She closed her eyes against an onslaught of sensation—his hand playing with her breasts, his mouth molding hers, the scent of him surrounding her. The kiss wasn’t gentle or tentative. It wasn’t the stolen, fumbling kiss of a boy courting a girl when they’d been left alone in the sitting room for a few minutes. It was the kiss of a man who knew exactly what he wanted.
He nipped at her lower lip and when her mouth opened, he swept inside with his tongue. He tasted like heat and spice and velvet. He tasted of all the things she wanted but denied herself. A dark sweetness unfurled within her, causing her hips to move restlessly, causing moisture to trickle from between her legs.
And then his hand was there, between her legs, agitating and soothing as it stroked.
“Does he touch you here?” Stephen asked, his voice raw in the night.
He leaned down to kiss her again as he slipped a finger inside her.
“No,” she whimpered into his mouth. “Never.”
She didn’t know if he believed her, but he didn’t stop his caresses. “You are so hot,” he groaned, as though that fact alone was enough to undo him. “So wet.”
He nuzzled against her jaw, took her earlobe between his teeth and bit down. “Do you like it like this?” he asked, as the heel of his palm pressed to her mound.
“Softer,” she said.
“Show me.”
She hesitated, uncertain, her face flaming in the dark.
“Show me,” he coaxed.
She found his arm, gripped it and let her fingers slide down to his wrist, and then she let her small hand cover his larger one. She exerted a bit of pressure, changing the angle slightly, and then guided his hand in a slow, rhythmic pumping.
Their fingers tangled. She could feel her own wetness on his skin. She could feel where his middle and index fingers disappeared inside her body.
The touch was him. The motion was hers.
And she’d never felt more powerful.
She traced her thumb along his wrist, enjoying the slide of bones and sinew as they worked in tandem for her pleasure alone. She gripped his hand tighter as a quickening started deep in her abdomen. Her hips jerked, following the motion of their joined hands, and now it was faster. Now it was building. Now it was close.
Her breathing came in little, helpless pants. “Oh, Stephen,” she whispered.
Before she closed her eyes, before release took over and turned her mindless, she could make out enough of his face in the dim light to see a fierce, possessive joy cross over his features at the sound of his name.
The image burned into her memory, took its place there as her body pulsed and ached around his fingers. And then, the only sound in the room was their ragged breathing.
When he withdrew, she turned to the side. She felt more vulnerable now than she had before, as though allowing herself to find pleasure with him had opened her soul to all types of assault. Her heart was delicate and uneasy, still racing.
Stephen didn’t say a word. She held her breath as he pulled the coverlet back up, stiffening when his arm draped over her waist. She braced herself for more contact, but he didn’t move closer, simply kept his arm touching her, as though that small, fragile contact was enough.
For now.
Jane didn’t fall asleep for a long time.
Chapter Three
Last Summer
Stephen’s father paced around the study like a caged tiger. His hands were clenched tightly behind his back as he walked. Stephen wished his father would just once look at him the way he’d looked at George, as though they weren’t simply father and son, but friends. The emotions Stephen sensed from his father were never pride or friendship—usually it was puzzlement, sometimes disappointment, sometimes, like now, frustration. The earl didn’t understand his younger son.
And he never tried to.
“What are you waiting for?” his father barked out, spinning toward him.
“I…” Stephen glanced at the carpet underneath his feet, and then back up, gazing at the deep blue wall hangings as though they fascinated him. He strove to keep his voice firm under the pressure of his father’s stare. “I’m courting her. That’s usually how these things work.”
“It’s been nearly two months,” his father said. “While you are dragging your feet, someone far more impressive will come along and snatch her up.”
He wasn’t dragging his feet. He was courting her. She deserved a man who didn’t simply “snatch her up” because he wanted her dowry. But how could he explain that to his father? He wouldn’t listen.
“I doubt that will happen,” he muttered instead. He wasn’t even sure if that was true. He knew Jane liked him, knew she spent more time with him than anyone else, but sometimes he had no idea what she saw in him. Sometimes the worry crept into his thoughts that she only liked him because he was a little eccentric. A little novel. And it wouldn’t take long for the novelty to wear off.
He didn’t think it would be very difficult for someone far more impressive than he to come along and win her heart. At balls, her dance card was always full, and some of the men she danced with were more handsome than he was and probably more charming.
“It won’t happen,” his father said. “Because I have a plan.”
As his father revealed his plan, Stephen’s sense of foreboding grew. “Is this really necessary?” he forced himself to ask. “I could propose to her.”
The earl sent him a disparaging glance. “I’ve been patient long enough. If she’s ruined, her parents will demand a hasty wedding, and no one will come along and sweep her off her feet in the meanwhile. Our money will be guaranteed.”
Your money, Stephen wanted to say. Yours. But he remained silent. He always seemed to lose his tongue around his father. He turned into exactly the sort of bumbling fool the earl thought him.
“I haven’t asked anything of you until now, Stephen,” his father said. “Please don’t disappoint me.”
“I won’t,” he said eventually, his voice sounding stilted, sounding forced. “I won’t.”
“I have something to show you,” Stephen said, quietly pulling Jane away from the drawing room when no one was watching.
It was a relief to step out of the overcrowded space into the quiet of the rest of the house. Jane smiled at him. “Where are you taking me?” she asked. “Is this an abduction? If so, I’ll succumb to the vapors to make it authentic.”
“I doubt you’ve ever had the vapors,” he said.
She laughed. “You would be right. My family comes from hearty stock, you know.”
He squeezed her upper arm, which he was still holding in a gentle grasp. “I thought these resembled the arms of a milkmaid.”
“A milkmaid?” she said, sounding affronted.
He grinned. This was all new to him, this weightlessness, the way her eyes danced when she looked at him, and the way he responded. He was like this with no one else in the world. Sometimes, he wondered if it was the same for her, or if she was this lively, bright creature with others. Other men.
He tried to push down these moments of jealousy. What right did he have to try to contain her light? It was like trying to harvest the sun.
He led her to the back of his family’s house. Their London residence wasn’t a row house as was more common amongst the aristocracy, but a large, detached dwelling that boasted some of the conveniences of a country house. He took her to one of his favorite places—the conservatory.
Humid air whispered across their skin as they moved along a winding, paved pathway bordered with every shape and shade of exotic plant. It wasn’t yet night, and through the glass walls, the sky was a pale purple.
When Jane noticed what he’d wanted her to see, she stopped with a sudden laugh. “Oh, Stephen,” she said, his name sounding like a warm caress. “This is lovely.”
She’d stopped in the mid
dle of the path, watching as a small white and yellow butterfly fluttered just past her nose. Another identical one followed close behind it.
“This is the easiest way to observe them, and I think it’s better than sticking a pin in them, no?”
She smiled, craning her neck to watch their flight. “Much better.”
“They feed on sliced oranges, or on these sponges,” he said, lifting a saucer where he’d set it on a tree branch. “I dip them in sugar water. It’s—” he broke off, realizing how eager he sounded. He’d learned to temper his enthusiasm around his father, because his father simply stared at him with a baffled expression, as though he didn’t understand how he’d possibly raised such a son.
But Jane wasn’t his father. She turned to him, still smiling. “It’s what?”
His heart thumped a joyous beat at the sight of her, standing in the conservatory, delight in her expression, and he completely forgot what he was about to say. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Of course I like it,” she said, as though he was an idiot for thinking she wouldn’t.
It made him smile. “Jane…” He closed the space between them. This would be the perfect moment, he thought. The perfect moment to ask her to marry him. But he’d already agreed to his father’s plan, and at this very second, his father could be leading a handful of guests down under the guise of showing them the conservatory while they waited for dinner.
It was too late to back out.
And a part of him didn’t want to back out. A part of him had agreed to his father’s plan because his words had struck a chord—someone far more impressive will come along. What if it happened? What if, between all the dashing men vying for her hand, she met someone she liked better? What if Stephen asked her to marry him and she said no?
The long and short of it was, he wasn’t entirely positive what the answer to his proposal would be, and it terrified him to think he might lose her when he’d just found her.
And in light of that fear, his father’s plan sounded less like a horrible idea and more like a good one.
Anyway, what harm would come from it? He saw unhappy marriages of convenience all the time. Their marriage wouldn’t be like that at all. It wasn’t as though he wouldn’t give her everything in his capability of giving. It wasn’t as though he wouldn’t adore her. He already did. And, as she stood, watching him with a brilliant smile, it wasn’t as though he didn’t want to kiss her.
He had never wanted anything more.
So why not do it, a little whispering voice urged. He forgot about his father, about his schemes, forced all that aside and simply gave in to desire. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her slowly, lovingly, trying to convey all the things he was too scared to say out loud. He pulled her to him tightly, wrapped his arms around her.
And when the group of dinner guests, led by his father, came across them a few seconds later, there was no mistaking what was going on. Stephen was kissing Jane like he wanted to draw her inside him.
Because he did.
“Good God, Stephen,” his father snapped in dismay, just as he’d said he would.
Jane pulled away from him, gasping. She stared at their audience, which consisted of his father, her parents, and a handful of other guests. Their embrace would be the topic of the night.
Everything was falling into place perfectly. A hard, ugly pit of guilt formed in his stomach.
“This is quite shocking!” one of the older women said, tittering behind her fan. Although she appeared more delighted than shocked.
“I cannot believe this of you,” the earl said, sounding so disapproving Stephen had an instinctual reaction to placate him.
“Father, I…forgive me,” he said lamely.
“Forgiveness isn’t enough,” the earl continued, glancing at Jane’s parents. “You know what you have to do, Stephen. It’s a matter of honor.”
He wanted to roll his eyes. Could his father sound any more like a bad actor in a play?
“I am sure your son knows what he has to do,” Mrs. Cartwright said firmly, surprising him. “I have every faith in his honor.” She went to Jane, taking her daughter’s hands in her own, while Mr. Cartwright stared at Stephen in a hard, rather discomfiting, way.
“Say goodnight to Lord Somerby,” Mrs. Cartwright told Jane in a low voice. “And don’t take too long.” Then she turned to the group, casting a stern eye at them. “There’s nothing more to see. Let’s continue down the path.”
She dragged them away to give her daughter a moment to gather herself. Once the group had rounded the corner and could be heard but not seen, Jane turned to Stephen, pressing her hands to her flushed cheeks. “I’ve never been more embarrassed in my life,” she muttered.
His heart sank. “Jane, I’m sorry…”
“Are you sorry for the embarrassment or because you’ll have to marry me?” she asked quietly.
He blinked, astounded she would even question what he meant. “I want to marry you,” he said, “I wouldn’t have courted you these past weeks if I didn’t. I just didn’t want it to be like this.” Which was the truth, no matter what he had done.
Or partially the truth.
The tension in her shoulders eased. “It doesn’t really matter to me how it happens,” she said, laughing slightly. “I just want you to know, I would have said yes either way. I want you to know I don’t feel forced.”
A suspicious pressure stung his eyes. He knew it was supposed to be a brief goodnight, but he wrapped his arms around her and held on tightly. The guilt that had started in his stomach flooded the rest of his body, threatening to drown him.
This Summer
“You’re bleeding,” Stephen said with satisfaction two mornings later, across the breakfast table.
Jane looked up from buttering her toast, her eyebrows drawing together.
“Your menses,” he explained. “I noticed a spot of blood on the bedsheets.”
“You…” she swallowed and dropped her toast back onto her plate, wondering what in the world had happened to her husband. Lately, he hadn’t been bashful about anything regarding her—first he demanded she remove her night rail, next thing he was talking about her menses without blinking an eye. Was this what happened when men thought their wives were unfaithful? Their normally reserved husbands became assertive to the point of being overbearing? Or was this something unique to Stephen?
“I’d rather not discuss my menses at the table,” she said.
He grinned.
“Why are you so—” she broke off as the reason for his satisfaction dawned on her. To him, this meant she wasn’t carrying another man’s child. Frustration knotted her stomach, and she shoved back from the table in a way that made the chair legs screech against the parquet floor and would have thoroughly horrified her deportment tutor. “For being an intelligent man, you are truly bacon-brained sometimes.” She stood up and stared down at him. “I didn’t have an affair with Lord Barton.”
“Your mother said—”
“My mother? What does she have to do with this?”
“She said in your letters you never mentioned Miss Wakefield, you only mentioned Lord Barton.”
“But that’s…” Realization slowly dawned and she swore. “She’s been meddling.”
“How?”
“My letters have mentioned Miss Wakefield because I’ve never been in Lord Barton’s company without his sister, except for the day you came upon us. She was being untruthful.”
“Why would she do that?” he asked, frowning.
Because her mother hated seeing her unhappy. Because she’d seen the distance between her daughter and son-in-law and she’d wanted to spur him into action. Because she was, indeed, meddlesome. But their problems couldn’t be solved so easily. Jane didn’t think they could be solved at all.
“Because she thought she was helping u
s,” Jane said. “I haven’t been unfaithful to you, Stephen.”
He studied her face. He must have read something there that finally convinced him. “Truly?” he asked, barely above a whisper.
“Truly,” she said grimly. “When I said my wedding vows, I meant every word.”
He stood to face her. “I meant them, too.”
She pressed her fingers to her temples. “Don’t lie to me. You’re only saying that because the thought of my infidelity scared you. No man wants to be called a cuckold, does he?”
“You’re damn right it scared me,” he said hotly. “It terrified me. But not because of what other people would say. It opened my eyes—this isn’t what I want our marriage to be. The thought alone of you falling in love with another man nearly breaks my heart.”
Her stomach clenched and she drew in a ragged breath. Hope threatened to blossom in her chest like a delicate flower, but she ruthlessly pushed it down. She knew what hope led to. “What use do you have for my love, Stephen?” she asked sadly. “It can’t be written on a bank note. It can’t pay off any of your debts.”
He stared at her, looking startled. “I didn’t marry you for your dowry.”
“You did,” she said, unwilling to weaken. She needed to leave before she did something utterly stupid…like fall into his arms and weep. “I don’t think there’s really anything else to discuss.”
He rounded the table, gripping her elbow as she turned away. “There is everything to discuss! Don’t do this…don’t keep shutting me out.”
She jerked away from him, just as the door to the dining room was flung open. The butler stood in the entryway, breathing heavily, his face pale. “My lady, forgive me for intruding, but the ferret has escaped.”
Last Summer
Stephen and Jane were married by special license in the drawing room of Lord Ravenhall’s London mansion. It was a small ceremony, with only their respective parents standing as witnesses. Jane wore her best gown, a very pale green silk that went well with her hair, and let her mother twine strands of pearls in her chignon, though she herself usually didn’t bother with such things.
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