by Tess Byrnes
“Yes, of course, Lord Hillaire,” she said in what she hoped was a reasonable tone. “But as you say, getting out of these wet things must come first. Come along Lucy,” she continued briskly, as a comfortable looking woman in a white cap and apron approached, tut-tutting and holding out her arms in a motherly fashion.
“Master Jasper,” she scolded affectionately. “Well, this isn’t the first time you’ve fallen into that lake, but I do hope it will be the last.” Her eyes twinkled with genuine affection at the tall handsome man, and no one watching her could doubt that she was really seeing instead a small, curly-haired schoolboy.
Lucy, feeling a kinship with the guilty looking lord, stepped bravely into the breach. She had remained silent under Priscilla’s gentle questioning on the journey back from the lack to the lodge. How could she explain that in an attempt to see into the Belvedere and spy on her governess, she had leaned out farther on the tree branch until she had lost her footing, and found herself dangling inelegantly over the water of the lake?
“It was my fault, Mrs. McCrorie. Please don’t blame his Lordship. I foolishly climbed a tree, and was unable to get back down. Lord Hillaire went into the lake to rescue me. And then my governess went into the lake to rescue Lord Hillaire,” she added.
“I don’t know if you are trying to save my reputation or ruin it entirely, imp!” Jasper laughed. “Mrs. McCrorie, please escort these ladies to a chamber where they can change into something dry. I’m sure my mother would be only too happy to give you access to her considerable wardrobe, a portion of which she leaves here for her infrequent visits. I will make myself presentable and see you in the small salon in, shall we say, an hour? In the meantime, Julian, will you ride to Hartfield manor to inform Mrs. Hartfield that we have been delayed, but I shall endeavor to return the ladies to her before dinner time. She will be worried if she doesn’t hear from you in the next hour or so.”
Julian assured them that such a mission of diplomacy was well within his scope, and he trod briskly in the direction of the stables.
Priscilla and Lucy were whisked upstairs by the competent housekeeper, and their damp clothing removed to the kitchen to be dried before the enormous stoves there. An assortment of gowns was placed before them, and Priscilla, to Lucy’s dismay, chose the least exotic of the gowns for them. Lucy was soon happily attired in a lilac morning gown with a décolleté that Lucy had hitherto been considered too young to attempt. A discrete shawl was draped about her shoulders by her careful governess, and her damp hair combed out. Priscilla donned a soft rose colored gown that fit her admirably, and also had the low neckline appropriate to a married woman. Priscilla also found a shawl to cover her exposed bosom, and the two sat before a fire, Lucy drying her wet hair, and both ladies letting the warmth seep back into their chilled hands and feet. The maid re-appeared just as the two were starting to warm up, and escorted them to the small salon where his lordship stood waiting.
The room was not overly large, and was very handsome, if furnished in a decidedly masculine style. Burgundy colored hangings had been secured back from the windows to allow the weak afternoon sunshine to flood the room. A pair of heavy wing chairs sat on either side of the marbled fireplace. The other pieces of furniture in the room were heavy and serviceable, too, and the paintings on the walls reflected a love of horses. The Viscount stood before the marbled fireplace, his elegantly booted feet apart, his gaze cast down towards the heavy carpet. He had changed into a pair of buckskin breeches, top boots and a coat of dark green superfine that was exactly molded to his broad shoulders. His thick, dark hair was still slightly damp, the curls very accentuated, and obstinately resisting the ruthless combing they had obviously been subjected to.
He raised his glance as Lucy and Priscilla entered, his eyes going directly to Priscilla’s face. Her pulse quickened a little at the intensity of his gaze. She knew, looking into his eyes, that he had somehow recognized her as the woman who had rescued him that day, who had shared his small bed, and who had reported his absence to his men.
“But I know he never really looked at me,” Priscilla argued futilely to herself. “If I deny it absolutely he can have no proof,” she reasoned, and resolved to stick to this plan. Looking into his eyes now, Priscilla felt that it would be very difficult to hoodwink this man.
Lucy, aware of the tension between her two companions, but mistaking the cause entirely, approached the Viscount.
“Thank you for taking such good care of us, Lord Hillaire,” she said prettily. “I don’t know if the rules for taking care of your guests after they fall into your lake have been clearly defined, but Mrs. McCrorie improvised well.” Winning no other response from the distracted peer than a polite smile, Lucy looked with satisfaction from him to Priscilla, and continued her interrupted resolve to leave them alone together. This time she would keep her feet on solid ground, however. Although her unfortunate decision to climb that tree was turning out better than she would have thought.
“Mrs. McCrorie invited me to come to the kitchen to see some darling little kittens she is rearing,” she informed Jasper, a story that she had just invented. “So I think I’ll just go down and see the, er, kittens.” She walked quickly to the door, and exited before she could be called back.
“She’ll be all right with Mrs. McCrorie for a few minutes,” Jasper said, seeing that Priscilla had turned to go after Lucy. “And this will give us an opportunity to talk.”
He walked forward, and took Priscilla’s arm, leading her to a chair by the fire, and seating himself opposite her.
“And now, my dear Miss hawksworth, perhaps you will be so good as to tell me what you were doing on my property last month, and why, having informed my keeper that I was lying unconscious in a cottage, you fled without giving your name.” He spoke firmly, and with an unmistakable look of determination on his face.
Priscilla, with all her good intentions of denying her part in his rescue, was unprepared for this direct approach. She was unable to think of a quick response, and reluctant to give a direct lie.
His lordship rose, and crossed the richly carpeted room. He turned and met her gaze. “My keeper found me in a grounds cottage, lying on a rough cot and covered with a blanket.” He watched her closely as he spoke. “I have to thank you for not leaving me to die of exposure.” His tone was ironic, but his eye held a look of sincere concern. “If I had lain all night in the lane at this season, I would have contracted at the very least an inflammation of the lungs, had I not perished outright. You must have found me that night, and taken me to that cottage, even though you told my keeper that you had found me that morning,” he continued. “I don’t know how you managed to get me from the lane to that cottage. You must be a very resourceful young lady.” An admiring smile lurked in his eyes. “I don’t remember much about the whole episode, but I do know that I parted company from my horse at dusk at the latest. And my men were informed of my whereabouts the next morning. You found me that night, Miss Hawksworth? You came to my aid, and you stayed with me in the grounds cottage that night, didn’t you?” he questioned.
Priscilla lowered her gaze, her mind a whirl of conflict. Her first impulse was to deny everything. But his Lordship had somehow uncovered the truth, and Priscilla was fairly certain that she would not be able to fool him again. How he had recognized her, Priscilla could not discover. She had not even seen the color of his eyes on that night. He hadn’t once looked directly into her face. Yet somehow, in that brief recurrence of a rescue, he had recognized her. He didn’t appear to recollect all the details of that night and morning, Priscilla decided thankfully. He appeared to have no memory from the time he fell from his horse until he was found the next day. But he had managed to piece together the basic facts, and Priscilla could think of no convincing way to refute them.
None of these conflicting thoughts showed on her pale, lovely face, and when she raised her eyes to meet the question in his lordship’s face, her expression was calm.
“Well, I
didn’t really have a choice, my lord,” she spoke evenly. “If I had left you there you might have died.”
“I knew it,” he breathed softly. “Then I have to thank you for saving my life.”
“That is an exaggeration, my lord,” Priscilla informed him. “If I had not interfered, your horse would have eventually returned to his stable, and your men would have found you.”
“Possibly,” Jasper agreed. “But you couldn’t have known that. The fact remains that you intervened, and most probably saved my life. And, incidentally, ruined yourself by spending the night in my company.”
“Fustian,” Priscilla pronounced.
“Nonetheless, my dear,” he continued grimly. “It leads me to an inescapable question. Will you marry me?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Marry you?” Priscilla repeated blankly, the color surging back into her face. “Why on earth would you want to marry me? If this is a jest, my lord, it is not very funny.” Her voice was beginning to sound quite angry indeed.
“I am not taunting you, Miss Hawksworth,” his lordship retorted impatiently. Priscilla’s eyes scanned his face with curiosity. His expression was certainly cold, but his blue-green eyes were direct and candid, and Priscilla was unable to detect any guile. She was reminded that in his sleep his face did not hold any of the harshness that she saw there now. It was an intimate detail she had no business knowing, but it made her long to smooth the anger from his face.
“I credit you with saving my life, Miss Hawksworth, and at the cost of your own reputation. I do not leave my debts unpaid,” he uttered wryly.
“My reputation is fine, as long as you and I are the only ones who know about the events of that night,” Priscilla replied shortly. “I would not want your Lordship to think of me as a debt.”
“It doesn’t matter what you want,” Jasper retorted coldly, stung by her refusal. “The fact remains that you have been compromised. If anyone were to find out about that night you would be a social outcast, and I would figure as a cad. And with half my staff aware of it, as well as the landlady at The dancing maiden broadcasting the strange disappearance of the young lady bound for Bluehaven, it’s not as unlikely as you may think.”
He saw the look of consternation on Priscilla’s face and continued. “Yes, I instigated an investigation, and that was as far as I got. But what do you think would be said if the landlady recognized you? It is not as unlikely as you think, and I won’t have that laid at my door, thank you. No, Miss Hawksworth, no matter what you want, you will marry me.” He was acutely aware that this was not the way he had ever envisioned making a proposal of marriage, but his anger at finding himself beholden to this girl made calm, rational conversation difficult.
Priscilla sat very upright in her chair struggling to maintain her composure, despite the rapid beating of her heart. She was appalled that Lord Jasper had recollected as much as he had, grateful that he couldn’t remember what happened inside the cottage. If she was rational, she knew that he was right. But a small irrational part of her was furious at her host for not remembering the important part of that encounter. The kisses, the caresses that pushed her senses beyond reason. Just thinking of that morning caused her to want him to put press his lips to hers, touch her, arouse those same feelings. And he didn’t even remember. She shook her head, clearing her thoughts.
“My whole reason for seeking a post as governess, my lord, was to avoid being told whom to marry and when.” Her voice was ragged, more emotional than she intended. “No one has questioned me about that night so far, and I feel that the chances of any repercussions coming about are very small. Thank you for your kind offer, my lord, but I feel I must refuse.” Her voice was firm and final.
“My dear Miss Hawksworth, I am not giving you a choice. You have no choice. We must be married at once. It is not a question of what you want; it’s a question of play and pay. We spent the night together in that cottage.” Her face colored at his words, but she met his eyes without flinching. He continued relentlessly. “That being a fact, the only logical step to take is for us to be married.”
“But no one need ever know about that,” Priscilla argued. “I am not interested in a face-saving marriage with a stranger, any more than I would be in any marriage of convenience. Besides, you don’t wish to marry me, Lord Jasper, anymore than I want to marry you.” She pushed herself abruptly from her chair and strode in agitation towards the window.
“Of course I don’t wish to marry you,” Jasper exclaimed, harassed. “I don’t even know you. Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said?”
“I’ve heard every word you’ve said,” Priscilla said icily. ‘And I have no desire for a marriage such as the one you are offering.”
The provoked Viscount made as if to speak, but Priscilla stood and held up her hand as if to stop him. “No, let me finish, please. You wondered why a gentlewoman like me was a governess. I recently left my home to take this position to avoid an arranged marriage that was distasteful to me in the extreme. Please believe me when I say that I didn’t take this step lightly. And now that I am on my own, I find that I am very well able to look after myself. Thank you once again for your concern, my lord, but as I’m sure that our clothes are now dry, please ring for your housekeeper so that Lucy and I may change and return to Hartfield Manor.” She spoke earnestly and persuasively, and Jasper could not doubt that she was sincere in her desire to remain independent. He had watched Priscilla closely while she spoke, standing straight, head held high. Pride infused color into her cheeks, and lit her eye.
“My dear Miss hawksworth,” he felt almost compelled to say. “I admire both your fortitude and your principles, but in this instance they are misplaced. I understand your desire to stand on your own. But your circumstances are changed. As are mine. We must be married at once. My honor rests upon our marriage just as surely as yours does. Come, we can make the best of this situation together.”
He approached her as he spoke, and took her hands in his. A small insistent pulse began beating in Priscilla’s throat, and despite herself, her hands gripped his tightly. She was acutely aware of Jasper’s proximity, and her senses responded wildly. She caught her under lip between her teeth, willing her pulse to slow down, and her body to stop thrumming. But when their eyes met, the desire in her eyes could not be disguised.
“Miss Hawksworth,” Jasper whispered as he looked into her eyes, his own desire rising in and unexpected and immediate response, and he lowered his head until their lips met.
Priscilla knew that she should walk away. But as she felt the urgency of the firm lips that expertly moved against hers, she also knew that stopping was beyond her capability. Jasper let her hands go, but only so that he could wrap his arms around her. Her mouth opened under his, meeting his teasing tongue with her own. Her body responded of its own will, try as she might to hold back.
As Jasper continued to kiss her, intoxicated by her sweetness, he too knew that he should stop. Even a betrothed couple should share no more than a chaste kiss at the most before the wedding. But kissing Priscilla felt right, and somehow familiar, and he was helpless before the tide of his own passion.
Priscilla was aware of every fiber of her being reacting to Jasper’s gentle yet exciting touch. Her arms slipped around him, one hand moving up to caress the back of his neck, twining in the damp curls. Jasper groaned, and moved his lips to kiss the small pulse throbbing at the base of her throat, and the warmth of his breath on her skin sent shivers of desire through her body. He pushed her shawl aside, revealing a low décolleté that exposed more than it concealed. His lips traveled down from her slender throat, to the rounded breasts that strained against the fabric that contained them. As his fingers slipped under the fabric they brushed her taut nipples, and Priscilla shuddered at the intensity of the feelings that shot through her, sensations that fanned her desire into a flame. His fingers continued to tease her breast, moving back and forth over the rigid tip, and Priscilla’s body began to ache with need. He
r breath came quickly, and as Jasper’s mouth met her own once more, she returned his kiss eagerly, savoring the masculine flavor of him.
Jasper’s fingers skillfully untied her laces, and Priscilla’s breasts escaped their confines, feeling heavy and full. Jasper lowered his head to take one pink tip into his mouth, his circling tongue teasing her rosy areola, and his teeth gently tugging at her erect nipple, taking Priscilla towards the edge of reason. Rational thought was beyond her, as he pressed one leg gently between her own. She pushed against his leg, her throbbing center desperate for the contact. She was aware of a new change in Jasper’s physical state, too, a pulsing rigidity that she could not immediately explain, yet instinct compelled her to discover. As her hand explored the firmness that pressed against her soft thigh, a ragged moan broke from Jasper.
“Oh my god, Priscilla,” Jasper moaned. He straightened, putting one hand on the wall on either side of her, dropping his head to rest against her shoulder. His hot breath fanned her skin as he panted for willpower. “Forgive me. You have taken away all my senses and my self-control as well.”
He stood as he spoke, and turned away, and although Priscilla, blushing more from the passion they had just shared, than from embarrassment, knew he was right, her body cried out in frustration. She rearranged her dress with unsteady hands, retying her laces and arranging her shawl, desperately trying to regain her composure. As her hands were busy with this, she was struck by the truly shocking realization that if Jasper had not stopped, she would not have stopped him. Weight against her upbringing and all her training, the feelings she experienced with the Viscount were so much stronger.
It took his lordship a few minutes to regain his composure, but finally he turned back to Priscilla and spoke.
“Well, I suppose that only adds to my argument that we must be married. I ask for your pardon, Miss Hawksworth. I cannot explain my lack of self-control.”
