she could not have.
Her feelings for Damien overwhelmed her. She could not afford to spend any more time with him, for she had to take care of Jason. Becoming the mistress of the Duke of Wyndham would solve her problem with Margaret, but it would not help her brother, still too young to help himself. Besides, Damien did not love her. To him, she was only a plaything. The heat of shame rose through her. To him, she was only the adventuress, the Lady Fortuna. Tears, which she had not allowed herself to shed since her father’s death, began to fall in silent streams down her cheeks.
A pair of warm arms wrapped themselves around her from behind. “Why are you crying, my love?” he whispered as he held her close.
She had not heard him get out of bed. If she had, she would have composed herself. She could not tell him her problems. He would not be able to help her. His arms gave her a sense of security that she knew was false.
Swiping her cheeks, she turned to face him. “Please,” she begged, “do not force me to come here again. You know nothing about my circumstances. I cannot be your mistress, Damien.”
“Tell me about these circumstances,” he demanded. “Let me help you.”
She shook her head. “No one can help me.” She laughed bitterly. “I can’t even help myself.” She pulled away from his embrace, and loneliness enveloped her. Aimlessly, she wandered to the center of the room, into the anonymous dark. “Things are never as they seem. Events never happen the way they are planned. I am not what you think I am.”
Damien thought he understood what she was saying. Yet, there was another dimension to her words that baffled him. He supposed she was speaking of her involvement with Madame, but she sounded as if she were desperately in need of some sort of assistance. What that assistance was and the reason for it eluded him. For some inexplicable reason, he wanted to help her, an adventuress, albeit, a very desirable one, a woman who had made him look the fool and, except for tonight, had rebuffed him at every opportunity. He chided himself for being soft. Had he not wanted her in just this state so that she would reveal what she knew of Madame and her spy ring?
“Tell me who you are, Jessica,” he demanded softly. He could just make out the white of his shirt covering her as she stood in the shadows.
“I am the Ice Witch,” she whispered mysteriously, then gave an ironic laugh. “That is what the patrons of Madame’s call me, you know. The cold-blooded woman who uses sorcery to make the cards do as she wishes. They are wrong. I am not a woman at all. I am too young. Too young to decide my own fate, to make my own decisions.”
She stepped into the moonlight and stood defiantly before Damien. Grabbing the front of the shirt she wore, she ripped it open down the front and exposed her body to his gaze. “Do I look like a young girl to you, Your Grace, or a woman, fully grown?”
Damien approached her. He would get no other information from her this night. She needed to be reassured. The information would come once he had gained her trust.
With a finger beneath her chin, he tilted her head back, so he could look into her troubled eyes. “You are a very beautiful woman, Jessica.” His other hand cupped her breast, his thumb caressing the pink tip. “Let me prove to you that you are a woman.”
She sighed. “Even as a woman, I cannot control my own fate.” She placed her hand over his to make him stop his caress. “Please, promise that after tonight, you will no longer pursue me.”
His mouth flattened, then he gave a short nod. “I make no promises that I will not keep, but you have my word that I will not force you to come to me if you do not wish it.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. She reached up and touched his lips with her fingers, tracing their outline. “Now, make me feel like a woman.”
He gladly followed her command. He brushed his lips across her ear and tickled her neck with his tongue. Leaning her back across his arm, he kissed her shoulder, then trailed kisses to her breast cupped in his hand. He teased its rosy tip until she moaned—passionate music.
Jessica gave herself up to the delicious tension he created within her. Her instincts made her rock her hips enticingly against him. She heard him gasp, and her lips curled at his response.
He smiled. “No innocent would move like that, my lady.”
She grinned, turned and sashayed to the bed, discarding his shirt along the way. Turning to face him, she stretched, catlike. Her whole body felt alive, sensuous, smoldering.
“I am no longer an innocent, Your Grace,” she teased. “You have seen to that. I am a wanton woman with no good reputation left to my name. Come, let me show you how wicked I have become.” She held out her arms to him.
In three long strides, he crossed the space between them. He gathered her to him tightly and captured her lips. She pulled him down onto the bed. Her hands roved over his strong back, and her legs entwined with his. She could feel his desire for her, hard against her hip. Her blood raced through her veins. She wanted him, needed him, more than she had ever wanted anything in her life. His hands were everywhere, touching, teasing, making her moan with pleasure.
He paused and framed her face in his hands. “You are mine, Jessica. You belong to me.”
She gazed into his green eyes and knew he s
poke the truth. Her only answer was to pull his head down and kiss him passionately. He thrust between her legs, becoming part of her until the world seemed to explode inside of her. Her scream of pleasure was cut off by his devouring mouth. Afterward, they lay together. His arms around her comforted. Her head rested against his shoulder, her leg intimately laid across his thighs.
“It will be dawn soon,” she sighed with regret. “I must leave.”
“You could stay.” His fingers persuaded with a caress up the back of her neck.
“Please, let’s not argue again. You made a promise to me.”
“I did, but I don’t have to force you to stay.” His eyes glinted mischievously. “I can make you want to remain here if I wish.”
Despite his teasing manner, she was alarmed. His words held a great deal of truth, for just a simple caress of his fingers caused her to forget everything. Would he keep her here, a prisoner, making love to her whenever she would leave?
He laughed, the noise rumbling in his chest. “Do not look so frightened, my love. I am no fiend who keeps ladies imprisoned to await my pleasure.” He pushed her into a sitting position. “Go and dress before I change my mind.”
Jessica scrambled from the bed and dressed quickly before he did as he threatened. She felt his gaze on her, a warm tickle on her skin. Then he rose and dressed. As he reached for his shirt, she grabbed it away. She looked down at it sheepishly. It had not been her intention to rip it when she had put it on.
“I will take this and sew it for you, Your Grace,” she told him.
Damien took it out of her hands and held it up. He examined it critically, then handed it back to her with a grin. “I’m afraid it is beyond repair, my lady, but if you wish to keep it as a remembrance, I won’t mind.”
“Arrogant scoundrel,” she said as she threw it back at him, then turned her back.
He laughed, grabbed her by the arm, and swung her about to face him. He pushed a wisp of hair away from her face and let his hand linger in her curls. “Do you know that you are beautiful when you are angry?”
The Duke Who Loved Me: On His Majesty's Secret Service Book 1 Page 9
