by Tess Byrnes
Jasper shuddered above her, and suddenly relaxed against her shoulder, his breath hot on her neck, his sweat mingling with her own.
As their frantic breathing slowed, Jasper rose up on one elbow and gently smoothed the tangled, damp curls away from Priscilla’s brow. Their eyes met in wonder, and Priscilla felt a smile tugging at her lips.
“Damn and blast,” they whispered in union.
“This is not exactly what I intended to happen when I invited you to Hillaire,” Jasper began several minutes later, as slowly and deliberately laced her bodice. He knelt before her, and gently coaxed one silken stocking up over her shapely leg.
Priscilla raised her eyes from damply curling locks of the man who had just irrevocably changed her entire world. “Nor I, my lord,” she whispered. She tried to gather her thoughts into a semblance of coherence, but his intoxicating proximity was making that extremely difficult. All she could think of was the feelings he had roused in her in those moments of blissful, abandoned pleasure.
“But I am glad it did,” Jasper continued, “for now even you must admit that you are well and truly compromised and must now accept my offer.” He smiled triumphantly and was rewarded by the genuine smile on Priscilla’s countenance.
“I might have known you would use this against me, my lord,” Priscilla said, shaking her head, trying to sound cool and collected. “But once again, you and I are the only two who know about it.”
“Alas,” he lamented. “I should have thrown open the curtains and then I would have had my witness in the very solid form of Sir Harry Greenwood.”
He watched in dismay as the laughter drained quickly from Priscilla’s face, to be replaced with a stricken look.
“My dear,” he exclaimed in concern. “Do not look so. What have I said? What power does that red-faced scoundrel have over you?”
Priscilla struggled to regain her composure, and think of a light-hearted response, but the Viscount saw too much.
“Damn him,” he breathed in a voice so hard that Priscilla flinched. “You are the same ‘damned fine-looking gel’ whom Harry Greenwood persecuted with his loathsome addresses, I take it.” Priscilla looked at him mutely, but found that she could no longer lie to him. She nodded almost imperceptibly.
“That over-ambitious cad,” he said scornfully, pulling her back into his arms, and pressing a soft kiss against her brow. The strength of his embrace was like a tonic to her, but she steeled herself against it. He released her, and took a hasty stride to the other side of the room and turned abruptly. “Well, that’s it then,” he said decisively. “Tomorrow we announce our engagement. We must of course notify your family. Is there by the way, someone whose permission I should seek?”
“Other than mine, I take it,” Priscilla questioned ironically. “My lord, I do beg of you to stop. Nothing has changed.”
She was unprepared for the swift movement, but before she could speak again the viscount had her in his arms again, pressing lips once more to hers in a compelling kiss that Priscilla was powerless to resist.
“Tell me again that nothing has changed,” he whispered fiercely against her lips. His handsome face swam before her half opened eyes. “I never meant for this to happen, Priscilla, but it has. We will make the announcement tomorrow at dinner. There is one person at the castle whom I must give this news to in person, before we make arrangements for the wedding. I hope, in fact am fairly certain, she will have no objection. We shall wed at the Castle chapel within a fortnight. And you needn’t worry about the squire,” he added sardonically. “I’ll find some way to get Harry Greenwood out of the castle this night.” One last kiss, and a smile that went straight to her heart, and he was gone.
It was a long time before Priscilla fell asleep that night. She lay awake, reliving the events in the library over and over. What is it with us and libraries, she laughed to herself. There was no use denying any longer that she had fallen in love with the Viscount. His mischievous smile, those mocking blue-green eyes, as well as his actions in protecting her all conspired to overcome Priscilla’s defenses. The incredible sensations his body inspired in her, the astonishing introduction into the intimacies between a man and a woman. The thought of a lifetime of making love with Jasper as her husband almost made her feel faint. When would they find time to do anything else? She smiled to herself.
Was it the same with him? She wondered. There was no doubt that the Viscount had much more experience that she did. Maybe to him this was nothing out of the ordinary. And nothing could change the fact that he was only offering her marriage to pay a perceived debt.
“No matter what my feelings are, to Lord Hillaire this remains a face-saving marriage. The settling of a debt. Pay and Play, he had said.” Priscilla squirmed uncomfortably. If she gave in to him, would he come to resent her for marrying him when he one day met the woman that he would truly love?
Priscilla had to admit that for her, things had changed. The loveless marriage that Lord Hillaire had proposed would only be loveless on one side. Her own feelings were engaged, and she could not imagine having that level of intimacy with anyone other than the handsome peer. The image of Sir Harry’s red face swam before her, his yellowed mustache, and fat fingers. Shuddering in disgust, she was more grateful than ever that she had run away from his offer.
But the act that had rescued her from that fate had also made her an ineligible match for Lord Hillaire. She could only imagine the look on his sharp-tongued mother’s face when Jasper informed her that he was marrying Mrs. Hartfield’s governess.
“I should never have come here,” she told herself sternly. “It was easier before, dreaming of an anonymous someone with whom I could share my life. But how cruel to have seen him, to have kissed him and made love to him,” she pressed her hands to her hot cheeks, “and then to have to give him up.” She turned her face into the soft linen covered pillow, and tossed and turned until the dawn came.
#
The next morning, the day of the hunt, dawned clear and crisp. Priscilla awoke with eyes heavy-lidded, evading Mrs. Hartfield’s exclamations that she was not in looks with a glib story about suffering from a headache. She had dressed in her riding costume, her eyes matching the midnight blue velvet. Against the plush dark fabric the soft skin of her throat looked like white porcelain, her face almost equally pale, with a faint tinge of rose color on her high cheekbones. There were dark smudges under her eyes, silent witnesses to Priscilla’s sleepless night. But as usual, her employer’s interest in Priscilla’s health was fleeting, and after recommended that her employee avail herself of the headache powders in her dressing room, the self-absorbed matron quickly turned back to her own plans for the day.
Lucy had made arrangements to spend the morning with the Dowager Countess, those two having become firm friends after Julian had taken her for a visit. Mrs. Hartfield had unearthed a slightly scandalous novel from her bags, and intended to repose before the fire all morning, ringing the bell at regular intervals for cups of tea and cocoa and maybe a morsel of cake to sustain her. In her frilly white cap and elaborate dressing gown tied tightly around her soft girth, Mrs. Hartfield presented the appearance of a comfortably overstuffed cushion, but when Priscilla tentatively voiced an intention to withdraw from the hunt and devote herself to her charge for the day, her employer replied with an unwonted firmness.
“By no means,” the plump matron ordered. “I have watched the roses leave your cheeks over the last few days, Miss Hawksworth, and I must insist that you take some exercise.” She laid one plump hand on Priscilla’s soft cheek, a smile of intermingled affection and concern on her pink face. “Besides, Lord Hillaire particularly told me to tell you that he hoped you would be out with the field today. He asked me to tell you that there would be no impediment to your enjoyment of the day.” She smiled with self satisfaction at her faithfully discharged duty in relaying her message, and turned to settle herself on the divan before the fire. She waved an airy farewell to Priscilla, who felt herself dismi
ssed, and with no viable excuse for not joining the hunt. She was in the uncomfortable position of dreading that which she most wanted; to see his lordship. She had determined, as she tossed and turned during the night, to beg Jasper to give up his suit. Yet the thought of him doing so caused her to wonder why she had ever been so unlucky as to have been born. All night she had tossed with the thought that she was not a fit bride for him, and turned with the response that he knew who she was and still desired to wed her. She awoke after only a few fitful hours of sleep equally undecided.
Nonetheless, she picked up her crop, donned her riding hat, slipping the ribbon under her chin, and, squaring her shoulders, headed down the stairs, out of the castle, and down the gravel carriage drive to the stables in the back.
She knew she was early, but hoped to find Dawkins, the Viscount’s groom, and become acquainted with the horse that would carry her for the hunt. As her mind drifted idly over the memory of her encounter in the library with Viscount, as it had done repeatedly all night, she suddenly became aware that she was not alone. Lady Spencer, attired in a tightly fitted riding dress of pale blue trimmed in dark blue braid, had fallen into step beside her, a look of concern on her lovely features.
“My dear Miss Hawksworth,” she crooned softly. “How lovely you look in that enchanting riding dress.”
Priscilla caught the measuring glance that accompanied these words, and had to strongly resist a sudden urge to check herself for misaligned buttons, or bits of straw stuck to her riding boot. She merely smiled politely and continued on her way, adjusting her stride so that Lady Spencer could fall into step with her.
“Yes, indeed,” Lady Spencer continued. “Looking as lovely as you do it is no wonder that Jasper lost his head last night.”
Priscilla felt her heart thump unpleasantly, and was aware of a sudden dryness in her mouth.
“Lost his head?” she questioned, almost certain that Jasper could not have possibly told Lady Spencer of what she was starting to think of as the incident in the library, but not certain enough to resist hearing what the woman had to say.
Lady Spencer, seeing the rush of color in Priscilla’s cheeks, was satisfied with her opening attack, feeling certain that she had hit the nail on the head. She had observed Jasper as he left the library the night before, and had been very annoyed to see the lovely governess leave the same room a few minutes later. The look on Jasper’s face, as well has his hasty check of his clothing, had immediately raised her alarms, and when Priscilla emerged a moment later, her hand at her laces, her worst fears seemed confirmed. Lady Spencer had immediately followed Jasper, and had even briefly managed to pull him into her bed chamber, but her advances had been firmly rebuffed. The charms that she had withheld from Jasper, in order to heighten his interest, had been freely offered, and the handsome Viscount had firmly rejected them. Even as she had dropped her ruffled wrapper, and eased her lovely body down onto the bed, beckoning him to join her, Jasper had bowed formally, and left her chamber. She would not easily forget that humiliation, but she was far from giving up the pursuit of so rich a prize. She would die before she would allow this chit to outmaneuver her.
Lady Spencer gave a sidelong look at her companion and continued smoothly. “Yes, he told me that he lost his head with you and that he had made love to you. Isn’t that so, my dear?”
Priscilla’s heart began to beat uncomfortably, but she made no reply. Lady Spencer pressed one cold hand to Priscilla’s arm, sure now that her guess had been correct.
“You needn’t be embarrassed, or fear that Jasper or I would spread such a story about you, Miss Hawksworth,” she crooned soothingly. “Jasper came to see me in my room last night. There. Now I’ve compromised myself as well.”
Priscilla, feeling as if she was in a nightmare, met the cold glittering gaze questioningly.
“He told you?” Priscilla questioned in a voice that was surprisingly calm.
“My dear, did he not tell you that we are betrothed? You need not answer; I can see that he did not. If that isn’t just like him.” She gave a false titter, and continued. “Gentlemen are not like us poor ladies, my dear. Their lovemaking doesn’t always carry any meaning. I fear he just forgot himself. In fact, when he told me that he had behaved quite badly, I was obliged to remind him of our own engagement. He, of course, was quick to inform me that you meant nothing to him.”
Priscilla, feeling as if she had received a blow, struggled to understand. “You and he are betrothed?” she repeated blankly.
“Oh yes,” Lady Spencer continued in a hard voice. “It happened officially last night, but he has been mad for me for months. We plan to give an enormous ball at Hillaire Castle to make the announcement as soon as the Season begins. Of course, nothing is to be said until then.” She saw the uncertainty in Priscilla’s eyes, and continued recklessly. “When he came to my room last night, poor darling, for all the world like an errant schoolboy with something to confess, I finally gave him my answer. He said I had made him the happiest man in England, and we sealed the bargain with a kiss. Well, rather more than a kiss, if I’m honest. I don’t scruple to admit this to you, my dear, because I feel sure you will not betray my indiscretion. But I had to share my happiness with someone. He is just too handsome, don’t you agree, my dear. I don’t know how any woman could resist him.” Chattering on in this style, her glinting green eyes shining with a malicious satisfaction, Lady Spencer lead Priscilla towards the stables.
As they approached the tall doorway Priscilla paused. It all made sense, really. Jasper had said that he never meant for this to happen. He had indicated that there was someone else at the Castle whom he loved, someone who must be told before anyone else. And, the hardest of all to recall, he had never told her that he loved her. His language had been of debts repaid, and honor upheld. Summoning up every shred of composure that she retained, Priscilla pushed the image of Jasper’s handsome face from her mind and held out one gloved hand to Lady Spencer.
“I wish you every happiness, Lady Spencer,” Priscilla said with creditable composure. “Now, if you will excuse me, I would like to make the acquaintance of the horse I will be riding.” She then turned and strode blindly into the stables. But to her dismay, Lady Spencer linked arms with her and fell into step beside her.
“I want you to ride my own horse today, my dear Priscilla.” Lady Spencer cooed, overjoyed at the success of her plan. “May I call you that? To show me that you don’t harbor any ill feelings towards me, and truly wish me happy,” she smiled brightly, and took both of Priscilla’s hands in her own.
“But aren’t you riding, Lady Spencer?” Priscilla asked in surprise, trying to gently extricate herself from the older woman’s grasp.
“Oh, no, I abhor the hunt. To ride all day only to return home exhausted and muddy? No, no. But my dear Thunder hasn’t been out for days. He’ll be a little fresh, but so sweet mannered. I’m sure you’ll be able to manage him easily.” She turned from Priscilla and ordered the under groom who had appeared at their arrival to saddle Thunder. As he reached obediently for a saddle, Lady Spencer hissed, “A lady’s saddle, you fool.”
The young groom hesitated. He knew that this tall, evil-tempered woman was a fairly frequent visitor and held a position of some privilege at the Castle. But he also knew that the Viscount allowed no one to ride his horses. Seeing him pause, Lady Spencer stepped forward and whispered menacingly, “Saddle that horse or it’s your job. Do you understand me?”
Shrugging, the young man reached for a side saddle, and in a few minutes the stamping chestnut stood by the mounting block.
Priscilla, a feeling of numbness overcoming her, felt nothing so keenly as a desire to escape the presence of the elegant Lady Spencer. Without glancing at the horse, she allowed the groom to throw her into the saddle, and adjust the stirrups. It was only as he stepped back and the horse leaped forward that Priscilla realized that this was no lady’s mount. Lady Spencer pressed back against the wall of the stable. “He’s a little fr
esh, my dear,” she called out sweetly. “Don’t let him get away from you.”
As Priscilla struggled to control the sidling and prancing of her mount, Lady Spencer broke into amused chuckles, turning to head back to the castle and a steaming bath that awaited her in her chamber. “Prefer that chit to me, will you, Jasper?” she hissed. “Well, we’ll just see about that.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Shall I help you down, ma’am?” the frightened groom called, attempting to get hold of the bridle.
“Yes, indeed, but first let me try to settle him. He is going to injure himself and me as well, at this rate,” Priscilla replied shakily, as she leaned forward against the rearing of the gelding. “The poor brute is as frightened as I am!” she called breathlessly. To the amazement of the groom, under Priscilla’s calm hand and soothing voice, the gelding stopped rearing, and, though he was still snorting and shaking his head, slowly became calm enough for the groom to approach and grasp the bridle tentatively in one hand. The magnificent animal allowed himself to be lead away from the doorway, where there was a risk that a rearing horse could dash his rider against the doorframe, and into the middle of the stable.
