His look remained distant.
She tugged his hand. “Jon?” she said, softly.
“What?” His tone was a shade irritated.
“Shouldn’t we go into the main chamber?” she repeated.
The furrow between his brows deepened and his hard mouth drew into a thin line. “In a while, Becky.”
He pulled his hand away from her. Then he lifted his drink to his lips.
She swallowed against a sudden burning in her throat. He was determined to be cross. She didn’t always understand him. What was bedevilling him?
She slipped down to her knees and bit her lip, still swallowing against the burn in her throat. She had missed him. Was that it then? Had she missed him so much that she’d been tempted into—no, no, it hadn’t been that dire. No man, no matter how intriguing his dark eyes, could tempt her into betraying Jon.
Jon signalled to a passing servant that he wished his glass to be refilled. It seemed as though he might be bent upon getting foxed.
Rebecca sighed. It wasn’t like him to drink to excess and he could be poor company when deep in his cups.
He touched her shoulder and pulled her against his leg.
The tension in her throat relaxed a degree and a curl of warmth eased into her belly. She pressed her cheek to his leg. Of course she would never, ever be unfaithful to him. She loved him completely.
“Christ, Becky, is this all there is? Endless drinking, gambling, hunting and whoring and all just waiting for some mindless carriage horse to crack one’s skull?”
His uncharacteristically gloomy tone unsettled her. “The Jonathon Lloyd I used to know—Captain Lloyd—he would have said it was simply Cranfield’s time to die.”
“Time to die? No—not in this case. Cranfield lived a useless life, right up to the end. He never had a chance to redeem himself. It was such a damned depressing spectacle of a life.”
Rebecca’s neck and shoulders began to tense. Dwelling on such matters always put her ill at ease. She put her finger to her mouth and chewed the tip of her nail. A peculiar tingling chased around her navel.
This time she couldn’t resist.
Her gaze was drawn to the other corner of the parlour.
The dark head bent over the chessboard. He had forgotten about her. A little pang constricted her heart. Which was silly. Of course he had forgotten her. She had rejected his earlier advances.
As though he felt her eyes upon himself, he glanced up from his game.
Heat twisted through her lower belly and spread into her loins, and she couldn’t prevent the slight upward curving of her mouth.
His expression remained impassive. His eyes, as cold and dark and deep as the sea at midnight, held hers transfixed.
Or did she only imagine the coldness?
What had caused that coldness? Wounded male pride?
Yes, she had rejected his advances. But she had been tempted. So tempted…
A caress brushed over her hair, light as a spider’s legs.
She jumped.
Jon traced her ear. He had removed his glove and his fingers were slightly coarse and warm. “You do know that I would have come sooner, if I’d been able.”
She nodded.
He gave a gentle tug on the pearl earbob he had given her when they had first come home from New Orleans. That had been right after he had sold his commission upon inheriting. “You look very fetching in that frock.”
“You think so?” Her voice sounded a touch hoarse. Sensual. She touched the lace trim on her bodice.
Jon had sent the gown to her last week with instructions that she was to wear it here at Eastwood Place. The dressmaker had visited her personally and seen to the fitting. It was a courtesan’s garment, embellished with much lace and sparkling beads. Its low-cut bodice and plunging back, the capped sleeves set halfway down her shoulders, left much of her upper body bared.
She continued touching the lace on the gown. The gentleman watched her and his dark eyes seemed to glitter with lust.
But surely she couldn’t really see that from this far away?
“I knew you would be a vision. Blue becomes you.” Deep fondness sounded in Jon’s voice. He was kind to compliment her. She wasn’t really the type of woman he was most drawn to. He adored ladies with masses of long hair, the darker the better. And whilst he often complimented her breasts as being perfect little peaches, truth was he preferred melons.
Rebecca’s breasts were more like apricots.
But she knew she looked well in the gown. Earlier, all the gentlemen had followed her with their gazes. As though she were truly beautiful instead of merely passing pretty.
One gentleman in particular…
Now she couldn’t tear her gaze away from those dark eyes across the chamber.
Jon ran a finger over her nape, along the chain of the necklace that marked his ownership of her, reminding her, without words, that she gave him something that surely no fine-born lady could.
Her complete and total submission and obedience.
She dropped her head and stared at her lap. She loved him so dearly, not even a whole regiment of mysterious, dark-eyed gentlemen could entice her from his side. She pressed her cheek against his leg and felt the tension ease in his powerful muscles. They sat there a long while, he drinking and she soaking in his nearness, his favour.
Everything was right. Perfect.
And then she did it. She couldn’t stop herself. Just a quick glance.
To see if he was still there. If he was still looking at her.
He was.
A deep inhalation sounded. “What’s this between you and him?”
At the note of vexation in Jon’s voice, Rebecca’s heart seemed to stop.
“Attend to me, Becky.”
She jerked her head around to gape at him, her mouth slightly parted. Under his vivid, cool blue appraisal, her wits abandoned her.
He gripped the back of her neck lightly.
Gooseflesh spread like wildfire down her nape and back.
“I asked you, what has been transpiring between the two of you?”
Flutters erupted in her belly. “Nothing.”
“Then why is he staring at you as though you two had some kind of…” He scowled for a moment. “Profound connection.”
“You suspect me?” She attempted a light tone but her voice rose on the last word.
“I was rather late in arriving. You were bored, eh?”
The last time he had determined that she’d flirted a little too avidly with a gentleman during his absence, she hadn’t sat comfortably for a good while. She was under his dominion. His to control and to own.
With his free hand, he tapped his fingertips on her half-bared shoulder. “I am waiting for you to answer me.”
“Yes, we did, I mean I…played chest…Uh, I played chess with him.”
Oh God. Oh God. Why was she behaving as though she were guilty? Why was she feeling so guilty?
Jon tightened his grip on her neck. “You don’t play chess.”
“We played and I lost. Badly.”
He shook his head, ever so slightly. “No man looks at a woman like that simply from having played chess with her for a few days.”
His stare penetrated her and her heart fluttered all the harder. Why not tell him? Why was she feeling so guilty over this matter? “All right, we knew each other from before.”
“How long before?”
“Before I knew you.”
“Tell me.”
“Stephen was a corporal in Donald’s regiment, before we were transferred to yours.”
“And you were lovers?”
“No! Goodness, he was just a boy.”
He raised his brows and gave her a sceptical look. “Now Becky, remember that you’re speaking to me. You can tell me anything. I will not judge.”
Her cheeks flamed. She took a deep breath and struggled for composure. “I mean he was really a boy, eighteen. He used to try and teach me how to play chess.”
>
“I see.” Amusement glinted in his eyes. The first lightening of his mood since he’d arrived at Eastwood Place.
But she couldn’t find ease in it. Now she felt in a prickly mood herself. “What do you see?”
“He was in love with you.”
“I don’t think so.” She shook her head in firm refusal.
“He would have had to have been, to have the patience to try to teach you chess.”
Jon’s dry tone burnt her ears and forced a rueful grin from her. “Eighteen is too young for love. At least for a boy. They want adventure, not love.”
“Well, he’s no longer a boy.”
Yes, that was the problem, wasn’t it? The change in him was disconcerting. Stephen had been such a warm, open-hearted boy. He had changed. His new quiet, mysterious air fascinated her. There was a sense of danger about him. It excited her, she couldn’t deny it.
And that was the most disconcerting change of all.
“Well, well, this is no commonplace attraction, is it?”
Jon’s continued insistence surprised her. “You have never suspected me before.”
He laughed in that soft, steely way that made her shiver. “A man always suspects a woman.”
“Well, then, you have never been so open in your suspicions.”
“You have never been so secretive with me.”
Her face flamed hotter than before. What he said was true. But why had she been driven to hide her attraction for Stephen Drake? She’d always been honest with Jon about her feelings for other men. She wasn’t forbidden to flirt, she just had to have his permission first. Jon had to know and approve of everything. Yet this time, somehow, her interest in this man seemed like a betrayal.
“Why all this sudden bashfulness?” He regarded her for a few moments. Warmly. Deeply. “Becky, I’ve told you before. I don’t wish to be unfair to you or to limit your freedoms without due cause. However, gentlemen can truly be bullies to good little wenches like you.”
She nodded. She knew he was thinking of men like his grandfather, the former earl. A man who had used his position and power to prey on women sexually. Jon took her hand. “And if it appeared that you were completely free to do as you please, that you did not have a protector looking out for you, it could be unpleasant or even dangerous for you.”
“Yes, I know.” And she did feel safer knowing he was looking out for her. She was grateful for his protection. She did not wish to be free to do as she pleased. She liked for Jon to be the one in control of her carnal activities.
“If I am to protect you, then I need to know everything that occurs between you and other men.” He tapped on her hand. “So you tell me exactly what lies between the two of you.”
“Nothing happened between us, in the past—or over the past few days.”
“But you do fancy him?”
Now that the truth was out, everything suddenly changed. The way Jon spoke of it placed the situation into perspective, as he was so good at doing for her. How silly she had been over this whole matter. It was no different from Jon’s pursuing his grand ladies. She simply fancied Stephen. It was no great thing. Jon would always do what he could to see her fancies were fulfilled. Excitement pulsed in her stomach. She dared a glace back at the wingchair in the corner.
Stephen was still staring at her. Her heart faltered on the next beat and her stomach seemed to go all quivery.
Jon laughed softly. “You really do fancy that sober-faced prig?”
She turned her gaze back to Jon and gaped at him. “Prig?”
“He’s a prig.”
“Please, Jon, don’t be so mean-spirited.”
“Ah, such tender sympathy.” He mimicked her softer tone.
“He was always kind to me.”
“All the boys are always so kind to you. And you are always so attracted by their kindness.”
“Certainly the same cannot be said of my attraction to you.”
“I am kind to you.”
The subtle note of hurt in his tone brought her attention back to his face.
“You are generous—more than generous with your money. And kind in your way, yes, that too. But you’ve been cross with me lately.”
“I haven’t been cross. And I have come out of my way to spend this night with you, yet you cannot keep your eyes off all the other, younger, prettier boys.”
“Jon!” She blushed hotly. But what could she say? Even Jon was six years her junior. But Stephen Drake was eight years younger than she. Surely that wasn’t decent?
Jon sighed with exaggerated affect. “Good God, Becky, what’s happened to your taste? He looks deadly dull.”
“Dull?”
“Yes, dull. He’s attending an orgy and he’s sitting in the corner, frowning over a chessboard. He’s a pedant.”
She glanced over, met those burning dark eyes once more and felt the catch in her heart’s beat. Heavens, he was so fascinating. She didn’t quite understand it.
“He is very well made.” It was the only defence she could muster.
“It would be enjoyable to watch such a prig come undone. Shall I invite him to our chamber?”
She caught her breath.
“That interests you, does it?” He caressed her nape with his fingertips.
Anticipation sparked through her and she shuddered. This was the Jon she knew so well. The one who made her feel girlish and free. As though nothing unpleasant could touch her.
He traced her earlobe. “Do you want that?”
Yes, God, yes. She did want that. And she wouldn’t have to do a thing but let Jon take care of all the details. And if the man got himself out of hand, Jon would be there to protect her. If, once in the bedchamber, she became too shy, he would order her to do all the things that he knew aroused her most when with a man.
And if Stephen were too young for her, if her attraction to him were truly indecent, then Jon wouldn’t have suggested this. He had her best interests in mind, always. And in his lusty twenties, Jon had bedded ladies well over a decade his senior.
Yes, she never had to worry if she ought to be ashamed or if she should demur. She had simply to obey. Jon was in control and he made it all so easy. And so exciting. With Jon, she was free in a way she’d never been before he had come into her life.
She was the luckiest of women. Tonight, she would be with the man she loved above all others and she would also experience the man who fascinated her.
Jon touched her shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. “On with you now, go ask your stuffy looking prig to come here.” His breath caught slightly with his understated chuckle. “Tell him I’d like to play a game of chess.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Certainly you can.”
“No, you don’t understand. I rejected his advances.”
Jon’s hand tensed on her shoulder. “Ah, so he made advances to you?”
“Yes.” She forced the reply past the sudden tightness in her throat.
“And you said no?”
She nodded.
“Without hesitation?”
“Of course.” She choked the words out.
“Good girl.”
Relief flooded her. He still trusted her. Things between them were just as they should be.
He gave her a gentle push. “Go on, now.”
She stood and wavered a moment on legs that shook both from nervousness and excitement.
Stephen Drake’s eyes widened as she approached him. But he said nothing, just continued to stare at her.
“Lord Ruel would like for you to join us over there.” She nodded back towards Jon’s wingchair.
At Stephen’s continued silence, equal parts apprehension and anticipation fluttered through her stomach, weakened her legs and tingled into her toes. A little gush of nervous laughter threatened to come spilling out. She swallowed it back, yet all the while she couldn’t help but flutter her lashes at him. Damn. It didn’t help a bit. His expression didn’t ease.
She c
leared her throat delicately. “He would like to have a word with you.”
“Would he really?” He spoke in a hushed tone and that faintly husky, deep voice settled over her like clotted cream on warm peaches. The hoarseness was something new, something that had come to him in the years since she had known him as a boy. She had asked him about it yesterday, and he had answered that he’d had a “tricky mishap during an archery contest.”
He’d been lying, she saw it in his eyes.
“Yes, he-he would like to discuss chess,” she said softly, her breath coming in little catches.
His expression remained guarded, slightly aloof.
She began to feel foolish.
He turned to his companion. “It seems my attention is requested elsewhere.”
His chess partner nodded.
Stephen stood.
A thrill passed from deep in her belly down to her toes. His tall, broad-shouldered body seemed even more imposing in his dark evening clothes. As an eighteen-year-old boy, he’d been gawky, gangly, overly slender. He had never before inspired even the flicker of an impure thought in her mind.
But oh, how things had changed since then!
Now his long limbs were leanly muscled and he moved with effortless, cat-like grace. He gave the bottom of his pale-grey silk waistcoat a tug down and the action drew her notice to his flat stomach and incredibly narrow hips.
Earlier today, when he had first made his declarations and pressed his advances upon her on the terrace, before she had run for the gardens, she had seen the straining of his erection delineated against the buff trousers he’d been wearing. It had made her sorry that tight pantaloons were no longer the fashion.
She glanced up at his face. His expression had warmed a bit. Encouraged by that, she didn’t pretend to be abashed at her admiration of his form but instead gave him a smile. She ran her fingertips over the lace on her bodice and was rewarded when his gaze dropped and his pupils dilated. Her breath quickened and her nipples drew into tight points.
She offered him her hand. “Come, my lord wishes to speak with you.”
Perilous Risk Page 2
