He smiled back. “I would never wish to be thought of as a frightening villain.”
“In that case, you couldn’t be a highwayman.” Certainly not her highwayman. So she didn’t suspect him. “But if he is indeed Lord Renton, then it’s no wonder justice has caught up to him so swiftly, for he really did behave as if he’d never waylaid a carriage before.” She sighed wistfully. “I only wish he’d been someone else!”
Someone like…Jack?
As they ascended the steps, he said, “Besides, I can think of one thing your highwayman—”
“Captain Jordan.” It was neither a question nor an exclamation, but a simple, crisp declaration of his name.
And it was enough to elicit an apology. “I’m sorry, Miss Griffin, but it truly was unintentional that time. I meant the highwayman. I can think of one thing he didn’t do that I would have, if I’d had the chance.”
She tilted her head to one side, lifting her chin. “And what’s that?”
He leaned toward her ever so slightly and lowered his voice to just above a whisper. “For one thing, I would’ve tried to kiss you.”
He watched her eyes very slowly widen into those dark forest pools of deepest green as she gazed back at him, and just as slowly her pink lips parted, as if inviting him to do what he wished he could have done that night.
But only with her consent. Only because she wanted him.
And he was fairly sure she’d wanted him that night, but of course she never would have said so. But if she had…
And if she did now…
A part of Jack wanted her to. Well, make that two parts—his mouth and one other part that suddenly stirred in his breeches.
“Captain Jordan,” she suddenly whispered.
“Yes, Miss Griffin?” he whispered back.
“Aren’t you going to ask?”
Good God, did she want him to ask her for a kiss? Her mouth opened even wider, as if she longed to devour him whole.
He lowered his head toward hers. “Do I have to ask?”
“No.” Now her lips started closing, like the proverbial window of opportunity.
Before they could close all the way, Jack firmly took her by the shoulders and covered those proffered lips with his own, stifling her gasp of surprise.
Only why should she be surprised, when she’d given her permission? Then again, kissing was certain to be a strange, unfamiliar sensation to her.
As he drew her closer against him, teasing her trembling lips with the tip of his tongue, he thought of other strange, unfamiliar sensations he wanted to make her feel with his mouth…his hands…and that throbbing part in his breeches.
As he lightly flicked his tongue over the very edge of her own, she stiffened in his embrace, which was perfectly normal under the circumstances. But sooner or later, she’d have to relax.
She didn’t.
Instead, she became even stiffer—as did Jack, but in a different, more localized way as he tried to delve deeper into her luscious mouth, but she abruptly broke away, gasping for breath.
Judging from the tiny vertical crease that reappeared between her dark, feathery brows, Jack wondered if he’d just bungled again.
“You—you just kissed me!” she stammered.
“I know. I thought you wanted me to.”
A second crease appeared alongside the other. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
God have mercy on Jack’s wretched soul. He really had bungled it this time.
Feeling like the veriest fool who ever stumbled, he said, “Well, my dear Miss Griffin, when you looked at me with your lips parted ever so invitingly, and inquired if I wasn’t going to ask—well, maybe I should’ve asked, after all.”
She looked utterly aghast. “You thought I wanted you to ask if you could kiss me?”
“And don’t think I wish now that I had,” he replied, thoroughly chagrined. “Perhaps you should tell me now what you did expect me to ask?”
Miss Griffin lowered her head, pressed a hand to her brow as if suddenly stricken with a blinding headache, and turned away from him.
But at least she didn’t run away from him, so maybe all was not lost.
She spun back to face him and dropped her hand, her mouth so appallingly agape that Jack felt certain her jaw would have dropped to the ground had it not been so firmly attached to the rest of her.
It most certainly was not an invitation for a kiss.
Levity, Jordan. Always levity. He forced a smile. “I suppose this wouldn’t be the best moment to ask if you’re trying to catch flies again.”
She cried out and whirled away from him, her yellow sprigged skirt swirling around her ankles. Jack was about to brace himself for a well-earned blow when he remembered she didn’t have a reticule or umbrella with her.
She lurched to a stop, nearly losing her balance as she seared him with a blazing glare. “That’s exactly what I thought you were going to ask, which is why I said you didn’t have to ask—and then you kissed me instead!”
Now it was Jack’s turn to lower his head and press his hand to his brow as if he had a splitting headache. Which he did, suddenly. He pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Why did you kiss me?” she cried.
“I thought you wanted me to.”
“I never said I wanted you to kiss me! I said I wished the highwayman had kissed me! And just because I said that, I suppose you think you can take liberties with me! You think if I’ve never been kissed before and I say I wish to have been kissed by the highwayman, then that must mean I wish to be kissed by anyone!” And with that she stormed back into the manor.
Jack stood there for a long moment, smacking his lips as he tasted a trace of ham…and a hint of beef…and every other edible he’d seen on the sideboard this morning save the fruit. The vixen was like a hungry carnivore, and with the right words he was confident he could make her hunger for him. His head spun as he tried to make sense of her shrill, parting words.
“No, I don’t think that means you wish to be kissed by anyone,” he murmured. “Just by me.”
Chapter Eight
Confusion and disappointment swirled around Felicity as she scurried into the manor, pressing her fingertips to her lips as if to hide any evidence that she’d just been kissed for the very first time in her life.
And all because Captain Jordan thought she was a lightskirt who’d toss favors to any man if she was willing to give them to a masked brigand at the side of the road.
If not for that, she might have enjoyed the kiss. Indeed, she’d longed to enjoy it—and maybe she had, now that she thought about it, for she found herself wishing he might kiss her again—but only because he truly desired her, and not because he was taking advantage of a soiled dove.
She’d felt things in his embrace that she’d never felt in all her life. A strange inner fire that pulsated from her pounding heart to parts of her body that had never throbbed before except in her most fevered dreams—dreams in which the man was as mysteriously anonymous as the one who’d taken her ring. She felt as if she’d just been awakened from those dreams to discover she’d never imagined the flames that burned within her. They really were there, and had just been ignited by Captain Jordan.
Captain Jack Jordan, the man she’d suspected of being her—no, dash it—the highwayman until those two horsemen of Renton’s apocalypse had showed up.
It might have explained just as many things about him as it did about Renton.
But would Captain Jordan point to himself as a possible suspect if he hadn’t been the actual culprit? “If you must know, I was waiting for you say, ‘Why, Captain Jordan, no wonder you keep saying the same things my highwayman said! It’s because you’re my highwayman!’”
As she stood in the middle of the front hall staring into space, she had to admit that yes, he would. It would also explain why he was the only member of this wretched house party who deigned to give her the time of day—and not just because Lord Howland had told Captain Jordan that it wa
s up to him to bring her back into the fold, as if she were that sheep he claimed had gone astray. She’d caught the startled expression on his face, so fleeting she might have missed it had she blinked, when she reminded him of the missing ewe a short while ago.
But Felicity was quite positive she was the one who’d gone astray at the captain’s behest.
She pivoted and stared at the front door. She’d left it ajar for him, but he had yet to appear. Surely he wasn’t just standing out there? Or had he decided to disappear to another part of the estate? Maybe he really had lost a sheep and went to find her. Or perhaps he’d gone to his highwayman’s lair?
Could he be operating in league with Renton? Maybe Renton hired Captain Jordan to steal the garnet ring so he could be free of her? What would have happened had she refused to surrender that ring the other night?
She wasn’t likely to find out now—unless she directly confronted her fiancé—or rather, former fiancé.
Angry male voices thundered from the drawing room. Apparently that was where the Brothers Pitt were confronting Renton. She hurried in that direction.
“I would never lower myself to do such a thing as you gentlemen suggest,” Lord Renton was saying, as Lord Howland stood next to him with his hands behind his back.
“That’s because you hired a highwayman to do your dastardly work!” Felicity blurted.
She really shouldn’t have been surprised that they all turned to look at her as if she had snakes growing out of her head.
Julius Pitt turned to study Renton anew. “You hired a highwayman to seduce our sister?”
Before Renton could even say anything to that, Felicity burst out with, “You seduced their sister? And you dare to jilt me because I went after a highwayman?”
“Then you admit it!” he lashed back. “You were with the highwayman! You let him ravish you! And by the way, you jilted me—for him.”
What a dishonorable cur, she thought furiously. Even though she was relieved not to be betrothed to him anymore, she knew there was no point in arguing about who ended it. Now that he was a peer, it was his word against hers—and everyone believed his word without question.
“Our sister refuses to name her seducer,” said Augustus Pitt, as if she’d never interrupted their conversation. As if she’d never existed. “All we have is her diary, which makes numerous references to a Lord R whose father is a marquess.”
“I happen to be an earl!” Renton barked. “And my father was never a marquess.”
“If I may, gentlemen,” Howland interjected, “I think I know who you’re really looking for.”
Suddenly, Felicity did, too. “I’m dreadfully sorry, Messrs. Pitt. I mistakenly directed you to the wrong Lord R.” She wasn’t about to apologize to Renton for bearing false witness against him—not when he’d just done the same to her.
Lord Howland stepped over to her, his voice low. “Miss Griffin, I want to hear it from you and not from gossip. Did the highwayman hurt you in any way?”
“No, my lord. He’s not the one who hurt me. He’s only the one who ruined me. Forever.”
She fled the drawing room and dashed upstairs. She stormed into her bedchamber and was about to throw the door shut when Cordelia flew in like a bird diving for a fish. “Felicity! How could you? How could you?” Her arms flapped just like wings. With any luck, she might dash headlong into the window and stun herself. “How could you do such a thing?”
“Do what?” Cordelia hadn’t been downstairs just now, so this couldn’t have anything to do with the recent scene in the drawing room. “Oh, you mean about last night? I didn’t see the point in remaining. You and Captain Jordan were the only ones speaking to me. Even Lydia hasn’t said anything to me since we arrived here.” Not that Felicity was complaining.
“I don’t mean that, though it was very ill mannered of you to leave when you did, without a word to anyone!”
“What was the point? No one would listen to me!” Except Captain Jordan.
“Besides, I’m talking about your jilting Lord Renton. How could you!”
Felicity should have expected this after Lady Saxby’s accusations last night. Fresh anger gripped her. “I did no such thing! He’s lying.”
Cordelia stiffened and cocked her head to one side, looking askance at Felicity as if she’d just said she saw fairies out in the garden. “Felicity.” She even used the same tone of voice. Low and reproachful. Felicity. Surely you know there’s no such thing as fairies. You’re too old to believe in such nonsense. “Lord Renton is a gentleman of honor who would never lie about a lady.”
“Bless me, but I could’ve sworn I wasn’t a lady anymore. One would certainly think so to hear all the gossip. He jilted me.” Felicity saw no need to add that she wasn’t exactly heartbroken about that.
“Felicity, I tell you, he could never have done such a thing. The two of you have been betrothed since childhood. He’s waited all these years to marry you, and even as recently as two nights ago, he still had every intention of wedding you. But something happened since then, did it not? Some absurd romantic notion took hold of you and caused you to do not one, but two foolish things. First you left the carriage to go after that highwayman for who knows what scandalous reason…”
“Odd how no one knows the reason, only that it’s scandalous.”
“And the very next day you jilt Renton. Have you any idea what they’re saying about you? That you jilted him for the highwayman! How will we ever explain this to His Grace?” Cordelia referred to her nephew and Felicity’s cousin Blake, the Duke of Halstead.
“I suppose we’ll have to spin more Banbury tales on top of the ones already being spun. But even if I did jilt him, what is so scandalous about that? Isn’t it the bride’s prerogative to cry off for no particular reason?”
“Only there is a particular reason. You jilted him because of some silly romantic notion you have about the highwayman!”
Felicity let out an exasperated sigh that was almost a groan.
“That’s what makes it so bad. That, and the fact that you’ve both been betrothed since birth and he’s waited for you—”
“All these years!” Felicity chanted in unison with her aunt.
“But there’s no help for it now.” Cordelia stepped around her niece as if Felicity were an immovable piece of furniture she wished to avoid stumbling into. “Lady Howland spoke to me only a few moments ago. We agreed that it’s best if you leave the house party.”
Felicity stared at her aunt, who seemed intent on looking anywhere else, for a long, incredulous moment before saying, “If I leave?”
“You’re no longer attached to Lord Renton. But he’s still here, and if you remain, it will cause all sorts of scandal that we simply don’t want.” Cordelia fixed her attention on the fireplace, which meant her back was to Felicity. “Lady Howland hinted your presence could very well hurt Lydia’s prospects.”
Felicity was being sent away. In disgrace. And would never to go to London or another house party ever again. In effect, she was being banished from good society. “Where will I go?”
Cordelia sighed uneasily. “I’ve already sent an express to Blake. Perhaps he’ll let you live in a cottage at the old sheep farm in Northumberland. Of course, that estate has been sadly neglected over the years, so the cottage may not be completely inhabitable, but—”
“Are you saying I’ll have to spend the rest of my life in some rundown cottage up in Northumberland?”
Cordelia persisted in addressing the fireplace. “My dear girl, do you still not comprehend the enormity and gravity of what you’ve done?”
“But I haven’t done anything!” Felicity’s voice was almost a high-pitched whisper, for panic had her by the throat, strangling her as she swept over to the hearth and whirled around to face her aunt.
“You must be removed from good society,” Cordelia said with the same tone of voice she might have used to inform Felicity that she must use a handkerchief whenever she sneezed. Instead, Cordeli
a held her own handkerchief to her nose and turned around with a sneeze that sounded suspiciously fake.
Felicity was still trying to absorb this devastating news when Lady Howland herself showed up in the doorway with eyes only for Cordelia, and addressed her as if Felicity wasn’t even there. “Cordelia, I’d like to show you the betrothal ring my son will offer Lydia.” She opened her fisted hand to reveal a diamond that twinkled like a tiny star Lady Howland might have captured in the palm of her hand. “I’m afraid it’s not a Howland family heirloom, for that’s hopelessly stuck on my finger, and I’ve tried every trick you can think of to remove it.”
Cordelia lifted her quizzing glass to scrutinize the sparkling stone. “I have the same problem with my wedding band. You can’t imagine how frightened I was the other night when we were waylaid by that highwayman. He came right out and said he would’ve cut off my finger to claim that ring if only he’d remembered to bring a knife!”
“Oh, my dear Cordelia, how awful! To think he would’ve done such a horrible thing!”
“I tend to think he wouldn’t have done such a thing even if he’d remembered his knife,” Felicity chimed in. “He really wasn’t at all vicious.”
“And even if he had cut off my finger,” said Cordelia, “what if the ring still didn’t come off? He might’ve insisted on taking my finger, too!”
“I don’t think he would’ve done that,” Felicity scoffed, as she circled around the two matrons who had eyes, not to mention ears, only for each other. “Besides, he didn’t demand any valuables that we weren’t wearing. He never asked for your jewel case.”
“He sounds like a very dangerous rogue,” said Lady Howland. “You’re fortunate that he went on his way without doing you any harm.”
“He seemed the sort who wouldn’t hurt anyone unless he was provoked,” replied Cordelia.
The Highwayman's Lady (BookStrand Publishing Romance) Page 10
