She leaned against the solid barrier and smiled ruefully. This was an extremely enlightening evening. Who would have dreamed of such occurrences? The thought struck her again as to the odd makeup of this party of Lady Olivia’s. It seemed a prescription for scandal. She shook away the disquieting idea. Surely a woman who was so concerned over the standards of a potential daughter-in-law would never deliberately throw such a combustible mix of guests together. It was coincidence, nothing more.
Cece picked up her book from the bed where she’d tossed it in the excitement of the evening and yawned. It seemed she no longer needed assistance to sleep. She placed the volume on a nearby table, extinguished the lamp and fell back into bed. Once-evasive sleep now seemed to welcome her like a long lost love.
She snuggled against the pillow and an unbidden thought danced in her mind. What would she have done if Jared had come to her door to night? Would she have turned him away or welcomed him into her bed? The man already had full claim on her heart. Would anything more truly be so wrong? The questions and possible answers brought an unthinking smile to her lips.
Just before oblivion claimed her, in a last corner of her mind still fighting the blissful lure of sleep, a tiny thought nagged at her.
Lady Olivia was not the type of woman to accept, or allow, coincidence.
Chapter Nine
“…therefore if I move the tiller like this, the automobile should…” Cece perched in Jared’s motorcar in its usual spot in the stables, her brow furrowed in concentration.
It was a lovely brow, capping the most remarkable eyes he’d ever seen. Not unlike rich chocolate—and he did so love chocolate—they were a deep, bittersweet color with occasional smoldering flashes of fire. Her skin was a counterpoint of cream and peaches. It was something of a shame, how well her brains equaled her beauty. While intelligence was a quality he would grudgingly admit he could appreciate in a wife, it made his effort to avoid allowing her to drive his automobile far more difficult than anticipated. Why, he’d already taught her nearly everything he could without actually moving the vehicle, and had drilled her on most points repeatedly. There was nothing left to do but gracefully admit defeat. Unless…
She leaned forward, studying the instruments necessary to operation of the vehicle. A few errant tendrils of lush walnut hair escaped the confines of the coiffure high on her head and teased the back of her neck. It was an irresistible picture. A delightful scene. A siren call he could not ignore. And the perfect opportunity.
He bent toward her and lightly brushed his lips against a fascinating spot midway between her hairline and the neck of her dress. At first she seemed not to notice. He continued, his touch light and provocative.
She froze.
“Jared?” Her tone was cautious. “What ever are you doing?”
“The last resort, my love,” he said under his breath.
She jerked upright and swiveled toward him. “What did you say?”
“My favorite sport…my love,” he said innocently, and tossed her a wicked grin.
“Oh.” She flushed a most becoming shade. “I didn’t quite hear you.”
“No?” He edged closer to nuzzle her ear, and she shivered in response. “I would think these delightful ears would have exceptionally acute hearing.”
“Yes…well…” she said faintly.
He ran his lips down the ridge of her neck from beneath her ear and back, then onward to trace the line of her jaw. “I would further think this exquisite skin to be extraordinarily sensitive.”
Her eyes widened and her breathing came fast and shallow. “It does seem to be.” She fluttered her hand in front of her face. “Is it getting quite warm in here?”
“Quite,” he murmured, continuing his sensual exploration. She shuddered slightly, her eyes drifted closed and her head fell back, exposing her graceful neck to his plundering mouth. His lips trailed lower, dipping into the hollow at the base of her throat to meet the neckline of her blouse and the first of a long row of tiny buttons. Skillfully he flicked the top one open and kissed the exposed flesh.
“Jared?” Her voice was barely a sigh.
“Yes?” He unfastened a second button and a third.
“Do you remember when we were in Paris?”
“Um-hum.” His lips caressed every inch revealed by each succeeding button. A fourth…a fifth…a sixth, until her blouse lay open, baring a flimsy camisole and the succulent flesh straining above the corset it failed to hide. He ran his tongue along the edge of the undergarment and she quivered. “I remember Paris extremely well.”
“And we talked…about the dangers…of a dishonorable man?” Tiny gasps separated her words.
He untied the ribbons of her camisole and pushed it low. Rosy-tipped breasts heaved above the confines of her corset and he cupped one luscious offering. Lightly he rubbed the flat of his thumb across the tip and watched it pebble at his touch.
“A rogue, I believed we called him,” Jared said softly, and bent to take her breast in his mouth. She drew a sharp breath and uttered an unthinking moan.
“Jared?” Her fingers tunneled through his hair and she grasped his head mindlessly. “What else would a rogue do?”
He grinned against her skin at her words, sweet with the promise of success, and raised his head. His gaze caught hers and his smile faded, vanquished by the abrupt recognition that what ever game the two played with each other, this moment was something far more tangible…lasting…real.
Her eyes were endless with newfound desire, glazed with awakening passion. Her face was flushed, heated; her chest heaved. She bit her lower lip, full, lush and inviting, and stared at him with a look that said all he’d ever dreamed of, all he’d ever wanted, was his for the taking. His breath caught in his throat with the sure knowledge that she offered him not only her body but her soul.
“Jared?” Her voice was husky and intense. “Wouldn’t he kiss me until I knew I’d been well and truly kissed?”
For a moment he could only stare at the blatant yearning revealed in her eyes. Then he pulled her to him, her bare chest crushed against his, his mouth descending to meet hers.
“The fiend,” he breathed, and claimed her lips with his own. The pressure of his mouth on hers, the eager way her lips opened beneath his, destroyed any vestige of self-control that might have yet lingered at his command. His tongue swept inside her mouth, tracing the inner edge of her lips, dueling with hers in an urgent dance of need and fire. Gentleness was flung aside in a burning passion to devour and consume and make this woman his forever.
She responded to the demand of his lips with an unquenched ache that insisted on fulfillment. Her tongue met his eagerly, desperate for unknown sensations she could only guess at. Tenderness was discarded in her frantic quest to conquer and claim this man as her own.
Cece pulled him tighter and wrenched her lips from his, surrendering to the overpowering compulsion to rain kisses on his face, to bite the lobe of his ear, to taste the corded power of his neck. A thought popped to the surface of senses drugged with plea sure and desire: If this is what one could expect from a rogue, thank God Jared’s reputation was not unfounded in that area! His mouth claimed her breast and coherent thought vanished in her frenzied struggle to satisfy a raging need she’d never suspected existed.
He could not get enough of her. Not her taste, not her scent, not the feel of her velvet skin beneath his touch, beneath his mouth. He ran his hand up her leg higher, ever higher, in an exploration of territory not known by man before. Her fingers dug into his back, the sharp pain spurring him onward. His hand reached the juncture of her thighs and only the thin fabric of her undergarments separated him from her damp heat.
She twisted on the small seat of the motorcar, struggling to increase the pressure of his touch on her most private places. The exquisite sensation stole her breath and her mind. The long, hard length of his manhood pressed against her, and she wondered blindly how much longer they could continue before sheer plea sure ripped
them apart.
A corner of his mind screamed that this was not the place; this was not the time. The seat of an automobile was not where he wished to start a lifetime with the only true love of his life. But dear God, she was raging hunger, incessant fervor and heaven itself beneath his touch. If this was the reaction of an innocent newly awakened to the glories of passion, he could only thank the stars he was the first to storm the castle walls of her desire.
A hunting horn sounded in the distance.
“Bloody hell.” The sound jerked him to his senses like a slap of icy water. He groaned and sagged against her.
“Jared, don’t stop now.” She moaned and clutched him tighter.
“Cece…” Reluctantly, he gathered his wits about him and struggled to sit upright, firmly disengaging her arms from around his neck.
Cece sprawled across the seat, her blouse gaping open, her skirt bunching nearly around her hips. For a moment she gazed at him, unfulfilled passion simmering in her eyes. Then her dazed expression slowly cleared and awareness dawned on her face. She bolted upright, one hand grasping the edges of her blouse together and the other clapping to her cheek.
“Goodness, Jared.” Her eyes were wide with what might have been embarrassment or, more than likely, curious excitement. “Did we…? How could…? That was…”
“That was without a doubt the most incredible…um, kiss I have ever experienced.” He leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose.
“Thank you.” She smiled modestly and blushed with obvious plea sure.
“Now, however, I regret it’s time to go.” He regretted it more than he could say. He climbed stiffly out of the motorcar, Cece scrambling in his wake. Jared watched with plea sure her struggle to right the convoluted folds of her skirt. Even now she appeared so appealingly disheveled, enjoyment quickly turned again to desire, and it was all he could do not to take her back in his arms and finish what they had started.
Cece worked on fastening the long row of buttons that ran the length of her bodice and cast him a rueful glance. “This obviously means our lesson for today is over.”
“Lesson?” What was she talking about? Certainly he was more experienced in these matters than she, but he would hardly term it a lesson.
She studied him for a long moment. A grin broke across her face. “The automobile, Jared. Remember? The driving lesson?”
“Of course.” He shrugged sheepishly. “For a moment there I thought—”
“I’m quite aware of what you thought,” she said primly, her proper tone in comical contrast to her appearance: disorderly clothing, tousled hair, the high color of passion still in her cheeks. She finished with the last button and gestured toward the motorcar. “These lessons of yours are not going at all well. By now I assumed I would have mastered the controls—”
“Oh, you’ve mastered control, all right,” he murmured.
She continued without pause. “—of the vehicle and be puttering about country roads. But I have yet to learn one practical thing about driving.”
He stepped close to her and met her indignant gaze with his own. His words sounded low and fraught with meaning. “Have you learned anything at all?”
“Well, yes, I—” Her voice faltered. The annoyance in her eyes softened, melted and faded away, replaced by the smoldering flashes he now recognized and reveled in. “I’ve learned a great deal.”
“About driving an automobile?” He was so close, he could smell the spicy floral scent that was uniquely hers. Another moment and he would forget all about his duties to his mother’s guests and cast aside his responsibilities as the Earl of Graystone to lose himself in the intoxicating presence of this American vixen.
“Not entirely,” she said breathlessly.
“What have you learned?” He stared into her eyes with an intensity that dared her to reveal the secrets of her very soul.
“Well, I’ve learned that in some subjects…you are an excellent teacher.” An unexpected twinkle danced in her eyes, a spirited glint of amusement and something more, a challenge, perhaps, or a promise. She lifted her chin a notch.
“And I look forward to our next lesson.”
Cece flounced into the empty breakfast room and headed straight for the bountiful offering laid out on the sideboard. One thing she would say for the British: They certainly knew how to start the day.
She was famished, no doubt the result of her early morning lesson on motorcars and passion. Lust certainly did sap one’s strength and drain one’s energy. She popped a piece of sausage into her mouth. Still, it did seem well worth the trouble.
She had never let a man take such liberties before. Lord, she had never wanted to. But with Jared, not only did she make no move to stop him, her behavior could easily be called encouraging. The sensations he aroused were nothing short of magnificent, and she could scarcely wait until he attempted such indiscretions again—given, of course, that she would allow him such familiarity. She paused in the effort to fill her plate and grinned. There was no question she would allow him. They did plan to be married and, after all, she was a modern woman.
She piled her plate high with everything that appeared remotely edible, avoiding, of course, those odd-looking fish. Kippers, they called them. It wasn’t that she didn’t like fish; they simply did not appeal to her for breakfast. Just the sight of them lying there, staring accusingly, was somewhat distasteful first thing in the morning.
Cece turned toward the table and stopped dead in her tracks.
“Good morning, my child.” Lady Olivia sat serenely at the head of the table, a stack of correspondence to one side, the remains of a modest, almost spartan meal to the other. Cece glanced at her own groaning plate and smiled weakly.
“Good morning, Lady Olivia.”
“Please, do sit here beside me.” Olivia gestured to the chair next to hers. Somehow Cece would have much rather placed substantially more distance between them, but there was no avoiding what sounded vaguely like a royal summons.
She drew a deep breath, mentally squared her shoulders and reminded herself who and what she was. She was Cecily Gwendolyn White, American heiress, a woman of the nineties with one foot firmly planted in the oncoming twentieth century and more than likely the next Countess of Graystone. No deceptively pleasant dragon in mother’s disguise was going to get the best of her.
“Where is everyone this morning?” Cece said brightly.
“Oh, here and there.” Olivia waved vaguely. “I believe your mother and sister have gone with Millicent to her home to spend much of the day making preparations for your sister’s debut. Your father and most of the others are hunting. Odd though,” Olivia pursed her lips thoughtfully, “Jared was not here when they began. He arrived several minutes late, quite out of breath and somewhat disheveled. He said he had been attending to some sort of business.”
“Did he?” Cece said faintly and took a bite of a savory biscuit that tasted like dust in her mouth.
Olivia eyed her for a moment. “Forgive me for saying so, my dear, but you too appear somewhat unkempt. Have you been up and about for long?”
“I was up with the sun this morning.” Cece cast Olivia her sincerest glance. “And I felt the need of a walk, a very long walk, to clear my senses.”
“It must have been quite windy,” Olivia observed mildly.
“Windy?” Cece drew her brows together in confusion.
Olivia nodded toward the younger woman’s head. “Your hair, my child; it’s in quite a state.”
Cece sent her hands flying to her hair and she groaned to herself. She could tell from touch alone that she must look a fright. No mere wind could do that much damage. Still, it was an offered lifeline, and she grabbed it with enthusiasm. “It was quite brisk. Surprisingly so. Practically a cyclone.”
Olivia glanced toward the French doors. “Yet it seems so calm out now.”
“Well, certainly now it’s calm,” Cece said quickly. “That’s the most terrifying thing about windstorms: They blow r
ight up out of nowhere. One moment everything is tranquil and placid and the next,” she snapped her fingers, “why, your home has been blown into another state and you’re extremely lucky just to be alive.”
“I see,” Olivia murmured and took a sip of her tea. Did her lips quirk upward at the corner just before they were hidden by the cup? Surely Cece was mistaken.
Olivia patted her mouth lightly with a linen napkin. “Why did you rise so early this morning? I do hope you slept well?”
Another lifeline, and this one very close to the truth.
“Well, to be honest, I did not sleep at all well.”
“I am so sorry.” Sympathy and curiosity shone in Olivia’s eyes. “Why not?”
“Why not?” Cece had decided last night it would serve no purpose to discuss the nocturnal activities to anyone not directly involved. If there was one thing her mother had taught her, it was that gossip never furthered anyone’s cause. And if she had learned nothing else from the career of Nellie Bly, it was that one should indeed gather all the information available, but one should disseminate it wisely.
“I do hope your quarters were adequate? Your bed comfortable?” Concern etched Lady Olivia’s face.
“My room is lovely,” Cece said hurriedly. “And the bed is one of the most comfortable I’ve ever slept on.”
“Then what was the problem, my dear?”
“The problem…” Cece hesitated for a moment and searched her mind for an answer, any answer. What would keep someone awake in an old castle, aside from house guests playing musical bedrooms? A ghost? No, far too improbable. Unexplained creaks and bumps in the night? Certainly, but—the answer flashed into her mind and she leaned forward confidentially. “I believe it was mice.”
“Mice?” Olivia said, surprise glimmering in her eyes.
“Mice.”
“Could it have been anything else?” Olivia’s voice rang with innocent curiosity.
“I’m quite certain it was mice.” Cece nodded firmly. “Why, I could hear them nearly all night. Scurrying up and down the hallways.”
The Princess and the Pea Page 16
