“A clever man, I suppose,” he ground out.
“A man of the world. You wouldn’t aspire to that sort of cleverness, would you?”
“Devil if I know.” He rubbed his temples. This entire conversation was giving him a headache. Why was it whenever she started comparing his two selves, Sebastian came off as a boring provincial idiot and “Morgan” as an unfeeling Continental blackguard? Neither of his incarnations escaped unscathed. And she did it so casually, too, as if oblivious to how she left him licking his wounds.
He’d think she was doing it on purpose, except that Juliet could never be that wily. Could she?
She stopped at the checkered marble table that held his grandfather’s onyx and silver chess pieces and began to move them about, reminding him of how well she’d played chess two years ago in the cottage. Hmm.
His eyes narrowed. “Let me see if I have this straight. You find me to be a proper, respectable imbecile—”
“I didn’t call you an imbecile. You said that, my lord.”
“Forgive me. A proper, respectable gentleman so lacking in cleverness that he spouts only clichés, and so inexperienced with women that he kisses very dull indeed—”
“Nor did I call your kisses dull.” She faced him warily, apparently beginning to sense the dangerous shift in his mood.
He stalked closer. “You called them ‘adequate,’ which is only one step above ‘dull’ as far as I’m concerned.”
She backed up a step. “I didn’t mean to insult you—”
“The devil you didn’t.” When she half stumbled over the chess table, he hauled her into his arms. “It’s only fair, madam, that you give me another chance to show you I’m not the inept idiot you take me for.”
Her cheeks reddened, and alarm spread over her pretty face. “Really, my lord, there’s nothing for you to prove.”
“Ah, but I think there is.”
He clasped her chin, but as he lowered his mouth to hers, she laid her small hand on his chest. “We agreed to no kissing.”
“You agreed. I agreed only to let you slap me. And so you may. After we’re done.” Then giving her no more time to protest, he covered her mouth with his.
He kept the kiss gentle at first, savoring the taste and scent of her…until he realized she wasn’t responding. Her stiff posture and clenched teeth were a measure of her determination to resist, but he wouldn’t let that stop him. His experience with women might be “limited,” but it was quality experience, and he’d be damned if he’d let her think otherwise.
He tried to deepen the kiss, but she wouldn’t let him. Only her fragile throat trembling beneath his splayed fingers gave any indication that he affected her. So he caressed it slowly, enjoying a moment’s triumph when she swallowed hard.
But that was all she gave him, standing there rigid in his arms, refusing to unbend. His arousal thrummed heavily between his thighs as he pressed closer, hardening into her softness, seeking the essence of woman that had tantalized him for hours. Yet still she remained immobile, unmoved. It drove him insane.
He needed to distract her from whatever was making her determined not to respond. Because he was fairly sure it was a foolish reason, easily gotten over.
He drew back to find her gazing at him with an expression of false nonchalance. He knew it was false, because her chin quivered and her breath came decidedly faster than before. Besides which, she hadn’t slapped him.
“Are you…quite done?” she murmured shakily.
That was worse than any slap. By thunder, he’d breach her defenses if it took him all afternoon. “Not yet.” Reaching around her to the chess table, he grabbed three of the heavy silver pieces, then closed her hand around them. “Hold these. If you can.”
“Why?” she asked, even as her fingers automatically clutched them.
He smiled and seized three of the onyx pieces to press into her other hand. “Because I intend to prove that I can make your heart race and your bones melt.”
Chapter 8
Contempt, farewell! and maiden pride, adieu!
No glory lives behind the back of such.
William Shakespeare’s Much Ado about Nothing, embroidered onto a handkerchief by seventeen-year-old Juliet and given as a Christmas gift to her sister Rosalind, who loved the handkerchief and ignored the quotation
M y bones melt? Juliet thought in a panic, as Sebastian lowered his head again. Then God help me.
His first kiss had sent her reeling. She’d tried blotting him out, thinking of complicated embroidery patterns and chess maneuvers. That had provided only a little relief. When he’d drawn back, she’d congratulated herself on her success.
She should have known he wouldn’t let it drop. His mouth was now even more of a temptation, despite his veering away from her lips to lavish kisses over other parts of her—her pounding temples, her heated cheeks, her vulnerable neck. That he felt free to kiss every bare inch while she held his silly chess pieces made the whole thing seem indefinably more seductive. She should just drop them. She really should.
Yet she didn’t. For one thing, she refused to give him the satisfaction. That’s what he wanted, wasn’t it? To make her react? So if she stood here acting unaffected, surely he’d grow humiliated and give up.
Unfortunately, it was very hard to act unaffected when a handsome, virile man feathered kisses along one’s throat…trailed openmouthed caresses up one’s jaw line to one’s ears…then laved one’s ears with his tongue in a most outrageous manner.
Dear me, it was hot in here. And the room was spinning.
“You have the tastiest earlobes, Juliet.” When he actually nibbled at them with his teeth, it sent a surprising jolt right down her spine. His warm breath in her hapless ear spiked her pulse up a notch.
“Thinking with your st-stomach again?” she stammered as he kissed a path from her ear across her cheek and down.
“Not exactly.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “Though your lips are tasty, too. They’re so plump and tender, they make me very, very hungry.” He proceeded to outline them with slow, gentle kisses, never fully kissing her. It drove her mad.
“For a man who excels at firing pistols, your aim is very bad.” She’d meant it to be a dry, witty insult of his kissing that would stop the torture. Instead, it came out all husky and sensual, like an invitation.
And he took it that way, for he chuckled. “Then I’ll have to improve my trajectory,” he said, and moved the necessary inch to seal her mouth with his.
He wasn’t gentle this time, or sweet. Hungry was the word, so hungry it roused her hunger, too. This kiss demanded respect, no doubt about it. His mouth took, and she gave, as simple as that. Already primed by his other tempting kisses, she fell into this one with ridiculous ease. And when he sought again to deepen it, she could no more stop him than she could stop snow from falling.
That’s when it got interesting. He seduced her mouth so expertly, he had her uttering sounds she didn’t know she could make, going soft in parts of her body that had never done so. The longer he kissed her, with those deep, stunning kisses that stole her will, the more she craved them. Sebastian had certainly perfected this intimate kissing business. He mightn’t be a rake like his father, but he was still his father’s son.
Suddenly, his hand slipped up to gauge the madly beating pulse at her neck. “I believe your heart is racing, sweeting,” he murmured against her mouth. “Check.”
She barely had time to ponder that odd comment before his hands began roaming, skimming down her waist and hips, traveling back up to dance along her ribs. In long, slowly widening strokes, his hands learned the contours of her body as surely as his lips and tongue learned her mouth. Soon she craved not only his kisses, but his caresses, too. He made her want to caress him back, to smooth her hands over his arms and chest and—
The soft thuds at her feet warned that she’d dropped the chess pieces. She didn’t care. She just wrapped her arms around his neck and held on.
H
e smiled down at her triumphantly. “There go the bones melting. That would be checkmate.” Then he proceeded to kiss her senseless again.
Even his arrogant comments didn’t dampen her enthusiasm. Delighted to have her hands empty once more, she took advantage of it to slide them inside his coat, between the layers of superfine and silk. It was warm in there, and his waistcoat fit him so well she could feel his muscles flex beneath the fabric, beneath the touch of her fingers. Her hands grazed his ribs, and he groaned, then kissed her more fiercely.
But everything changed when he swept his hand down from her neck to cup her breast. At first, she was too lost in the kiss to notice. Then he began to knead and stroke her through the muslin, which was enough to drag her to her senses.
“Sebastian, stop that!” she cried as she shoved him away from her. “Whatever do you think you’re doing?” She backed up instinctively and knocked over the chess table. It hit the carpet with a muffled boom, pieces scattering everywhere.
He ignored it. His breath was labored, his eyes an intense, predatory black that made a wanton shiver snake down her spine. “I believe, madam, I’ve been proving I can kiss well enough even to suit your finicky tastes.”
She could hardly deny it. She’d responded to those kisses with all the enthusiasm of a wicked demi-rep. “That didn’t mean you should…that you could—”
“Even a respectable dullard of a gentleman gets carried away when a woman is letting him make her bones melt.”
Oh, how mortifying. She could already feel the blush rising in her cheeks.
He shoved his hands in his frock coat pockets as if afraid to leave them out where they might touch her again. “Or perhaps I’m simply not as ‘respectable’ as you took me for. Which should make our future lessons far more useful to you.”
“There will be no more future lessons of that sort,” she snapped.
“Is everything all right in here?” barked a voice from the doorway.
Juliet swung around to see Griff standing in the doorway. Please don’t let him have seen us kissing, she prayed.
She shot Sebastian a glance, only to find his gaze probing her face, as if he waited for her to tattle. But this was between the two of them and always had been. She’d handle this in her own way, in her own time.
Griff entered, his eyes shifting back and forth from her to Sebastian, whose grim expression showed a man determined to face the consequences of his actions.
It was a little late for that, she thought testily. He should have done it years ago.
“Hello, Griff.” She fought to sound normal, to scour the husky need from her voice. “We were just playing chess.”
When Sebastian glanced sharply at her, she answered him with a warning look. What did he expect—that she’d admit before her brother-in-law that she’d been allowing Sebastian to put his hands all over her?
Griff regarded the table and the scattered pieces with suspicion. “Chess?”
“I was winning.” Sebastian fixed his heated gaze on her. “I called checkmate and got Lady Juliet so agitated that she dropped some pieces. When she went to retrieve them, she knocked the table over. Now we’ll have to play again.”
Leave it to Lord Arrogant to trumpet his victory any way he could. And in the process make her sound like a ninny. “Considering my clumsiness, I don’t think that’s wise, do you?” Oh, why must she sound so breathy…and…and wanton? “I wouldn’t want to destroy your table.”
“I’d happily risk a broken table to make you feel at ease in my home, Lady Juliet.” Sebastian’s smoky voice swirled round her like a fragrant Oriental incense, offering temptation…oblivion…satisfaction.
She swallowed, reminded of his similar statement in his study: I’ll risk a little pain to get what I want.
Why was that? He acted as if he wanted her when she knew he didn’t. Was he simply too proud to accept that she mightn’t welcome his advances? Or was he trying to throw her off balance so she wouldn’t unmask him?
Lord knew he was devious enough for any such machinations.
Griff frowned at Sebastian. “My coachman tells me it’s warming sufficiently today to melt some of the snow. We ought to be able to leave by the day after tomorrow at the latest. I know you’re glad to hear that.”
“Not at all, I assure you,” Sebastian answered, though his fiery gaze never left her face. “I enjoy company once in a while.”
Especially certain company, his look seemed to say. Drat it all, she was blushing again. The devil knew precisely how to unsettle her.
To think she’d let him kiss her so passionately again! And worse still, that she’d enjoyed it, wanted him to do more, to kiss and fondle her and make desire course through her, as hot, sweet, and spiced as mulled wine…
It simply wasn’t fair. Of all the men in England, why must the one who made her heart race and her bones melt be the same untrustworthy scoundrel who’d nearly ruined her life?
“Juliet, I need a word with you.” Griff glanced at Sebastian. “In private.”
Panic rose in her chest. If Griff meant to question her about Sebastian, what on earth could she tell him?
Of course, his infernal lordship didn’t look the least worried. “Certainly. I have work to do in my study anyway. I’ll see you both at dinner.”
Without a backward glance, he stalked out, leaving her shaken. Devious wretch! She was glad he was gone. Yes, delighted.
If only the room didn’t seem so confining and dull with him out of it.
“I don’t like that fellow,” Griff grumbled. “He’s too courtly with the ladies. I suspect he has more of his father in him than he lets on. I don’t trust him.”
“Neither do I.”
He shot her a speculative look. “Good. Just bear that in mind and stay away from him. That should keep you safe.”
From Sebastian? Impossible. When he kissed her, he annihilated her will. Or else she would never have ended up with his palm caressing her breast…
Oh no, she would not dwell on that shameful memory.
“Anyway,” Griff went on, “that’s not what I want to talk to you about.” He jerked his thumb toward the ceiling. “Rosalind has locked herself in our bedchamber. She won’t let me near her. She’s so angry about…well, things. What I did earlier.”
He speared his fingers through his hair in utter distraction. “I was hoping you could talk to her, make her understand that she shouldn’t follow the prescriptions of that bloody quack. You know something about remedies. You might convince her where I only seem to infuriate her.”
His request startled her. She couldn’t believe he’d noticed her knowledge of medicines, paltry as it was. Besides, the last person Rosalind was likely to listen to was her baby sister. “I’m not sure if I—”
“Please, I don’t know what else to do. I worry that she’ll hurt herself or…” His voice cracked. “Juliet, I don’t want to lose her.”
The poor man looked so distraught. “Oh, Griff, you won’t,” she assured him. “I’ll admit that these quack remedies sound nasty, but I doubt they’ll do more than give her a bellyache. I don’t think they’re fatal.”
“I didn’t mean—” He halted to drag in a heavy breath. “Never mind. I’d just feel better if someone were to make her see reason. Will you try?”
She managed a smile. “Of course. I’ll do my best.”
The relief on his face was palpable. “You’ll have to convince her to unlock the door first.”
Goodness gracious, Rosalind really was angry, wasn’t she? And of course, Griff was too proud to ask their host or the housekeeper for the key to his own bedchamber.
“Very well. But I may be a while.”
He nodded tersely.
His anxious expression lingered with her as she left the room, headed for the staircase. Poor, misguided Griff. He had a hard battle before him if he thought to bully Rosalind into anything, no matter how much he meant it for her own good. He could forbid her to use that potion all he liked—Rosalind
would do exactly as she pleased.
Which is why it would be better to find Rosalind a substitute, one less harmful. Sebastian’s proposal earlier had merit. What harm could some old wise woman’s herbs do? And even if the remedies failed, the mere hope of success might calm Rosalind.
Griff had asked for Juliet’s intervention, after all, so it wasn’t as if she were really interfering, was it?
On the other hand, taking Sebastian up on his offer would mean spending more time with him. More time prodding him into confessing. More time fighting her foolish feelings for him. Dance with the God of Fire, and you were sure to get burned. Yet dancing with him seemed her only way to uncover his secrets.
At least Rosalind’s presence would prevent him from trying any more of his sly tricks. She only got into trouble when she was alone with him, so she’d simply avoid that. And if it should happen despite her best efforts, she’d hold firm. None of that “intimate” kissing or touching, no matter how deliciously it made her stomach flip over.
By the time she’d reached the bedchamber Rosalind shared with Griff, she’d decided to tell Rosalind about Sebastian’s offer. Let Rosalind make the choice. Then Juliet would help if she could, but without being alone with Sebastian.
She rapped on the door.
“Curse you, Griff, go away!” came a muffled cry from inside the room.
Juliet squared her shoulders. Rosalind in a temper was no easy matter. “It’s not Griff; it’s me,” she called through the door. “Open up before the servants come running.”
“I don’t care if God Himself comes running,” Rosalind burst out. “Just go away. Tell Griff I don’t want to speak to him or his emissary.”
Dear me, what to do now? She couldn’t stand out here discussing matters, for goodness sake. Lowering her voice, she said, “Listen, dearest, I need to speak to you about…er…about…Lord Templemore.”
Silence. Then a terse, doubting “What about him?” came from nearer than before.
Glancing up and down the hall, Juliet prayed no one was in hearing distance. “He kissed me.” That was the truth, wasn’t it?
After the Abduction Page 12
