“That’s your argument?” he said with a choked laugh. “You want me to have my wicked way with you just to find out if it’s awful?”
“Not at all. I want to experience passionate, carnal relations with someone I can’t resist. Someone strong.” Her eyes met his without flinching. “Someone honorable. Someone I crave.” Her low voice raked his soul. “And that man is you.”
His breeches tightened in response to her words. Bloody hell. His entire body thrummed with awareness. This woman was intoxicating. Her cheeks were pale, her lips flushed, but her sensual brown eyes gazed right into his soul.
Of course he wanted her. He would have to be made of stone not to want her. And after a speech like that, he had to summon every ounce of his willpower to stay in his chair rather than carry her to bed and give her exactly what she’d asked for. Slowly. Deliciously. His body ached to make her his.
But he was not who she thought he was. Nor could he be.
“You say you desire an honorable man. That you believe me to be honorable. But anyone who accepts the gift of your body without a care for your heart or your future is deplorable, not honorable.” This had gone on long enough. He rose from his chair. “I’ve secluded myself out here in this cottage to protect others from me, not to ruin them in my own home.”
She leaped to her feet in response. “You don’t want any woman, or you don’t want me? If I were a light-skirt, we would already be naked. Or is there nothing about me that attracts you, and I’ve been wasting my breath since I got here?”
He grasped her shoulders and let his harsh voice betray his passion. “Everything about you attracts me. You think you’re the only one with carnal dreams? There’s not a man alive who wouldn’t love to be in my shoes right now. To be this close to tasting your lips. To cover your body with mine.”
Her nostrils flared. “There isn’t a man in London who even knows my name.”
He stepped back and shoved his thumbs into his waistband. “They know your name. They also know your brother would thrash them within an inch of their lives if they so much as touched you.”
A choked laugh gurgled in her throat. “Isaac?”
The shock on her face indicated she’d never considered there might be any other explanation beyond her “plump” frame and modest dowry.
Xavier leaned closer. “You have no idea how tempting your offer is. Just like you have no idea what you’re truly giving me permission to do with your mouth and your body.”
“Don’t I?” She fished a small sketchbook from her reticule. “I’m not going to be shocked by the mechanics of lovemaking. Not when I’ve studied an illustrated guide. Page fourteen: Riding backward. Page twenty-seven: Oral stimulation. Page—”
His lungs froze. How in Hades had she come into possession of such a thing? He snatched the book from her hand and threw it against the wall. “Enough.”
“It’s never enough.” She grabbed the lapels of his coat and lifted her face to his. Her body fit perfectly against him. “Show me what I’m missing.”
He couldn’t move. Dear Lord, he could not push her away.
“One night,” she whispered. “I’m already here. What happens next is up to us.” She touched her lips to the edge of his jaw. “Send me away in the morning, but first give me one night of passion.”
Her voice was soft, her eyes shuttered. Her mouth right there for the taking. Her body...
He forced himself to step back while he still had the strength to do so.
“I shall not be your experiment, Miss Downing. If you throw away your future, it won’t be on me.”
Chapter 6
Jane pivoted away from Captain Grey as heat flooded her face. He didn’t want her. She couldn’t ignore the nausea in her belly or the hole in her chest. She had made her case with every wile available to her. Logic, physicality… even pleading.
And she could not have been rejected more soundly.
Failure cut deep. She crossed to the far wall on stiff legs and bent to retrieve the fallen sketchbook. Its long guarded illustrations had robbed her of countless nights of sleep. Now she couldn’t even bear to look at it. She shoved it back into her reticule with trembling fingers.
The depictions of pleasure therein would have to remain theoretical.
She laid her reticule on the mantel and quit the parlor without a word. Captain Grey did not stop her. Why would he? There was nothing left to discuss.
Egui’s abandoned wicker basket lay at the end of the corridor. If she didn’t get the cat back in his basket, he would wreak havoc on Captain Grey’s home. She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Corralling Egui was a task she was familiar with. Challenging. Perilous. But not impossible.
Who would’ve believed it easier to catch a demon cat than the interest of a lonely soldier?
She made her way to the end of the hall and looped her arm through the handle of the basket. With luck, Egui hadn’t destroyed the rest of Captain Grey’s cravats during the course of their disastrous conversation. The evening would be uncomfortable enough without also owing the man an entirely new wardrobe.
“I need to find the cat,” she called over her shoulder. “May I hunt in any open rooms?”
“You may do as you please,” he replied from only a few feet away.
She spun about.
He stood at the doorway to the parlor, watching her. His blue gaze was inscrutable.
After a heartbeat, he disappeared back into the parlor.
She straightened her spine and smiled grimly. She could not do as she pleased. Not here and not anywhere. She couldn’t have the man she wanted. Couldn’t find the devil cat she didn’t want. She couldn’t even hop into a hack and go back home.
Her motives might have been foolish, but her plan had been sound. Too sound. Blasted snowstorm. It had seemed so fortuitous at the time, and now… Just another cosmic mockery.
Her brother was two hundred miles away. The servants suspected nothing. She’d changed hacks every half hour to make certain no single person knew where she’d been or where she was going. The Dog & Whistle had indeed been over capacity, providing her with a legitimate need for close, safe lodging. The relentless snow ensured her welcome inside the cottage.
And now she couldn’t leave.
She slipped off her half boots in order to tread through the cottage more quietly. Calling to the cat would only give him fair warning. Her only hope was to catch him unawares—before he did the same to her.
First, she tried the kitchen. This was where Egui had somehow destroyed Captain Grey’s cravat… Ah. There it was. A disgusting clump of wet fur and shredded linen. Right next to a similar pile of what once had been a tea towel of some kind. Lovely. Her brother’s cat was a never-ending joy.
She stood on her toes to inspect the top of every surface and dropped to her knees to check below each stick of furniture. No sign of Egui. She returned to the corridor and shut the kitchen door tight behind her.
The next open doorway led to what must be the servants’ quarters. The beds were made perfectly and the fireplaces had not been lit. Jane hugged herself against the chill. The empty rooms were far too cold for her, but Egui was blessed with a layer of steel-gray fur. The temperature would suit him fine, and his dusky coat would be almost impossible to detect in the quickly waning light.
Jane checked above every wardrobe and beneath every bed, but could find no trace of the missing cat.
She rarely did until it was too late.
Much like her interaction with Captain Grey, she supposed. She hadn’t been able to protect herself from being wounded because she hadn’t anticipated the source of the blow. Non-action hurt just as much as action. Perhaps even more so.
Her shoulders slumped. The wounds from Egui’s sharp little claws would clear up in a week or two. But Captain Grey’s outright rejection would leave its mark forever.
She sealed the door to the servants’ quarters and crossed the hall into the dining room. A tall mahogany sideboard lined t
he perimeter. An oblong table with eight wooden chairs stood in the center. No hiding places. No sign of Egui. Jaw set, she stalked into the next room—and abruptly stopped in the doorway.
A library. Small, but comfortable. A chaise longue and a wingback chair faced the unlit fireplace.
The bookcases were few, but contained a respectable number of titles. She couldn’t help but peruse them. Politics… agriculture… classics… Fanny Hill! She snatched the volume from the shelf and held it to her chest.
An erotic novel! She had longed to read such a thing, but hadn’t wanted to have to hide more than one book from her brother. There might not be explicit imagery within these pages, but anything calling itself Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure was something she wouldn’t wish to explain how it came to be in her possession some night over dinner.
Not that it was appropriate material here, either.
She slid the book back into its slot amongst the others. Reading about fictional erotic encounters while under the same roof as Captain Grey would only make her yearn for him all the more. ’Twas better for both of them to have her curiosity remain unsatisfied.
Although it was deliciously tempting to borrow it just for the night...
Forcing herself to abandon the book, she inspected above and within each shelf in search of the missing cat. Nothing. Not even a telltale gray hair to indicate he’d ever entered the room. She exited the library and shut the door firmly behind her. And swallowed hard.
The last remaining room was Captain Grey’s bedchamber. She hesitated at the open doorway.
Flickering orange light emanated from the fireplace, giving the room a soft, warm glow. Directly across was a large four-poster bed with thick emerald curtains. An armoire stood to one side, and a table bearing a pitcher and basin stood on the other. Yet she couldn’t take her eyes from the bed.
What might it have been like, to join him beneath the blankets? Hot, obviously. Thrilling. Unforgettable.
But she would never know.
She clenched her fingers against the unbidden twist in her stomach. The truth couldn’t be plainer. Captain Grey wasn’t just an ex-soldier. He was a war hero. A leader of men. If he wanted something, he took it.
Therefore, he didn’t want her. If he did, she’d already be naked.
She set down the basket and knelt to peer beneath the bed. No cat. She tightened her jaw. Where in the world was he hiding?
A thump sounded in the doorway and she sprang to her feet in alarm.
Not Egui. Excitement infused her veins. Captain Grey. Delivering her trunk to his bedchamber.
Chapter 7
Xavier took a healthy step back from Miss Downing’s trunk. She was standing in his bedchamber. He should be far, far away. Not staring at her long, shimmering hair or imagining the feel of those voluptuous curves beneath his hands. Her untouched innocence attracted him just as viscerally as her beauty. He looked away. She was not for him.
He shoved his hands behind his back to shield them from her—and from temptation. He didn’t need to glimpse the silken unmentionables she might have packed for a seduction. He didn’t want to picture her alone in his bed, naked, and thinking of him.
Nor could he imagine how he was meant to make it through the long wintry night with his sanity—and her virginity—intact.
He kept his voice authoritative and firm. “My cottage has no guest quarters, so you’ll have to sleep in the master chamber. I, of course, shall take the servants’ quarters.”
Miss Downing’s rosy lips fell open and a flash of renewed hurt dulled her eyes. “You don’t intend to share your bed with me?”
He rubbed his face. “Forgive me for pointing out that I didn’t even intend to share my home with you. If you have developed any illusions about me or my character, please do away with them posthaste. I live alone for a reason. As an innocent, you may not fully understand the ramifications of your proposal, but I am not fit to be a husband and I shan’t be your despoiler.”
Her chin rose. “I’m looking for a lover, not a husband. Do you think me too naïve to have foreseen a broken heart in my future? I saw that coming the moment I laid eyes on you.” Her voice broke as she turned away. “I’d just hoped to share a few pleasurable moments first.”
He frowned. She’d come here expecting to be cast aside post coitus and still felt it merited the experience? Zeus, was she innocent! Very well. He would have to be strong enough for them both.
To deflect her attention, he gestured at the bedside table. “There’s fresh water in the pitcher, and the bed linens are freshly laundered. There’s more than enough firewood to last the night. If you can think of anything else—”
“I think it’s ridiculous for you not to sleep in your own bed.”
He stared at her. “I can’t very well sleep in my bed if you’re in it, and I will not remand you to the servant’s quarters.”
“Why must either of us sleep somewhere else?” She crossed her arms. “Either I am already ruined—in which case, there’s no reason for us not to share the best chamber—or else no one will learn that I was ever here. In which case, there’s no reason for us not to share the best chamber.”
His jaw clenched. “No.”
Her brown eyes blazed. “‘No?’ Your argument against sound logic is simply ‘No?’”
Before he could cement her distaste at his autocratic nature by pointing out that it was his bed, his house, and his rules, a ten-pound clawed tornado leaped from above the four-poster canopy and latched itself to Xavier’s head with an ear-splitting shriek.
He grunted and shook his head free of the cat—or tried to—but the creature dug in its claws and held on tight. He was wearing the damn thing like a bonnet. Gritting his teeth, he clapped his hands around its soft belly and thrust it from his head. Warmth trickled down one cheek. Xavier was certain he was also missing a fair chunk of hair, but perhaps it would work to his advantage.
No maiden would be overcome with arousal by a man who looked like he’d lost a battle with a lion.
He held the writhing, hissing creature toward her with stiff arms. “Your cat, madam.”
Eyes filled with horror, she swung a thick basket up from the floor and trapped her pet inside. “I am incredibly sorry. I never meant for him to hurt you. He’s… high-spirited, and unused to strangers or strange places, and I’m afraid he—”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine.” Gaze soft, she lifted a hand toward his cheek. “You’re bleeding.”
He jerked away. “I survived three years at war. I won’t be felled by a cat.”
Presuming it wasn’t rabid. From the racket it was making inside that basket, Xavier couldn’t discount the possibility.
“You’re just as ill-tempered as he is.” Miss Downing clutched the howling basket to her chest and scowled. “If you won’t let me tend your wound, will you direct me to my coat? If we’re to avoid accidents of another kind, he needs a brief trip out-of-doors before we settle in for the night.”
Xavier sighed. The last thing he needed was Egui piddling all over the cottage. And with the weather as it was, he certainly couldn’t send Miss Downing out for even a moment. He reached for the basket. “Give it here.”
She shook her head. “He truly distrusts strangers, and if anything were to happen to him, my—”
“Nothing’s going to happen. Stay here where it’s warm. Make yourself comfortable. The cat and I will return in a few moments.”
Despite the emasculating lack of confidence in her expression, she at last relinquished the basket.
He inclined his head and quit the bedchamber.
Rather than go immediately outside, he headed for the servants’ quarters. He might not be able to prevent the cat from attacking, but he’d be damned if he let it run away. Which left what?
The skinny, gray, potbellied devil-cat was unlikely to respect the sort of leash one might use with a dog. Xavier needed to fashion something as unusual as the cat itself. He twisted the co
rd from a bellpull into a figure eight and wrestled Egui’s front paws into the holes as if it were a waistcoat. He looped the ends of the cord through the metal clasp of a leather belt and tied a solid knot.
There. A cat leash. He leaned back, satisfied. As long as he didn’t let go of his end—and Egui refrained from attack—all would be well.
Xavier bundled the cat back into the basket and slipped on his coat and hat before slipping out into the blustery evening.
The icy wind robbed his lungs of air. Once his body adjusted to the frigid wind, he released Egui from his basket, careful to keep a firm hold on the safe end of the belt.
He couldn’t contain a brief smile. Taking a demon cat for a piss in the snow couldn’t be further from how he’d imagined spending his first night home, but Miss Downing and company were undeniably more entertaining. Even if he got a few new scars out of the escapade.
In fact, Egui might just be the key to saving them all. And not just because no man in his right mind would trust that cat anywhere near his bare arse.
Miss Downing, on the other hand… Xavier needed one hell of a plan to dissuade her from throwing away her virginity. A plan that stopped her from wanting him.
The easiest way would be to let her know exactly what sort of blackguard she was offering herself to, but his damnable pride hated the idea of resorting to such measures.
For one, tales of his misdeeds would rob her of a different sort of innocence. No one deserved that. And for two… she liked him. No matter how misplaced her faith in him might be, he hated to give it up. He just needed her to think of him as a friend, not a lover.
A friend who took her barmy cat for moonlit walks in the snow.
He turned his back to the wind and shivered. Yes, that was the answer. He would drown her in platonic politeness. Illustrate his relentless friend-ishness at every turn.
The best way to keep Miss Downing safe was to keep her at arm’s length.
His fingers curled into fists. By devoting himself to the care and well-being of her cat and all other libido-killing topics, he would mold her impression of him until he squarely fit the role of friend and nothing more.
The Dukes of War: Complete Collection Page 23
