A Ballroom Temptation

by Kimberly Bell

  But now she had to turn him down—and save Geoffrey’s life in the process. The irony was endless. “No.”

  “What?”

  “No. I won’t marry you.” Not like this. Not so you can run off and sacrifice yourself for me.

  “Jane, you’re being ridiculous. You know things have changed.”

  “I don’t know that. I remember very distinctly, right here in this room not even a day ago, agreeing to be on the same page. A page that did not involve marriage.”

  “But that was before.”

  “Before what?”

  He grabbed her arm. “Don’t pretend—”

  Jane did the one thing she knew would shake him—she flinched.

  The retreat was instant. He let her go and backed away from her. “You’re afraid of me.”

  Not even a little. “You just told me you’re going to murder someone.”

  “Not someone. Pembroke. The man who hurt you.”

  And she’d happily see him dead, but not at the cost of Adam’s life. “If you’re capable of killing a man, what else are you capable of?”

  “You know this is different, Jane. I have reasons—very good reasons.”

  “Geoff had reasons, too. I’m sure he thought they were good.”

  “I’m not him!” he shouted.

  I know, she shouted back silently. Because he did threaten to kill someone, and he did grab her and shout, and never once was she afraid he would hurt her. Never once did she bolt for the door that was within arm’s reach. He loved her, and she trusted him. He wouldn’t hurt her.

  But she had to hurt him. “Prove it. Swear you won’t kill him.”

  “Jane,” he warned.

  She knew how much his word meant to him. How much his honor meant. “Swear it. Because if you walk out of this room without giving me your word, you will never see me again.”

  It was time to see how much she meant to him.

  He paced his end of the room like a caged animal. His chest heaved as he dragged his hands through his hair. A few times, she thought he would shout again. Or break something. Or throw something.

  He came to a stop in front of her. “He deserves to die for what he’s done.”

  “I know.” She closed the distance, placing her hands on either side of his face. “Swear it.”

  “You can’t ask this of me.”

  “I can’t not.”

  “If I swear . . .” Adam’s hands cupped her face, mirroring his own. “If I swear it, will you marry me?”

  Yes. Yes, yes, yes. “Swear it and I’ll give you an answer.”

  Adam closed his eyes, shaking his head against the promise. “I swear I will not kill Pembroke.”

  She lifted his chin, kissing him softly. “Then I will marry you, Adam Clairborne.”

  • • •

  You will never see me again. It had flashed in front of him—a lifetime without Jane. Without her smile, or her lectures, or her touch. Without meaning to, she’d somehow managed to add to his days. He could live without killing Pembroke. He couldn’t live without Jane.

  Adam picked her up and carried her back to his bed. He shed his trousers on the way, laying her down and climbing up her naked body until he covered her completely.

  “Are you afraid?”

  She shook her head, biting her lower lip.

  “Jane—” Suddenly he was nervous as a teenager. “May I make love to you?”

  She shifted, settling further beneath him. “Isn’t that what we’ve been doing?”

  “Not quite.” He kissed her shoulder. “Not the way I mean now.”

  Jane wrapped her legs around his hips, rubbing herself against his erection.

  “Is that a yes?”

  “It’s a yes.”

  Adam took his time. He paid every inch of skin its due attention—telling every part of her how much she meant to him. How much he cherished her. How he would spend the rest of his life making sure she knew only happiness. If it was the last thing he did, he would make Jane Bailey happy.

  He placed light bites against her stomach as he stroked his finger across the damp apex of her thighs. She purred. He dipped between, tracing the delicate folds. She gasped. He curled it, sliding inside, slow and careful. The sound she made . . . Surprise and wonder wrapped into one noise.

  Backing off then sliding in again, he tested her response. She was so wet, so ready, but her body clamped down on him like a vice. Adam’s cock swelled with jealousy. He withdrew and reentered her with a second finger.

  Jane moaned, calling his name. “Adam.”

  “Tell me how it feels, Jane.” Tell me you want more. Tell me you’re not afraid.

  “It’s so good. I can’t—”

  Adam kissed her hipbone and sent up a silent prayer. He stroked, slow and steady, addicted to her response. Jane was so incredibly hot and tight around his fingers, every movement was a struggle to keep himself together.

  When she started pumping her hips back against his hand, bucking and crying out with abandon, Adam couldn’t wait any longer. He rolled onto his back, slipping his wrists through the curtain cord that was still wrapped around the bedpost from the night before.

  “Adam, you don’t have to—”

  “No chances.” He was past the point of being able to stop. This way, neither of them needed to worry. “Climb on top of me, like before.”

  She did as he asked. “Can I touch you?”

  “If you don’t, I don’t think I’m going to survive the night.”

  She reached between them, wrapping her hand around his cock. She stroked up and back. Adam groaned. She shifted, rubbing him against her wet heat.

  “Jane.”

  Gently, she held him against her entrance. “Is there something I need to do?”

  “You’re doing it.”

  She sank down with excruciating care. “Oh, that . . . that feels . . .”

  Heaven. Like heaven wrapped in fire and water and every fantasy he’d ever had.

  “Adam. Adam, I want . . .” She reached her hands up, cupping her breasts. Her hips rocked in a slow arc as she pinched and pulled on her nipples. It was the most sensual thing Adam had ever witnessed. His arms jerked—the need to grip her hips and grind her against him exceeded his control.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  “Faster.” It was the only word he could manage.

  She granted his wish. She put her hands on his chest for balance and rocked faster. The ecstasy on her face was worth the torture of keeping himself in check. She wasn’t nearly done, and he would not ruin it for her.

  Jane leaned to kiss him. Their tongues matched the pace of their bodies, spurring them both on until she was writhing at a furious pace.

  “It’s so close. I’m so . . . Adam.”

  He could feel it. Her body managed to squeeze him tighter than before, stealing the last of his control. The arches of his feet constricted. His hips pumped up on reflex, driving into her in short, powerful bursts. Jane cried out as she erupted around him. Adam’s entire body turned into a single point of sensation—one single point surrounded entirely by Jane convulsing with pleasure.

  He shouted her name. The pressure released in a molten burst. It was too much. Everything, all at once. Her body continued to squeeze him in pulsing waves while he was powerless to do anything but feel every exquisite second.

  Jane collapsed on top of him. It was silent except for their gulping breaths, trying to bring themselves back from the abyss.

  “That’s quite different when you’re inside me,” she said eventually.

  Quite different didn’t even begin to cover it.

  Chapter 20

  They came down separately for breakfast. They hadn’t discussed it, but Jane hoped he would agree to a short engagement. She doubted she would last ver
y long, having to sneak back to her own room. Not to mention when they went back to London and back to living in separate houses. Was a week too soon?

  When she left that morning, she’d explained her promise to eat breakfast with Drusilla. He hadn’t liked it—hadn’t liked her leaving, either—but he didn’t try to object. Instead, he sat at the opposite end of the table with Brandon and tormented her with the intensity of his stare.

  She knew exactly what he was thinking, because she was thinking it, too. Arousal flushed across her chest and neck.

  “Are you all right, Jane?” Drusilla was looking at her with concern.

  Eugenia looked down the table to Adam, who was rubbing his thumb over the smooth curve of his coffee cup. “They’re doing it again.”

  “Doing what?” Drusilla asked her.

  “Bad carriage etiquette.”

  Drusilla stared at her. “Do you try to be so strange? Is it a hobby or something?”

  “Dru,” Jane warned.

  “Not a hobby. It just sort of happens.” Eugenia was unfazed, tasting a piece of fruit with curiosity. “Lord Brandon called it ‘bad carriage etiquette’ when Jane and Lord Wesley start doing that thing with their eyes.”

  Drusilla’s head whipped in Adam’s direction. He quickly looked away.

  “For God’s sake. First the boathouse . . .”

  Jane sipped her chocolate to disguise her grin. She wouldn’t be made to feel bad about that—or this.

  “Boathouse?” Eugenia asked.

  Drusilla sighed. “I doubt you would understand.”

  She turned to Jane. “What happened in a boathouse?”

  “Kissing,” Jane explained. “And then some. I’ll tell you later.”

  Drusilla’s mouth dropped open.

  “What are you doing?” The cold ridicule in Geoffrey’s voice momentarily transported Jane to another time. Years melted away like they’d never existed.

  This time, though, his ridicule wasn’t for her. Drusilla’s fork clattered to her plate. “I . . . I’m . . . having breakfast.”

  “Not with them. Get up.”

  Drusilla started to stand up.

  Jane put a hand on her arm, stopping her. “Stay.”

  If she’d been thinking, she wouldn’t have done it. If she’d been thinking, she would have thought about how Adam was certainly watching. How he had likely left his chair the minute Geoffrey had come over to them. She would have realized she already knew what Geoff would do. If she’d been thinking, she would have accounted for all of that and just let Drusilla move seats. Instead, she watched in two very different kinds of horror as Geoff’s hand closed around her wrist.

  His touch was repulsive. Before he even started to squeeze, her body rejected it. Nausea started building in her stomach. Fear closed her throat.

  But in the center of her mind, the quiet space where nothing reached—nothing except Adam—she knew he couldn’t hurt her. Knew he wouldn’t have time. Adam was coming, and that was so much worse.

  You swore to me. Don’t break your promise. Whatever you do, don’t break your promise.

  She desperately wanted to marry Adam and spend the rest of her life with him. She couldn’t do that if he was hanged for murder.

  Geoff’s grip had just started to hurt when it abruptly left her arm. He disappeared from her peripheral vision as he flew backward, crashing into the sideboard.

  • • •

  He didn’t remember leaving his chair. That’s what Adam was thinking as he stood over Pembroke’s body. He didn’t remember leaving his chair. One moment Pembroke was reaching for Jane, and the next he was covered in breakfast wreckage and broken crockery.

  “How dare—”

  Adam hit him in the gut. He didn’t go for the face like Quincy had. He went straight for the squishy middle. Right in the liver.

  “Adam!” Jane was screaming.

  He was supposed to remember something, but he couldn’t. Everything was trapped behind the picture of Pembroke’s hand on Jane’s skin. Adam hit him again—a hook to the side of his ribs. The sort that would crack bone and make it difficult to find a comfortable position sitting or lying down.

  “Adam!” She was there, holding on to his fist. “Adam, stop.”

  He lowered his arm. He didn’t want her to be afraid. He couldn’t be the one to make her afraid.

  She touched his face, soothing him back to rational thought.

  “Adam, do you hear me?”

  “I hear you.”

  “Do you remember what you promised me?”

  “I remember.” He would like to go back to forgetting.

  Behind her, Pembroke was pushing himself upright. She stepped out of the way. She trusted Adam not to break his promise.

  He wouldn’t let her down.

  “I will fucking kill you,” Geoffrey wheezed.

  “You might want to rethink that.” Adam flexed his hands, trying to keep them from curling back into fists. “I’m a tall order for someone who’s only used to hurting women.”

  Pembroke’s face twisted into a mask of hatred.

  It wasn’t until the collective gathering started murmuring that Adam realized the dining room had been silent behind them. Pembroke hadn’t realized it, either.

  He forcibly smoothed his features, though his eyes stayed cold. “Your accusation is unfounded. I demand you rescind it.”

  Adam would do no such thing.

  Jane pulled on his arm. “Adam. Just say it’s not true.”

  “It is true. He knows it. I know it. You know it. And Miss Lyndon knows it.”

  Behind them someone said Miss Lyndon’s name. She was noticeably silent.

  Pembroke was watching Jane. Watching her plead with him. His lips twisted into a vicious smile. “Rescind it, or I shall be forced to challenge you to a duel of honor.”

  Adam welcomed it.

  “You promised,” Jane hissed.

  He had promised—and he shouldn’t have. Because even if he lied now and told everyone Pembroke was a paragon of knightly virtues, they were just going to keep ending up back here. Pembroke would continue to believe he had some claim to Jane. Adam would come closer and closer to killing him. It wouldn’t take long until it happened.

  Adam covered Jane’s hand with his. “I’m sorry.”

  “Well?” Pembroke demanded.

  “Well,” Adam said. “You’re a coward. You’re a miserable excuse for a man. And I will be more than happy to put you in the dirt where you belong.”

  Jane pulled her hand away from his. He hoped she would forgive him. Once this was settled, he would convince her. He just had to do this one thing, and then no matter what, she would be safe and they could work on the rest later.

  “Brandon,” Adam called. “Are you willing to stand as my second?”

  “I suppose so.”

  Pembroke looked around the room.

  “I don’t think you’ll find anyone,” Adam told him. “But I’ll give you a few days to get back to London where people don’t know you as well. Maybe you’ll find someone there.”

  • • •

  No one was much in the mood for continuing the house party after that. Jane and Eugenia had taken her carriage and headed back to London. Adam and Lord Brandon would have to fend for themselves.

  Ten hours. That was how long his promise had lasted. Ten bloody hours.

  It wasn’t like she didn’t understand. It was hard for him. She’d known it was going to be hard for him. Things were hard for her, too—but she hadn’t happily given up after less than half a day. He could have at least pretended to try.

  “You’re angry with Lord Wesley.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Because he told the truth?”

  “Because he broke a promise.”

  “What promise?
”

  “Not to kill Geoffrey.”

  “But he hasn’t killed him.”

  “He will.”

  “Oh.” Eugenia was silent for a moment. “Shouldn’t you wait to be mad at him until he does it?”

  “I can’t,” Jane said. Tears started distorting her vision. “Because as soon as he does it, they’ll take him away. And then they’ll hang him. So I have to be mad at him now while he’s still alive to notice.”

  The silence stretched again. “Shouldn’t you—”

  “Eugenia. Please . . .”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I wish I understood.”

  The rest of the trip was silent. In London, she dropped Eugenia off and took the carriage back to St. James’s. Shortly after Ambrose greeted her in the foyer, Mathilda came bursting out of the drawing room.

  “You’re back!”

  “I’m back.” Jane tried to sound energetic, but she failed miserably.

  “Oh no. What happened, dear?”

  “A lot, actually. I—” Her throat closed, and the words wouldn’t come out. She started crying and it wouldn’t stop. Mathilda held her arms open, and Jane walked into them, shaking with sobs.

  “Whatever it is, we’ll fix it,” Mathilda promised.

  How many times had she cried over something silly? A ripped hem. Misarranged flowers. A trip to the milliner gone wrong. It wasn’t Mathilda’s fault for assuming it was something trivial. Something that could be slept off or washed away. But this time, no amount of baths or naps was going to make it better.

  She let her aunt lead her upstairs anyway. The familiar motions of Mathilda helping her into her nightgown and brushing out her hair calmed her. It didn’t solve the problem, but it did soothe her enough to speak.

  Mathilda stroked her hair while Jane told her everything—actually everything, including the late-night visits to Adam’s room and the ugly truths about her relationship with Geoffrey. When she spoke about the second part, Mathilda held her hand and cried with her.