Wicked Captive (Regency Sinners 5)

by Carole Mortimer

  Jocey felt as if a bucket of ice water had been thrown over her at her guardian’s cold dismissal of what would be the rest of her life. A quick glance at Jericho from beneath her lashes was enough to tell her of his rising impatience. Even so… “I could not possibly marry, and certainly not share a bed and bear the children of a man I do not love,” she announced with distaste.

  Her guardian’s mouth thinned. “If you will excuse us, Cousin Gwendoline?” He spared that lady a brief glance as she hovered in the background. “I believe I require a few minutes’ privacy with my ward.” Without waiting for acknowledgment from his elderly relative, and certainly without bothering to ask if Jocey wished to accompany him, the marquis grasped hold of Jocey’s wrist before turning on his booted heel and striding down the hallway toward his study. That painful grasp allowed him to pull her along in his wake.

  Jocey was thoroughly flustered by the time the marquis had closed the study door behind them and abruptly released her. “I do not understand.” She frowned even as she rubbed the sting of pain from where, she was sure, later today there would be finger-shaped bruises on her wrist.

  The marquis leaned back against the front of his huge mahogany desk. “If you were a dozen years younger than you are, then believe me, I would take steps now that would leave you in no doubt as to my disapproval of your forward behavior just now in front of my Cousin Gwendoline and my butler.”

  She blinked. “My forward behavior?”

  He nodded, his expression grim. “Throwing yourself at me like a common trollop, answering me back, and then adding to that lack of good manners by discussing your distaste for the imagined activities of your future marriage bed.”

  Her confusion deepened. “I— But— I only said—”

  “I am well aware of what you said,” he cut in coldly. “It was an unacceptable conversation in front my butler and my cousin and showed a complete disrespect toward me,” he added harshly.

  “But I did not mean any insult to anyone.”

  His gaze was glacial. “Nevertheless, insult was given and taken. Cousin Gwendoline’s face became so red, it looked as if she might explode from the pressure.”

  She swallowed. “I am sure… What sort of steps would you take if I were younger?” She eyed him warily.

  He folded his arms in front of his wide chest. “Ones that would leave your backside smarting enough, you would not be able to sit down for a week without being reminded of your unacceptable behavior.”

  She gasped. “You would have spanked me?”

  He nodded. “I would. I might still do so,” he added darkly, “if you ever behave and speak in public in such an indecorous manner again.”

  Jocey accepted that perhaps the enthusiasm of her greeting had been a little…improper. But she also sensed something had changed between herself and her guardian since last the two of them were together. Quite what, Jocey had no idea. But this Jericho was not the indulgent, if often absent or distant guardian, she had become accustomed to. Or the man she confessed, to herself, at least, to being halfway in love with.

  She gave a shake of her head. “I assure you, I did not mean to cause embarrassment by the remarks concerning my future husband and marriage.”

  His brows rose. “And throwing yourself at me in that brazen manner?”

  Considering his current mood, Jocey did not believe he would approve of her explanation. That it was her excitement at being with and seeing him again which was responsible for her having thrown herself impetuously into his arms the moment she saw him.

  Her lashes lowered. “It will not happen again.”

  Jericho was aware that much of his anger toward Jocey was due to his reaction to her having thrown herself at him, rather than her having done so or the conversation that followed. In the ordinary flow of things, it would be perfectly acceptable for a ward to hug her guardian when first she greeted him. It was not acceptable, however, between a sexually active and unmarried gentleman of five and thirty and a young and vibrantly beautiful woman of almost one and twenty.

  It was certainly not acceptable between Lord Jericho Black and Lady Jocelyn Forbes.

  Lady Jocelyn Forbes was under investigation for treason.

  Lord Jericho Black was responsible for carrying out that investigation.

  And I am full of horse manure if I am attempting to convince myself that is the reason for my need to put a physical and emotional distance between the two of us.

  The truth was, after the incident in the entrance hall, Jericho knew he could no longer place Jocey in the category of being only his young ward.

  How can I when my cock is still throbbing merely at the thought of bending Jocey over my desk, throwing up her skirts, and spanking her bare ass before plowing my cock inside the virgin heat of her pussy?

  At least, he presumed Jocey was still a virgin.

  Cousin Gwendoline was a dear old soul, and Jericho had been only too happy to give her a home with him when he took on Jocey’s guardianship. The arrangement had suited both Lady Gwendoline and Jericho.

  But it would be far too easy for a determined young lady such as Jocey to hoodwink a trusting soul like her elderly chaperone and do exactly as she pleased. Jericho had heard no scandalous gossip in regard to his ward while he was in London, but that did not mean there was none. Few would dare to repeat such gossip to Jericho if it existed. There was also this visit to France to consider. No doubt a Frenchman would be more…determined in his pursuit of Jocey than would an Englishman.

  A thought that did not please Jericho at all.

  His eyes narrowed. “Did you enjoy your visit to Paris?”

  Jocey’s expression lightened. She was obviously relieved to have the subject changed. “My mother’s family were all very welcoming.”

  Jericho gave an inclination of his head. “You did not feel, now that we are once again at peace with France, that perhaps you might prefer to live there with them?”

  She blinked long lashes over those dark gray eyes. “Would you prefer I went to live with them?”

  “I do not believe that was what I asked.”

  “No,” she acknowledged softly. “I like living here. With you,” she added in an even quieter voice.

  But not so quiet Jericho did not hear her. “Very well,” he accepted briskly. “You may go to your room now and rest before dinner. At which time,” he added sternly, “you will wear a gown more suited to a lady rather than the one you are currently wearing.” His gaze raked over her critically. “I have no wish to see my ward in a gown which any woman hawking her wares on the street might proudly wear.”

  A blush darkened Jocey’s cheeks as she glanced down at the low bodice of her gown. “But this is the latest fashion…”

  “Perhaps in France, but certainly not here.” He looked at her from between hooded lids. “You will also wear gloves, as becomes a young lady when in company.” The elegance of Jocey’s bare and graceful hands was fully on display since she had given her leather gloves to the butler when she entered the house. Hands that Jericho could too easily imagine wrapped about the thick length of his aroused cock. “Why are you still here,” he snapped, “when I have clearly instructed you to go to your bedchamber and rest?”

  “I am not tired—”

  “And I do not recall asking if you were tired.”

  A troubled frown creased her brow. “You are being very…abrupt with me today, my lord. Have I done something…? Has something happened since we last spoke for you to treat me in this stern manner?”

  Had something happened?

  Many things had happened since Jericho last saw Jocey.

  The main one being that Napoleon had escaped imprisonment on Elba. That more battles had ensued following that escape, with the loss of many English soldiers’ lives.

  And all aided and abetted by the traitor to the Crown, which, by a process of elimination, they knew to be English and female.

  And could be Jocey herself.

  “Go to your room,”
Jericho said again harshly.

  “But—”

  “Go to your room before I reconsider and give you the spanking you deserve,” Jericho thundered furiously.

  Jocey turned on her tiny booted heel and fled.

  Chapter 3

  “I am sure his lordship did not mean to upset you, lamb,” Lady Gwendoline soothed, rubbing Jocey’s back as she lay on her front, sobbing into her pillow. The elderly lady had been waiting for Jocey in her bedchamber when she burst into the room a few minutes ago before throwing herself onto the bed.

  “Oh, but he did. He most certainly did,” she repeated emphatically as she recalled Jericho’s cold behavior.

  She had been looking forward to seeing him again for weeks, and this was the welcome she received.

  Being threatened with a spanking she was far too old to receive, before being sent to her room, which again Jocey believed herself to be far too old for. She was almost one and twenty, not the nine-year-old Jericho had alluded to wanting to spank.

  To add to her misery, Jocey found it most disturbing that the imagining of that spanking had made her feel warm and tingling in parts of her body Cousin Gwendoline had told her were not to be touched except to wash with a cloth when she bathed, and certainly never thought about. Namely, her breasts and between her thighs.

  Jocey turned fully until she lay on her back to stare up at the ornate ceiling above her white four-poster bed. “Why is he so cross, do you suppose?”

  Lady Gwendoline straightened. “Never having married, I have absolutely no idea what a gentleman might think or why he behaves in a certain manner. But, from what I have observed, something as simple as a tough piece of beef for luncheon can affect a gentleman’s temper,” she added ruefully.

  Then perhaps Jocey should follow her chaperone’s example and remain unmarried?

  Although she knew from conversations with the elderly lady that Lady Gwendoline had not intended for her life to be this way, and that she had fully intended to marry. Unfortunately, her beau had been killed thirty years ago in a duel, only weeks before their wedding was to take place. Lady Gwendoline had never found another man she could love or who loved her.

  But Jocey knew it had not been an easy or comfortable life for that unmarried lady once the other woman’s parents died. Lady Gwendoline had then been shunted from one relative to another, first as a nanny to their children and then as companion and chaperone to the daughters of the house. Jocey knew she was the last in a long line of charges whom Lady Gwendoline had nurtured and loved before they married and discarded her.

  Well, Jocey would not discard her, considered Lady Gwendoline to be her friend as well as her companion and chaperone.

  “Perhaps you are right.” Jocey brightened. “And Jer—his lordship,” she corrected with a self-conscious glance at the older woman, instantly reassured when Lady Gwendoline did not seem to take offence at the familiarity, “merely ate something at luncheon which disagreed with him.” An excuse for Jericho’s earlier harsh behavior that did not lessen Jocey’s disappointment in the slightest.

  She and Lady Gwendoline had spent a week in London upon their return from France, recovering from the journey. Lady Gwendoline was not a good sailor and had needed to lay abed for several days to recuperate. Jocey had filled her time by taking a maid with her when she visited friends who had not yet left London to spend winter on their country estates. But during all that time, she had been able to think of only one thing: seeing Jericho again.

  She had dressed with such care this morning after bathing at the last of the coaching inns before they reached Wessex Manor. She’d worn her favorite blue silk gown bought in Paris. It added a bluish hue to what Jocey thought of as her unremarkable gray eyes, and revealed a creamy expanse of her burgeoning breasts.

  All in the hope Jericho might finally see her as a grown and desirable woman.

  Well, he had seen her, but not in the way Jocey had hoped and dreamed of. Instead of finally seeing her as an attractive woman, the marquis had made it clear he disapproved of everything about her, from the fashionable gown to the way she behaved and the words she spoke.

  She jumped up from the bed and hurried across to her wardrobe. “Come and help me choose a suitable gown to dine with my guardian this evening.” She might still be able to redeem herself in the marquis’s eyes, even if she had to subdue some of her exuberance for life and wear one of the older and less fashionable gowns she had left here last winter.

  This evening, she would ensure she did absolutely nothing to bring that look of displeasure to Jericho’s face or cause herself to be on the receiving end of his sharp-edged tongue.

  “I thought every young lady knew how to at least be entertaining at the dinner table.” Jericho scowled at Jocey as she sat opposite him in the small family dining room. They had reached the main course of the meal without exchanging a single word of conversation, a meal served to them by Taylor, Jericho’s butler.

  Jericho knew the reason for his own silence.

  Jocey’s appearance this evening indicated she had taken his earlier remarks to heart. The dark gray silk gown she wore was buttoned up to her throat and had long sleeves. Gray lace gloves covered her hands. Not an inch of bare flesh was visible anywhere. Her hair was also less flamboyantly styled, with only a loose curl at each temple and her nape.

  The whole of which succeeded in doing the opposite of what Jericho had intended.

  The demure gown hinted enticingly at the full curves hidden beneath it. The same with the lace gloves now covering the elegance of her long-fingered, slender hands. And the more severe hairstyle only served to emphasize the unusual beauty of her dark-lashed eyes.

  Jericho’s rebellious cock had leaped to attention the moment Jocey entered the dining room in a swirl of skirts amid the scent of pine trees and apples. A scent that appeared to belong exclusively to Jocey.

  The situation was not helped by the fact Cousin Gwendoline had decided to have a dinner tray delivered to her bedchamber, having excused herself from joining them on the grounds of tiredness after her days of travel.

  Jocey now turned to him attentively. “I had assumed, as you are silent yourself, that you would prefer I remain so too.”

  That told him the reason for Jocey’s previous silence was not anger with him over their earlier disagreement.

  His mouth tightened. “My advice to you is not to assume anything where I am concerned.”

  Her lashes lowered. “What would you like me to talk about, my lord?”

  His mouth thinned. “I believe I indicated you should entertain me, not the other way about.”

  A blush darkened her cheeks, but her gaze remained fixed on the gloved hands resting in her lap. “I am unsure as to what subject to choose that would not…incite further rebuke from you.”

  He bared his teeth in a humorless smile. “Then I suggest you try one and see.”

  “Very well.” Jocey straightened, ensuring her spine was the required few inches away from the back of the chair; she had no wish to give the marquis further reason for chastising her or her behavior.

  Bad enough she was all of a jitter because of how magnificent Jericho looked this evening in his black evening clothes and snowy-white linen. His hair seemed almost black in the candlelight, his chiseled features cast into shadows of dark and light and appearing all the more devilishly handsome because of it.

  Jocey desperately searched her mind for something she might talk about that would not incur the marquis’s wrath. She brightened as one finally occurred to her. “I chanced to see two of your friends during the week Lady Gwendoline and I spent in London recuperating after traveling from France.”

  “Indeed?” he prompted, hooded lids lowered to hide the expression in his eyes. “And which two friends might that be?”

  “Lord Worthington and Viscount Romney,” she announced lightly, knowing those two gentlemen were two more of The Sinners, Jericho’s closest friends, and surely a safe topic of conversation. “I was en
joying afternoon tea with the Germaine sisters, and those two gentlemen called upon them whilst I was there.”

  If anything, the marquis’s expression became even harsher. “You decided to have tea with them, or you were invited?”

  Jocey frowned, sure she was about to be reprimanded again, although she had no idea why. “Lady Gwendoline was indisposed, but I took a maid from Pomeroy House with me. Admittedly, Prudence and Priscilla did not invite me on that specific day, but I am great friends with both of them and have an open invitation to call upon them whenever I wish,” she added for good measure. Jericho was obviously still slightly out of sorts, and she did not know him well enough to be aware of what subject might cause his temper to flare.

  “So you were the initiator of the visit?”

  “Well. Yes. But I assure you,” she added hastily as Jericho’s frown became a scowl, “Prudence and Priscilla were more than happy to see me.”

  “And were they happy to see Worthington and Romney too?”

  She laughed. “As they are two of the most handsome single gentlemen in London, of course the twins were happy to see them.”

  Blue eyes glittered like the jewels they resembled. “Did you know Worthington and Romney would be there too?”

  A guilty blush warmed her cheeks. “Prudence and Priscilla might have sent me a note telling me that those two gentlemen were being rather attentive to them.”

  “I see.”

  “What do you see?” Jocey was becoming more and more confused by how intense this conversation had become when she had believed it to be a safe topic.