Chills

by Heather Boyd

  He looked wonderful in candlelight. Then again, he looked amazing in daylight. His hair was loose, finally free of the ribbon that usually held it back. He looked altogether different, relaxed, yet tense at the same time. The ways that Jack might help her made her head spin.

  ~ * ~

  Pixie fidgeted on the bed. She was up to something. The messy bed covers proved just how restless she was. The hills and valleys of coverlets couldn’t hide, however, that her nightgown was gathered at her knees, or that the ribbon at her breast had come loose to expose a tantalizing expanse of skin. And one freckle.

  That spot caused more mischief in Jack’s mind than he realized at first. Blood swirled and pooled in one place, expanding his body in a way he had been fighting since they had kissed days ago.

  Although Jack had judged her too sick to take things further, he was eager to explore just how well they might suit each other. Given their combined reaction to chaste kisses, he shuddered to think what it would be like to delve his tongue past those strawberry lips. He already knew a lot about Pixie—she was as hungry for kisses as he.

  As her knees slid out of sight, her nightgown slid and exposed the plump curve of one breast. Jack’s breath hitched. What he wouldn’t give to press his lips there. He hastily raised his gaze, only to find Pixie’s face flushed amid the halo of dark curls.

  She bit her lip.

  “I would give anything to know what you are thinking right now.”

  When her blush deepened to scarlet, Jack’s muscles locked, and then he was moving deeper into the room. She could not possibly be thinking along the same lines as he.

  Her eyes dropped to the bed.

  Jack didn’t need the reminder of where she sat. “Shall I snuff the candles for you?”

  “I can do it.”

  But Jack had already pinched her candle out, leaving firelight to illuminate the room. Pixie rose on her knees, and when he approached the edge of the bed, she came forward too. Jack touched her flimsy nightgown.

  Pixie’s breath caught, her eyes widened.

  When he touched her cheek, she swayed into his fingers.

  Jack could not think of being proper. He could not make himself leave her side.

  When Pixie’s eyes dropped to his lips, his erection throbbed. Leaning in, he drew in a deep breath. The scent of her perfume and another, deeper scent assailed him. He clutched her arm and she met his gaze. Firelight reflected off eyes glassy with passion. He dragged in another large breath. The unmistakable hint of aroused woman lingered on the air.

  He forced himself to resist. He couldn’t act on his desires yet.

  The existence of her suitor list, and his exclusion, still rankled. And there was one more name to have dismissed. He wouldn’t be happy until Pixie gave up her ridiculous plan to marry for money. He meant to prove by deed, by word, and by patience how good it could be between them.

  Jack pressed a kiss to her temple. “Sleep well, little one.”

  Jack retreated quickly. Yet the expression on her face was priceless. Her pout almost made him cross the chamber again. But he didn’t dare. He doubted he had the power to stop twice. He would join her on the bed and, in his current state, he would be hard-pressed to stop himself from taking things a great deal further than kissing.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CONSTANCE PLACED HER heeled slipper on the gravel drive, struggling to keep her balance. Jack had relented and grudgingly agreed she was well enough to attend a ball. And not just any ball—this was the annual Malvey masquerade she had heard so much about. She was so excited she almost danced without music.

  The house before her was ablaze with light. Small fires lined the curved driveway, while moonlight streamed down from a clear sky to illuminate the gardens but leached away the colors. It looked like heaven. She couldn’t wait to slip inside to experience the decadence she expected.

  Virginia tugged Constance toward the house, her spirits high too. They had sipped champagne as they bounced along London’s streets, gems flashing as they giggled like girls over the silliest things. It was good that Jack and Lord Hallam had decided not to accompany them for the short carriage ride. That stuffy pair would not have appreciated their antics during the trip. However, they had promised to meet them in the ballroom and be surprised by their costumes.

  There was no receiving line, but champagne-bearing footmen waited on the broad, front stairs, directing guests. When Constance and Virginia passed through the entrance hall she caught their reflection in a large mirror and had to look twice. Virginia’s pale pink gown was so fine it appeared transparent. The sheath hung from a noose of diamonds and flowed loosely over her body without further ornamentation. Defying convention, Virginia’s blonde hair hung to her waist covering her back and parts of her ready to burst from the tiny bodice.

  Constance’s own outfit was eye-popping. Two tiny, gold chains were all that stood between her and complete exposure. Sheer drifts of gold silk gathered beneath her bust and draped to her feet. She shimmied the fabric around her legs as she looked about, enjoying the decadent slide across her skin. She looked like a gold butterfly about to blow away in a strong wind, but she flowed with the tide, up the long flight of steps, and into the house.

  Virginia gripped her hand tight in anticipation.

  Constance did not recognize herself behind the safety of the mask and prayed no one else would. As she entered the ballroom already swarming with costumed guests, eyes turned toward them expectantly. Appreciation glimmered behind the masks, and courtly bows and curtsies were exchanged, but no one hailed them as yet.

  Sipping champagne, Constance looked about at the other revelers. She and Virginia were not the most flamboyantly dressed. She spotted no one she recognized, and concentrated on balancing in her high-heeled shoes, a necessary novelty due to the length of her frail, antique dress.

  When they moved deeper into the crowd, a voice hailed them, not by name, but with pretty words of poetry, and Virginia paused near a tall, dark stranger.

  “What visions of delight I behold,

  That makes a man feel bold,

  To slip an arm around a pretty thing

  And …”

  The man spoke the last line directly into Virginia’s ear and she swiveled to face him, letting go of Constance’s arm. The caped, masked man touched Virginia’s arm, caught up her fingers, and placed a kiss on each knuckle. He looked to be making love to her hand.

  Virginia sighed and the desperate edge to it surprised Constance. The man touched Virginia’s face and nudged her mouth closed before tugging her in the direction of the dance floor.

  Constance made a move to follow discreetly, but hesitated. The air around the pair was alight with desire. She had no wish to interfere.

  A hard presence fitted against her back. Fingers stroked above the gold cuff on her upper arm. Constance slapped her hand over the borrowed treasure and glanced toward Virginia’s retreating form. Her friend had stopped and was watching her. Virginia smiled and turned away, following her handsome escort through the crowd.

  Strong fingers wrapped over her protective grip and another hand took away her champagne. Constance couldn’t breathe, couldn’t make herself turn around. Once a footman took the glass, the stranger curled his arm around her body.

  She breathed deep. With all the conflicting scents, she couldn’t discern who held her. The man’s firm grip held her in place, but her pulse thundered in her ears. She slid her fingers to the back of his hand and when she found metal, she traced over the top.

  The top was plain.

  Disappointment thundered through her until the hand turned and her fingers found what she needed. She knew that signet ring very well. Jack had turned the identifying crest in to his palm, to keep his identity hidden.

  Only then did she raise her eyes and turn. Jack smiled down at her, his blue eyes twinkling in amusement behind a mask. She breathed his name and his grip tightened. He leaned in, bending his head to brush his forehead against hers.


  “You seem surprised to see me.” Jack’s face split into a grin. With lace at his throat, hair loose, he looked like the portrait of his father in the drawing room, but with a mask instead of face paint. He looked nothing like she expected.

  The crowds melted away as she stared up at the gorgeous man.

  “Can I stay in your company tonight, Pixie?” Jack asked.

  “Don’t you have someone to meet?” Like a mistress? It was the perfect setting for a dalliance.

  “I already found her. You look delicious by the way.” Jack’s breath rushed over her neck and she shivered deep inside. His voice stroked all of her desires and a few she had yet to discover.

  Constance swallowed. “You look wonderful, too. I cannot believe you kept your father’s suit. It looks so good on you.”

  “And my mother’s dress fits you to perfection, as well.” His expression changed. “Have you grown taller?”

  “High-heeled shoes,” Constance explained.

  A pleased smile flashed across his face. “I cannot wait to see those on your legs.” Jack’s voice dropped lower and caused gooseflesh to rise over Constance’s body. “Come, let us find somewhere quieter. I want to talk to you.”

  “What about?” Constance asked, almost afraid of a reprimand about her scandalous appearance.

  “Everything. Anything. I don’t care. I've been dying to whisper in your ear all season.”

  His confession astonished her. She had no idea he hadn’t already said exactly what he wanted already.

  Constance glanced about. She could spend the whole night with him without risk to her reputation, as long as they were not recognized.

  Judging by the laughter around her, the tone of the gathering was lowering rapidly. There would be a lot of gossip about Town tomorrow, and from behavior that was far more scandalous than just talking. She might need a protector before the night ended. Besides, would anyone believe that the cold-hearted marquess would attend this masquerade?

  Jack’s head twisted, bringing his lips to her ear, and his fingers twined through hers. “This way, my little Pixie.”

  She shivered as his lips brushed her skin, but let him lead her away from the ballroom. They moved slowly through the crowd, hands joined while all around them, raucous laughter rang out. Lady Malvey’s ball would undoubtedly be an outrageous success, if it did not end up an orgy. A great number of guests had sampled the free-flowing champagne and stronger spirits, and the laughter was boisterous and overwhelming.

  The crowd was thick around the base of the stairs and Constance clutched at Jack. He glanced at her, moved his arm around her, and directed her up the stairs before him. While Constance held her skirts clear of the steps, Jack curled his fingers about her hip, keeping her steady. Constance’s pulse leapt.

  When she reached the top, Jack’s arm encircled her waist and they walked away from the crowd. “This is better. Your dress could cause a riot and I might have trouble protecting you from all that.”

  She glanced up at him and smiled. “Far better. I don’t like being pushed around by strangers.”

  Jack squeezed. “Far better to be pushed around by me then?”

  Constance opened her mouth to speak but shut it quickly. She didn’t want to argue about his bossy ways. She just wanted one short hour of peace with him.

  Jack found a secluded place by the railing, hidden from most eyes by a wide column. By the time they stopped, Constance’s skin was so flushed and tight that she had to fan herself. The air stirred the curls draped across her upper chest and Jack’s nimble fingers slipped them back with the others.

  The way everything dimmed when he was near and when he touched her, she may as well have been blind. Struggling to control her instinct to do something foolish, Constance turned to admire the ballroom below.

  The dance floor looked chaotic from their vantage point. The small orchestra in the corner was no match for the crush of people before them. They were playing a waltz, but the dancers were not dancing it. Thanks to the freely supplied drinks, the dance floor was at a standstill.

  Jack’s arm slid possessively across her back and curled tight over her hip.

  Constance gasped, as surprised by Jack’s actions as the man wearing a walrus head grasping the breasts of a large busted woman on the floor below.

  “Lord Hobart has made an excellent start on his evening, don’t you think?” Jack laughed into her ear. “But I believe he could be more discreet when entertaining his mistress. The woman hitting him is his wife.”

  Constance laughed with him and looked for the next act of decadence.

  “Not everyone in the ton behaves as you would expect, Pixie,” Jack whispered, sliding his fingers up and down her side.

  She had known the ball was famous for scandal, but she hadn’t quite imaged it was filled with sin too. Constance really would have a lot of news to leave out of her mother’s letter this week.

  In the distance, she spotted Virginia. She, too, was not dancing the waltz. She appeared to be standing still, gaze focused on her partner. Virginia cupped the face of her partner. Even from this distance, a shudder passed through the stranger. That touch was all the encouragement needed. Virginia’s partner kissed her in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by hundreds of members of polite society. Some of the observant even cheered.

  Beside her, Jack muttered something she could not understand. She asked him to repeat it.

  “I said it was about time.”

  He laughed, settled his hand more firmly at her waist and inched her closer.

  “But your sister is going to …” she blundered, but he only smiled.

  “Fighting can conceal other desires, Pixie,” he whispered. “Virginia and Hallam have better things to do.”

  It took a moment for Constance to catch his meaning. “No.”

  Jack chuckled and wrapped both his arms around her waist while she attempted to match the dark, poetic stranger with the musty scholar of antiquities she knew.

  “Ah, there goes Lady Malvey, making a very large spectacle of her departure,” he muttered darkly. “Good riddance.”

  “If you don’t stop being mean on my behalf people will begin to make ugly insinuations. If they unmask us tonight—”

  “Well, she shouldn’t have laughed. But trust me, Pixie, no-one will recognize us tonight.”

  She hoped he was correct.

  Yet when Constance glanced around Jack, trouble headed toward them. She froze. Lord Daventry approached, a masked woman hanging on each arm. He shouldn’t pay them the least attention, but the fear remained. Would he recognize them?

  For a moment she thought they were safe, but then his smile grew as he looked them over on his way past. He winked.

  Constance turned to Jack and his lips twisted in a rueful smile as he ran his hand along her ribs.

  “He recognized us?” Constance shuddered at both the thought of detection and the pleasure Jack’s fingers evoked. “Could anyone else?”

  “Well, perhaps he did. But don’t worry about Daventry—he can’t abide gossip.”

  With Jack sliding his hands over her back and neck, teasing her with the light touch of his fingertips, it was hard to concentrate on being worried. When he drew lazy patterns across the bare skin of her shoulders and down, over her dress, she had to twitch her shoulders.

  “Ticklish, are you?”

  “Not really,” Constance lied. If he knew the truth, she would stand no chance of avoiding the torture.

  Jack’s other hand toyed with her fingers until she could stand it no longer and she made a grab for him. She traced the lines on his palm to each of his fingers, examining the texture of his skin in detail. The crowds below faded away. She found a scar he had received from swordplay and stroked the fine hair on the back of his hand up to the cuff of his sleeve.

  All the while, his undivided attention and his hot breath ruffling her hair thrilled her. The hand at her back moved, long fingers curling in onto her belly. She let Ja
ck turn her toward him and she ran her hands from his wrist along his coat sleeves to his upper arms.

  Disturbed by the pose, Constance fiddled with his sapphire cravat pin.

  When Jack tugged her hips, she laid her body along his. His groan made her shiver. She had not meant to misbehave tonight. She meant to watch others rather than participate. But she was obviously better at wickedness than she thought. She had never felt such a heady rush as Jack swept his hands over her possessively. She didn’t want him to stop.

  Suddenly embarrassed, she pushed against his chest. “There are a lot of people moving this way.”

  “Hmm, I think you might be right. Perhaps we should go somewhere else.”

  “That might be a good idea.” The words had barely left her mouth before he swept her off her feet, took the necessary steps to the closest door, and ducked them inside.

  As the door closed and locked, Constance’s ears rang from the lack of noise and the stillness of the dark chamber. Jack carried her across the room and sank into a high-backed chair by the window, settling her on his knees. She had sat on his knee before, but that only as a small child. Yet it seemed so very different to do it at the age of one and twenty. His long, hard muscled legs cradled her and his hands held her tight.

  It felt right. Thrilling.

  With Jack, everything created a twisting tension she couldn’t get enough of. His lips pressed to her forehead, his breath tickled her skin. It was a fatherly kiss really and she frowned. He was not her parent—she had never thought that.

  Constance turned her face to him.

  Moonlight illuminated his features as he held her gaze. “What are you thinking, Jack?”

  “I’m thinking about your shoes. May I?”

  Constance nodded, but butterflies assaulted her.

  Jack ran his hand down her leg, grasped her ankle then covered her foot. He touched down to her toes and voiced a deep, appreciative groan. “Lovely, just lovely.”