He pushed to sitting and winced. “Is Miss Tremaine hurt?”
“Not hurt, but shocked and a little scandalized. You kissed her,” Minerva whispered.
“I what?” His gaze darted toward Miss Tremaine.
Delilah sent him an exasperated look and led the apparently scandalized lady out the door.
“You kissed her,” Minerva repeated and then arched her brows and added, “With gusto.”
“No, I didn’t.” As soon as the denial left his mouth, doubts assailed him. “I was dreaming that I was kissing—” He bit his lip.
“Who?” Minerva pounced.
“No one.” He pushed himself to standing, his head swimming before finding stable ground. “I should apologize. Was she terrified?”
Minerva shrugged. “At first, she seemed to welcome your attention and then she… didn’t.”
Delilah returned without Miss Tremaine. “That was interesting.”
“How is she?” Simon asked.
“Although most men think their kisses are devastating, I expect her to survive,” Delilah said with a spark of humor. “I stashed her in the study for the moment, but I should warn you that a gaggle of young ladies are making their way downstairs.”
Simon turned to Minerva. “I can’t smile and make polite conversation at the moment. My head is pounding.”
“Of course not. Go rest in the cottage.”
The echo of high-pitched voices had him slipping through the garden doors without delay. Guilt mixed with incredulity. He’d kissed Miss Tremaine and enjoyed it. How could his subconscious have been tricked into thinking Miss Tremaine was Miss Blackwell?
The indelible memory of his evening in the meadow with Miss Blackwell combined with the weight of a woman on top of him. Really, it could have happened to anyone. He almost believed it.
Facing Miss Tremaine later would be awkward. An apology would be required. The poor girl had never been kissed, and he’d gone and shoved his tongue into her mouth. Yet… He hadn’t imagined the sweetness of her tongue tangling with his.
He rubbed his temples. He wouldn’t dwell on the brief moment of insanity. Not when he had another liaison with Miss Blackwell to look forward to. A liaison he planned to spin into a long-term connection. It would require subtlety and deftness beyond his capabilities to envision at the moment. Instead, he fell into bed, landing halfway between wakefulness and dreaming, his thoughts tangling the two women until they were indistinguishable.
Chapter 15
Lady Wyndam returned and offered Jessica a cup of tea. “I debated whether to pour you a healthy glass of brandy, but it isn’t yet noon.”
Jessica took the cup, her trembling hands rattling the china. She set it down on the table next to the cozy leather chair. Her heart was ready to leap out of her chest and run back to Simon. “Thank you. You’re being very kind.”
“I’m sure His Grace meant nothing untoward. He did hit his head, after all.” Lady Wyndam sounded concerned, but Jessica wasn’t sure if it was for her or for Simon.
“Of course. A man like him would never kiss me.” Jessica wished Lady Wyndam would leave her to let down her guard, but she seemed determined to assure herself Jessica was not traumatized.
“Oh, I don’t know. You are an interesting person, Miss Tremaine.”
“I’m not well connected, fashionable, or attractive.” She wasn’t fishing for denials or false compliments. After all, she worked hard to maintain all three attributes.
Lady Wyndam smiled warmly. In fact, Jessica had never seen the lady looking less than friendly and welcoming. “My husband and I come to London often during the season to do business. We count on the young bucks around town to purchase our horses to show off. I hope to see you dazzling the ballrooms with your waltz.”
“You may believe in miracles, but I do not,” Jessica said wryly.
Lady Wyndam burst into a laugh so contagious, Jessica rested her forehead against the supple leather of the chair’s wing to hide a smile. Lord Drummond’s study was surprisingly warm and welcoming. The scents of paper and ink and cheroots was a comfort. She would love nothing more than to curl up in the chair with a book and while away the rest of the day.
The sounds of other guests carried from outside the door, and Lord Drummond wouldn’t appreciate her invasion into his domain. She rose, her knees still weak. “I believe I’ll return to my room to gather myself.”
Lady Wyndam’s smile faltered slightly, but she didn’t mount a protest. “Don’t let this little incident rattle you, my dear.”
Jessica merely nodded and went upstairs to gather herself in solitude. When she entered the yellow room, a man was lounging on the window seat, a sardonic look on his face. She stood in the doorway, not sure whether she should enter or run in the other direction.
“You’d best close the door before someone spots us together and raises the alarm, my lady.” Damien Northcutt lifted one of his black winged brows, his tone making it clear he would not be the one to suffer if caught.
Jessica closed the door and slowly turned to face the man, not sure if he was friend or foe. What sort of gentleman turned up uninvited in a woman’s bedchamber? A gentleman didn’t, which only made the situation more disconcerting and dangerous.
“What on earth are you doing in here?” She kept her voice low in case anyone might wander outside her door.
He rose, his movements languid even as his gaze sharpened. She understood how he made a fortune at the gaming tables. His gaze eviscerated her to her soul. He peered at her, judging every lie and truth. She let her gaze skate away, unable to bear it any longer.
“If you come a step closer, I’ll scream.” Unfortunately, fear strangled her voice, taking any bite out of the threat.
“Scream away. It’s only yourself you’ll ruin.” Nevertheless, he didn’t approach her, staying to prop a shoulder against the wall next to the window, crossing his ankles and fiddling with the curtain tie. His casual, comfortable pose made her less so.
He said nothing, but continued to examine her out of the corner of his eye. The indirect study made it easier for her to gather her wits and reassemble a facade. “Do you make it a habit to enter ladies’ bedchambers and foist yourself upon them, sir?”
“I have no need to foist my attention on ladies.” His aloof tone held an edge of humor that was too sharp to offer comfort. “I’m not here to make love to you. Unless you are asking me to.”
Jessica spluttered a few words and settled on an embarrassed, “Goodness me, no!”
“I thought not.”
No amount of powder could cover the heat reddening her face. “Why are you here? Did Goforth send you?”
“No.” Northcutt cocked his head. “But interesting that would be your first supposition.”
“Quit toying with me.” Jessica was well aware she had little experience with the games men such as Damien Northcutt was an expert in. In fact, she wasn’t even clear on the rules.
“I ran into your maid. Literally, considering her nose was buried between the pages of a book.”
If there was ever a time to bluff, this was it. “Abby is a sweet girl. I try to feed her love of reading when I can.”
“Yes, so she said. She also mentioned how much she has enjoyed the house party because of all the free time she has had.”
“At Penhaven Manor, she is often expected to perform other duties outside being my maid.”
Mr. Northcutt pushed off the wall. Jessica tensed, but he only proceeded to perambulate around the room, stopping briefly in front of the wardrobe to toss a glance in her direction. She forced herself not to react beyond a tightening of her fists in her skirts.
He didn’t open the door and continued on to her dressing table. The powders and greases she used in her disguise were out, but he merely glanced in the looking glass and ran a hand over his hair to smooth the wavy dark locks from his forehead.
“Simon has told me all about Miss Blackwell.” He turned, and her relief was fleeting. The ties
of her deception were disintegrating before her. “And that little myopic maid with a Northumberland accent and crooked teeth is not the Miss Blackwell the duke has been dallying with.”
“Abby has her charms.” Her mouth had gone dry, and her knees were wobbly.
“I’m sure she does for some green stable boy, but she has not ensnared the soul of a duke.”
Ensnared his soul? Even as her heart kicked its heels in delight, she dismissed Mr. Northcutt’s assessment as an exaggeration. “It’s not what you think.”
He flipped the lid of her face powder off. A puff of white arose along with his brows. “You didn’t arrive at Wintermarsh planning to masquerade as your maid?”
Denial was useless. “I didn’t do it maliciously.”
“What is your plan? Does your stepfather want to see the duke humiliated?”
“No!” Jessica shuffled forward. “He doesn’t know about any of this. It’s complicated.”
When Jessica said nothing more, Mr. Northcutt’s mouth twisted in a wry smile that was not unattractive. “I’m not a simpleton, Miss Tremaine. I can understand complications.”
“Simon—I mean His Grace—came across me in a pond some weeks ago. I didn’t realize I was on Wintermarsh land. Based on my attire, he assumed I was a servant and inquired about me at Penhaven. An invitation was issued to me and my stepfather so the duke could further our acquaintance.”
“And by our acquaintance, you mean him and who he assumed you were. Not Miss Tremaine.”
She jerked her head in a nod. “Our paths crossed the first evening here. I didn’t seek him out or intend to pursue him, but it happened anyway.”
“Are you saying you believe in fate?”
“No, I don’t believe in fate. Or luck, for that matter, unless it is of the bad variety.” She chewed on her lip before adding, “Nevertheless, Simon gives me hope things will get better. I know I sound mad.”
“No, I understand.” Mr. Northcutt’s obsidian eyes had softened to shale. “You are lying to him though, and he can’t countenance a liar.”
“As soon as I tell him the truth, he’ll hate me.” A quiver vibrated her voice, and she looked away to hide the sudden sting of tears. “Perhaps it was wrong of me, but I decided to enjoy his company for the length of the party. Afterward, I’ll disappear from his life and he’ll forget about me.”
Mr. Northcutt grunted. “I’m not so sure it will be as easy as that.”
She agreed it wouldn’t be easy. In fact, even thinking about not seeing him again tore her heart asunder. “It’s hopeless. Even if he somehow forgave me, my stepfather hates him.”
“Why could you not forsake your stepfather, whom you seem to hold in great antipathy, and elope with Simon?”
Her frisson of hope died as quickly as it had struck. “Even if he did want me after he found out the truth, I couldn’t elope.”
“Why not?”
If she defied Goforth so openly, especially with his enemy, he would torment Blake in retribution and make sure she was aware of every indignity. She would never leave her brother as defenseless as her mother had left her. “It’s impossible.”
“I see.” What he saw she couldn’t imagine.
She rubbed her arms, not sure if the chill was from the weather or her heart. “What are you going to do?”
“Nothing. For now.” Although his face was as bland as his voice, she could sense a threat behind the words. “Simon deserves your trust and the truth. He is a good man and a better friend than I deserve.”
“I’ll tell him who I really am tonight.”
Mr. Northcutt sighed, his expression solemn and without a hint of his usual wickedness. “See that you do. Or I will.”
Leaving the warning like a guillotine ready to fall, he slipped away with the stealth of a man used to sneaking into and out of ladies’ bedchambers.
* * *
The evening’s festivities seemed interminable. Lady Drummond had seated Jessica and Simon on opposite ends of the table. Jessica had only stolen one or two or a hundred glances of him. The conversation ebbed around her, stilted and uninteresting, and she stayed silent. It gave her the opportunity to plan her confession.
The group moved to the drawing room where Lady Drummond had arranged tables for cards or dice games. Goforth joined Damien Northcutt at a table in the far corner where the atmosphere was more serious than at other tables. After their confrontation earlier, Jessica had no doubt who would come out the winner.
Simon had been roped into playing a hand of whist with Miss Danforth and two other young ladies, but as she watched him from the corner of her eye, he pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. Was he impatient to see her? Or Miss Blackwell, rather. Dread warred with anticipation.
She begged off playing, and as she sidled toward the drawing room doors, Mr. Northcutt ensnared her in his intense black gaze from where he nonchalantly shuffled a deck of cards. He inclined his head slightly and raised his brows, his meaning clear. She gave him a grudging nod.
Only when she was climbing the stairs did she take a deep breath. In her room, she washed in the cool, clean water Abby had left for her in the basin. After removing the extra padding around her waist, she was able to reach the ties on her dress. Abby had cleaned the brown dress, and Jessica slipped it on. She unpinned her hair and brushed it until it shone, braiding it loosely.
She checked her reflection. The woman staring back was familiar in the way of seeing an old friend after a long absence. She wasn’t ready to examine what that meant. Even dreading the coming confession, she couldn’t stop her heart from leaping in excitement.
She slipped out of the manor and made her way through the shadowed gardens to the gazebo. Simon had not arrived. How long would it take him to extricate himself from the revelries?
She settled herself on a cushioned bench, drawing her legs up and wrapping her arms around them. The rising moon cast an arrow of light through the ripples over the water. She wished she could relax and enjoy the night, but her nerves rose with every minute of delay.
The fall of a footstep spun her around, and she grasped the edge of the seat. Simon climbed the three steps to join her in the heart of the gazebo. “I’m sorry I disturbed your contemplation.”
He brushed a piece of hair torn loose by the breeze behind her ear, letting his hand skim down her neck to wrap around her nape. The strength and warmth of his touch was a balm.
“I was worried you might not be able to slip away,” she whispered.
“The revelries rage on. We have Damien to thank. He came to my rescue and spirited me away with the excuse of sharing a cheroot.”
“You told him about me.” It wasn’t a question.
“I did. Does that bother you?”
She decided not to mention Damien’s visit and threat. Simon was lucky to have a friend like Damien Northcutt. Jessica had bumbled her way through the past years without her mother to ask for advice. “The two of you are close.”
“Indeed.” He joined her on the cushioned seat, his thigh pressed against hers and his arm snaking around her waist. “But I’d rather not discuss another man during our time together.”
“What would you rather discuss?” An opening yawned, but before she could tell him the truth, he captured her lips in a slow, drugging kiss that wiped her memory—and conscience—clean.
“I’d rather not speak at all.” He coasted his mouth over her jaw to nibble at her earlobe. She clutched his arms, the muscles hard and flexing under her hands.
Delicious shivers tumbled through her, tightening her nipples. Now that she had a taste for the pleasure he could bestow, she ached for his touch. Did he ache for hers?
She slid her hands to his chest. The rise and fall quickened. The need to feel his skin was a compulsion she couldn’t fight, and she attacked the buttons of his waistcoat.
“What are you doing, love?” He laughed softly, but she didn’t care if he was laughing at her.
“I want to touch you and b
ring you the sort of pleasure you bring me.”
He let out a low groan. “You are tempting me to madness.”
She pulled away. “Was it mad for me to let you bring me pleasure last evening?”
His grin flashed before he pulled her in for another kiss. “Last night was only a small sampling of what we could share.”
“A sampling?” She tilted her head so he could continue his trek down her neck. It was his turn to grapple with the fastenings of her clothes.
“Indeed. I would be honored to introduce you to a more intimate indulgence.”
“Will I be ruined?” It was curiosity and not worry prompting her to ask. In the moment, she was willing to pay any price to discover more.
“Your maidenhead would remain, if that’s what you mean, although you are already thoroughly compromised.” He parted her gown and slipped her chemise off one shoulder.
“Only if we’re caught.” The night air kissed her bare breast right before he did the same.
He shifted her to his lap, arranging her legs on either side of his in a straddle, her skirts riding above her calves. “You are beautiful gilded by moonlight, but I want to see you shining in the sun. Or better yet, lit by a dozen candles with your hair spread over my pillows. Would I even recognize you? What shade of brown are your eyes?”
“Plain brown.”
His laugh rumbled. “There is nothing plain about you, Miss Blackwell.”
Hearing the false name on his lips galvanized her. “Simon…”
His mouth followed the path of his fingers, which trekked down her neck toward her breasts. He hummed, and the vibrations sent her confession skittering out of her head.
She located the words with some difficulty. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
His mouth covered her other breast with the swiftness of a hawk. He hadn’t even bothered to pull her thin cotton chemise aside. She squirmed closer, the hard length of him tempting in a way she’d never thought possible.
He slipped his hands under her skirts to her stocking-clad calves. The warmth and weight notched her desire higher. But he didn’t stop there. He slid his hands up, stopping to squeeze her knee, and then his palms caressed the bare skin of her thighs. All the while, he sucked and nipped at her breasts.
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