by Gayle Callen
“Because she thinks I’m a traitor,” Nick said and started to laugh. “I think she fancies herself a spy like her father. But she overheard things and now thinks I’m threatening all of England. I had to bring her, so she wouldn’t ruin all our work.”
“Bring her?”
“A more accurate term might be kidnap.”
Will sank back in his chair and wiped his hand across his face. “How the hell will I explain this to Jane?” he wondered aloud, as visions of her anger and retribution swirled through his brain. Nick had complicated everything.
“You can’t tell her, of course. We can’t risk Julia escaping justice should Jane have a loose mouth. Charlotte is safe. When I’m not with her, Sam or Cox is. Soon she’ll understand that I’m a friend to her father, not a traitor.”
“Make it soon,” Will said, getting to his feet and finding his hat.
Nick grinned and stood up. “Maybe I’ll just hand her over to you. After all, her sister would be anxious to comfort her.”
“I think not. When Charlotte finally understands the importance of your mission, send her back to London. I’m sure she won’t want to miss the end of the Season.” Will put his hand on the door handle and looked back over his shoulder. “Take care, Nick, and best of luck.”
“To you too. Shall I guide you back to the inn? I wouldn’t want you to get lost.”
Will shut the door in his smirking face.
Jane sat on the edge of her bed and tried to control her irritation. Lord Chadwick was not in his room. Oh, she hadn’t actually knocked, but earlier in the evening, she’d peered out her door and seen him leave, and a few minutes later Mr. Barlow had come up and taken his place. There’d been silence ever since.
She was curious and frustrated at the same time. What could Lord Chadwick be doing? Was he sitting down in the taproom talking to common laborers, men he hadn’t thought good enough to speak to her? Of course he had been a gentleman farmer until a few short months ago.
Suddenly she heard low voices in the hall, and she hurried to press her ear to the door. She thought it was Lord Chadwick, but she couldn’t quite be certain. Very carefully, she opened the door a slight crack. With his back to her, Mr. Barlow was heading down the stairs.
“Jane?”
It was Lord Chadwick, and so close he could have been talking in her ear. She held her breath, not answering, hoping he would think her asleep and go away. She was afraid to close the door for fear he’d hear it.
He said her name again, this time with more urgency. Suddenly the door pushed open, and she tumbled onto her backside, bracing herself with her hands. With the door now wide, her betrothed loomed over her.
“Are you all right?” he demanded, glancing quickly about the room before focusing intently on her. “Is someone—”
Then his voice choked to a halt, and she realized why. Her legs were bare all the way to midthigh, exposed to his wide-eyed gaze. With a gasp, she frantically tugged the material down as far as she could, but some of it was caught under her, leaving her feet and ankles vulnerable. He continued to stare.
“Are you going to help me up?” she demanded, striving unsuccessfully for a cool voice.
“There’s not an intruder?” he asked.
She noticed he didn’t even bother looking around again. He just stared at her legs.
“No!”
He reached for her hand and lifted her so swiftly to her feet that she stumbled against him, her other hand flattening against his chest. They stood that way, breathing into the silence. She told herself to keep her gaze away from his face, but her hand felt hot in his, bare flesh against bare flesh. His thigh almost nestled between hers. Her heart was pounding so loudly that she thought there must be something wrong with her.
Unable to stop herself, she looked up—and wished she hadn’t. His narrowed gaze was piercing, hard, and full of an awareness that made something shudder inside her. He was staring at her mouth, and she felt so dry that she licked her lips. He swiftly inhaled, and with the expansion his chest touched her breasts. The pressure on her nipples through the thin nightdress made her breasts ache in a way she’d never felt before.
As if from a great distance, she heard the door close, then his free hand slid up her back, pulling her tighter to him. The ache spread even further.
What was happening to her? These strange sensations were foreign to her—but wildly exhilarating.
She felt the pressure of his thigh increase, and she caught her lip between her teeth to stop a moan as the strange ache centered between her thighs. She was shocked to realize she wanted to push harder against him.
Wildly, she broke their shared gaze and found herself staring at his mouth. If he asked permission to kiss her, she didn’t know if she could deny him.
But he didn’t ask. With no warning, he covered her mouth with his, freeing her hand as he pulled her hard into his embrace. He had none of the tentative nature of a gentleman, as she once might have suspected. He pressed swift kisses to her lips with a knowledgeable passion teetering on the edge of control.
Jane felt like a new, different person, as if there was something inside her that needed freedom. So this was what it felt like to kiss a man. When she burrowed against him and kissed him back, she felt the vibrations of a groan rumble through his chest. His mouth slanted across hers, and as she gasped with pleasure, his tongue traced the fullness of her lower lip. Her moan was muffled as he deepened the kiss, opening her mouth wide to accept the stroking of his tongue. She had never imagined doing such a thing, but it felt incredible. She could taste him now, the faintest essence of beer and man.
She wanted—needed—to be closer to him. There was an impatience deep in her blood, in her very skin, to touch him. He wasn’t wearing a coat, so she slid her hands up his linen shirt. She could feel the rise and fall of hard muscle through his arms and up his neck.
When Will felt her soft, cool hands slide up into his hair, the last of his control shattered. She tasted like an angel and had the long legs of a temptress. After her first tentative exploration with her tongue, she kissed him now like a woman who knew what she wanted. She clung to him. Her round breasts teased his chest; her thighs trembled against his, where he could feel the moist heat of her.
With a sigh, she dropped her head back, her black hair glistening in long waves in the candlelight. He burrowed his face in the warmth of her neck. She smelled like sweet jasmine, an exotic, exciting scent that hinted at mysteries unrevealed. Marriage to such a passionate woman seemed like a glimpse of heaven.
He licked a path up behind her ear, then back down to her collarbone. As he suckled the skin there, tasting its softness, he allowed his hand to slide down her lower back and capture one round cheek.
When Jane stiffened, he took her mouth again in deep kisses to relax her. With both hands, he pulled her hips tighter against his, but she turned away from his lips.
“Lord Chadwick—”
“It’s William,” he murmured, kissing her cheek, then nibbling on her earlobe.
“Lord Chadwick, you must stop!”
She put both hands on his chest, pushing away until only their hips still pressed together, her buttocks cupped in both his palms. He rubbed his thigh higher against her, and she gave a sweet little gasp, her face full of passion and curiosity and indecision.
“You don’t want me to stop,” he said in a husky voice, leaning forward to kiss her again.
But she held herself away. “I do—you must!”
“Jane, we’re to be married soon. The pleasure could begin now.”
She pushed hard, and he let her go. She stumbled back and put her hand against a small table to steady herself. He helplessly watched the rise and fall of her breasts.
“And so would the guilt,” she said, her voice growing stronger with each word. “This is not right, Lord Chadwick. And please do not use my Christian name. I have not given you permission.”
He grinned and leaned back against the door, folding
his arms across his chest. He tried to pretend that he was not so overwhelmed with desire for her, that he was not gazing with slavering fascination at her nipples pointing against the thin nightdress. “After that heated exchange, I’m to go back to using ‘Miss Whittington’?”
“It will remind us of the proper decorum.”
To his great regret, she picked up her dressing gown and turned her back to don it. Will bit back a protest, knowing it was useless.
“You can have no doubts about our marriage now,” he said softly.
She turned to face him, cool inquiry on her elegant face. “Then we think differently, my lord. I have even more.”
“People with no feeling for one another don’t kiss like that—Miss Whittington.”
“I wouldn’t know, because no man has been rude enough to force a kiss upon me.”
“Force?” he repeated, amused.
“Force. You did not even ask my permission.”
His smile died, and he gave her a heated stare full of the desire that still simmered in him. “You gave permission with your body, my dear. No words were necessary.”
She averted her gaze, and he knew she was well aware of the truth.
“It was a mistake,” she said flatly. “It will not happen again.”
In frustration he took a step toward her, but when she only lifted her chin in haughty challenge, he stopped.
“It will happen again,” he replied firmly. “You are to be my wife.”
“But I’m not yet. If such…intimacies happen again, I shall board the nearest train north, regardless of my father’s request that I travel with you. And perhaps I’ll even tell him what happened.”
Will grinned. “Resorting to threats, are we? You forget, my dearest Miss Whittington, that I know your father well. When I tell him that I found your door open—”
“It was not open!”
“I noticed it was unlatched, and I was worried for your safety.”
“And because of you and your dog, I was alone and defenseless.”
“Ah yes, the intimidating Molly was not at your side to frighten off ruffians.”
She hesitated, and he knew he’d won the point.
“And where were you, my lord?” she demanded. “Why were you not in the next room for my protection?”
He hid his wariness. “Barlow was there. You were not alone.”
“But where were you?”
“I was down in the taproom, Miss Whittington. Could you not taste the beer I’d consumed?”
That shocked her into silence, and her green eyes grew shadowed with memory. “That was crude, my lord.”
“But true, Miss Whittington. If you must know the details, I was inquiring after available estates for sale in the shire. Go ahead and ask the innkeeper if you don’t believe me.”
She said nothing, and he smiled without smugness, for the lies he had to tell her were never far from his mind.
“Very well,” she finally said. “It has been a trying day. Have a pleasant sleep, my lord.”
She said it with sarcasm, but he answered in a low, sincere voice. “Sleep will be difficult, sweet Jane, for through the night I’ll be thinking of you and what we could be doing together.”
For a moment she looked confused, vulnerable, a woman who guessed what she might be missing. To keep from making an even bigger fool of himself, he turned and left the room.
Jane’s knees buckled, and she almost fell into the chair beside the table. She wiped a shaking hand across her mouth, but there was no way to erase the feel of his lips on hers. He had tasted…wonderful. She hadn’t imagined a man could make her lose her thoughts and forget her every goal.
Now confusion wormed into her mind. She could still almost feel his hot palms sliding down her back. Her buttocks were imprinted with his hands.
He had known everything she was feeling, as if he’d experienced it all before—many times. A painful emotion flared through her, and with dismay she recognized it as jealousy.
Jealousy!
Why should she care that he had practiced those kisses on other women before her? It was obvious men were weaker creatures where the flesh was concerned.
But maybe she was weak, too, because as he’d pointed out, she had gladly given him permission to do as he pleased to her. She even wanted to call him back. She felt…incomplete, restless. She didn’t know much about the sex act itself, but she knew there was more than kissing.
And with a dark hunger, she wanted to know it all. She prided herself on her knowledge, on her exploration of mysterious subjects, and Lord Chadwick—William—was her newest mystery.
She could not reconcile the man who talked of fashions and opera with the man who could seduce her senses. Tonight he was a forceful, enigmatic stranger, one she could imagine being granted a peerage for some specific reason. She would insist that he explain his rise in status—and keep him talking as much as possible. Otherwise she would spend the endless hours in the carriage trying not to think about what they’d done together.
There was something dark and dangerous buried in him; if she understood it, surely it wouldn’t call to her as it did now.
She realized with despair that he had made it even more difficult for her to refuse the marriage. How could she lie to her father and say Lord Chadwick did not affect her, that there was nothing between them?
Chapter 10
The next morning, Jane decided to abandon her corset and cheerfully stuffed it into the depths of her trunk. Now that Molly was gone, it seemed ridiculous to need a stranger’s help getting dressed. She would ask for a chambermaid’s assistance at night ironing out the next day’s garments, but that would be all.
The freedom to breathe was wonderful. As she went down to the public dining room of the inn, she concentrated on that rather than her impending reunion with Lord Chadwick.
She’d had a difficult time falling asleep the night before, knowing he was nearby. Every time she closed her eyes, she relived the touch of his hands, the erotic invasion of his mouth.
But she was determined to spend her day discovering his secrets—and distracting herself from his nearness.
Lord Chadwick stood up as she entered the dining room. He was dressed as if he were making calls in London today instead of traveling by carriage. His black cravat was knotted intricately, and he wore a blue-and-black striped frock coat over black trousers. He was so perfectly turned out that she had to wonder if his valet wasn’t secretly following them.
Jane had worried how she would react when he looked at her, and for good reason. His warm gaze took her in from the top of her smartly tilted hat to the tips of her half boots peeking out from beneath her dark green carriage dress. The places where his hands had touched her body seemed to throb.
She was ready for a comment alluding to their kiss, but all he said was, “The dress quite becomes you, my dear. It is made of merino, is it not?”
She found herself staring at him almost dumbfounded. Again, he seemed like a different man. He didn’t want to talk about the kiss—but about her clothing? Perhaps if she’d been wearing more last night, he would have been distracted enough to discuss fashion rather than attempt to seduce her.
As she took a seat, allowing him to push her chair in, she thought she saw just a hint of amusement in his eyes when he walked around the table, though it was gone before he sat.
She didn’t understand his game, but if he was using clothing to divert her, it wouldn’t work.
They ate a healthy meal of fried trout and eggs, discussing only the weather and their travel plans. He reluctantly agreed to allow her to visit the ruins of a castle at midday as long as it wasn’t a lengthy delay, and he thoughtfully asked the innkeeper to pack them a picnic luncheon.
When Mr. Barlow brought the carriage around, the innkeeper helped Jane carry her portmanteau out into the courtyard. Once she’d been assisted into the carriage, she slid as far to the left as she could, staring out the window while Lord Chadwick stepped in and
deposited Killer on the opposite bench. The carriage rocked gently with his weight, and she felt the brush of his elbow as he was seated. He knocked on the roof and the carriage jerked into motion.
The silence gnawed at Jane for several minutes as they drove away from the Ouse River and up through the town itself. Not only did Killer glare at her but he also gave an occasional low growl, until her betrothed admonished him. Could Killer actually tell her relationship with his master had altered?
When only scattered farmhouses dotted the ripe fields, she turned to look at Lord Chadwick. He was watching her, one arm behind his head as he leaned into the corner. He smiled, his dimples so deep that she wanted to trace them with her finger. The muscles low in her stomach suddenly tightened with that same forlorn ache she’d first experienced in his arms last night. Although she felt a blush sweeping over her face, she didn’t look away.
“How long will it be before we arrive at the castle?” she asked.
“Soon, I imagine,” he drawled. “Shall we play cards to pass the time? Unless you’d like to wait excitedly on the edge of your seat for your first view of the castle.”
This time she rolled her eyes. “I have a question I’d like you to answer instead.”
“So you want to speak to me again?” He raised one eyebrow in mock amazement.
“I have never stopped speaking to you, my lord,” she chided.
“Perhaps I should be more specific: you’ve been speaking about nothing but the weather since we greeted one another this morning.”
“And your topic of conversation was the material of my clothing.”
He grinned. “Touché.”
She winced when he pronounced it as “toochay.” She corrected his pronunciation, and he thanked her so seriously that she almost gave a reluctant laugh.
“I hope you are not offended by the personal question I’ll be asking you.”
“You’re my intended. You are allowed to know personal things about me.”
She chose to ignore the gleam in his eye. “My mother told me you only recently received your title.”
