He lowered his head to her bodice. When his mouth closed around her nipple, she gasped as a shiver of ecstasy radiated through her. This was what she’d been waiting for. She gripped his hair, clutching him to her—
And screamed as claws raked down her spine.
Xavier sprang backward, panting, his eyes wide with surprise. “Did I hurt you?”
“It’s not you,” she gritted out, wincing at the weight of the cat tangled in her hair and cleaving to her skin. Gingerly, she turned her back toward the firelight.
“God’s teeth. Is that…”
“Yes,” she managed through pain-clenched teeth. “Please remove him from me as quickly and carefully as possible.”
Xavier leapt forward.
She closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing. The moment the devil cat was disengaged from her spine, she intended to trap the little demon in his wicker cage for the rest of the night. Or the rest of his life.
“Rowr!”
Egui’s weight was suddenly gone from her back, but her hair was being torn in a thousand directions at once. She balled her hands into fists. That cat was on his last life. “Once you get him clear, hold on to him while I fetch his basket.”
Her hair fell back around her shoulders. Xavier stepped away. “Hurry.”
She ran.
She careened into the bedchamber and scooped up the basket without slowing. Within seconds, she was back in the parlor. She slammed the lid closed the moment Xavier dumped Egui inside and quickly fastened the double latch. There. She seized the howling, rattling basket and tried to catch her breath.
“Turn around.” Xavier’s voice was stiff. The magic was gone. “I need to see your wounds.”
She set down the basket and slowly turned around.
One by one, the buttons of her gown popped free. Her shoulders slumped. A few minutes ago, he might’ve undressed her for far better reasons than playing nurse. It was over. They would never share a moment like that again.
Her hands flew to her chest as her dress gaped forward. Cool air trickled down her back. He was already loosening her stays. She held as still as she could. He tugged down the thin linen of her shift to expose her back.
“You’ve got several long scratches, but no blood.” He straightened her shift and shoved his thumbs into his waistband. “Good night, Miss Downing. I’m going to try and get some sleep. Although I doubt that I’ll have much of that while you’re here.”
“Jane,” she whispered, clutching her loose gown to her chest.
He inclined his head. “Good night, Jane.”
He held her gaze for an extra beat, then turned and walked away.
Shoulders sagging, she left Egui in his basket in the parlor and trudged back to the bedchamber. He was right. It would be a long night.
After changing into her night-rail, she was still far too tense to sleep. She retrieved a novel from her luggage and settled the stool closer to the firelight.
No matter how many times she read the lines on the page, she failed to comprehend a single word. She couldn’t stop thinking about Xavier. He could’ve slept with her, right here in this bed.
He should’ve slept with her.
His insistence on clinging to proper sleeping arrangements was honorable and admirable and could not help but raise her esteem… but this was his house. This was his bed. He should be in it.
At last, she tossed the book aside. Reading was impossible. So was sleep. She would check on Egui and look in on Xavier, and perhaps then she might be able to get some rest.
She lit a taper in the fireplace and slipped out into the hall.
The parlor was dark. Few embers remained behind the grate. She inched forward. Egui’s basket was still where she left it. The latch was in place. The beast wasn’t howling. She didn’t suppose she could ask for much more.
After a moment’s hesitation, she continued on to the servants’ quarters. If the door was closed, she would not knock. Xavier deserved his sleep.
But if he were awake, and desirous of conversation…
She paused three paces from the door. It was ajar, but no light flickered within. She shivered at the sudden chill.
This side of the cottage was freezing. She frowned at the darkness on the other side of the door. Was there no fire in the hearth? She nudged the door open a crack. The room was pitch-black and ice-cold. Her teeth chattered at the marked change in temperature.
Xavier lay on his side in a thin, narrow bed. Even from this distance, she could see him trembling.
Realization hit her. The daft man would rather freeze to death than share their body heat. Well, she didn’t have to agree.
She crept forward. There was no way a man this stubbornly honorable could be talked into retaking his bedchamber. Yet she couldn’t let him freeze. She blew out her candle and climbed in next to him.
Almost immediately, she realized he wasn’t trembling because of the cold, but rather suffering from a bad dream. His muscles twitched alarmingly. Little gasps escaped his throat at uneven intervals.
“Shh. It’s all right. I’m here now.” She touched a tentative hand to his shoulder.
He flew out of the bed, his fists held up high. “What? What?”
She swallowed, nervous. “It’s me. I just—”
“Jane?” His voice lost all vestiges of sleep. “What the devil are you doing in here?”
“It was cold and I thought you needed… body heat?” she stammered. Her face was burning. In the darkness, she couldn’t make out his features. She wished she hadn’t blown out the candle.
“Body heat.” His voice was skeptical. And much closer than she’d calculated. In the space of a breath, he scooped her into his arms and carried her down the hall. “You’re not sleeping in there, Jane. There’s no fire.”
When they reached his bedchamber, she half expected him to toss her onto the mattress and walk away.
He did not. To her surprise, he placed her gently in the center and then lay down beside her. He covered them both with a blanket.
“Go to sleep,” he ordered her gruffly, hauling her into his embrace. “I won’t let you catch cold.”
Warmth spread through her as she snuggled into him. This was what she had wanted.
Perhaps they could be there for each other.
Chapter 13
Jane was disappointed when she woke up alone.
She was delighted, however, when Xavier reappeared in the bedchamber a few moments later with two large buckets of steaming water.
“Is this when we strip naked?” she asked with a salacious smile.
He opened the curtains to his dressing closet to reveal a beautiful bathing tub. “This is when you do, saucy wench. I’ll have my chance later. I’ve got more snow melting in the kitchen.”
She pushed back the covers and swung her feet out of bed. “If we’re not bathing each other, why are you in such high spirits?”
He paused on his way toward the door to glance back at her over his shoulder. “The snow has finally stopped.”
A chill wracked through her that had nothing to do with the cold. Their magical interlude was over. And he was pleased.
She wrapped her arms around her chest and tried not to show her dejection. “I suppose I’m off, then? After breakfast?”
“More likely after tomorrow’s breakfast. The snowstorm has ended, but the roads are impassable. I doubt we’ll see any traffic today.” He smiled at her. “But take heart. The sooner you return home, the less likely anyone will know that you were ever here.”
Her return smile was brittle. She half expected him to pat her on the head and tell her to wash behind her ears like a good girl. She didn’t want to go home. Not yet. He thought the best thing for both of them would be for her to walk away.
She was going to have to change his mind.
When he quit the room, she hurried out of bed and into the bath before it cooled. She sighed with pleasure as she sank into the tub. The luxury of hot water was exactly what sh
e needed.
Now, if only she could get what she wanted: Captain Xavier Grey.
She bit her lip. Years ago, her interest in him had been limited to his dark good looks. He was something pretty to look at, but she hadn’t given much more thought than that. No one had. Until that dashing but untitled young man had set off to become an even more dashing war hero. If he’d been a romantic figure before, he became positively irresistible. Every female in London whispered his name. Have you seen that handsome Captain Grey? Even without regimentals, he’s a sight to behold. If he pierced me with those captivating blue eyes, I’d swoon on the spot.
Jane stared down at the water. Like the others, she had been entranced by the romance and excitement of the presence of a real hero. When she’d drawn up her list of men with whom she’d be willing to have a liaison, his had been the only name on it. Her body had never been in any doubt about who to choose.
But during their days snowbound together, something changed.
As she got to know him, she began to want him with her brain just as much as her body. He read books. He cooked her meals. He brushed her hair. He was nice. He protected her from the cold and from herself. He let her ask questions he didn’t wish to answer. He saw her for who she truly was... and still liked her. He’d asked her to dance. He wasn’t a hero, but a person. With needs and regrets and dreams just as powerful as hers.
She hadn’t let herself believe in love because she was certain men didn’t believe in the emotion, either. She’d been wrong. Xavier cared about forever, not easy conquests. He’d made her realize she should, too. That it was a mistake to agree to anything less. She was no longer certain she even could.
Being his lover—or even his mistress—was no longer feasible. She couldn’t settle for a few nights. Not when she wanted him for much, much longer. Her stomach twisted.
In order to have any chance, she was going to have to prove to him that he was lovable. That he deserved forever, too.
Continued attempts at seduction wouldn’t sway him. Arguments wouldn’t help. She was down to her last gambit: She would simply have to be Jane. And show him that being himself was more than enough.
He didn’t have to walk on glass. He was worthy exactly as he was. She wanted him exactly as he was.
With a smile, she quit the tub and began to dry her body and her hair. She and Xavier were made for each other. He wished to divorce himself from High Society? She wouldn’t oppose him.
The only reason she attended routs at all was because those circles were the closest she came to having friends. Even if she’d never quite fit, those outings were something to do, somewhere to be.
She’d had no other choice. Until now.
With Xavier, they could make their own society. Free from pressure to conform to what the beau monde expected a bluestocking or a soldier to be. They didn’t need the ton. They would have their friends, and each other. What else mattered?
If he became her suitor, he would find himself courting a strong-willed young lady who was as sensual as any woman and as daring as any man.
She would simply have to show him how much fun that could be.
Xavier was already perfect for her. He patently wished for her to be happy. His preoccupation with returning her home with her reputation intact was for her benefit, not his.
When was the last time someone had done something exclusively for her benefit? What better proof could there be that this once-lost hero was the one man with whom she should share her life? She just had to prove it to him, too.
Now, before it was too late.
As soon as she was dressed—save for tightening her stays and fastening the row of buttons up her spine—she opened the bedchamber door and peeked out into the hall.
Egui’s basket had changed position. Xavier must have already taken him outside. Perhaps that was when he’d realized the snow had ceased.
Anxiety flooded her at the thought of the melting snow. This was her last chance. She twisted her fingers. How could she shake him out of his closed mindset in just one night?
Xavier stepped around the corner looking windblown and devastatingly handsome. He smiled when he saw her.
She hurried forward to meet him. “Did you just come in from outside?”
“You wouldn’t believe how cold it is out there.” He gave an exaggerated shudder. “Then again, nothing can compare with the freezing temperatures in Belgium.”
This was it. Her heart pounded. “I’ll take that bet.”
“What bet?” His forehead creased, then cleared. He shook his head. “You want to wager on which winters were the worst? You’ll lose. I was in the army for three years. You’ve never experienced a Belgian winter. Despite the past few days, it’s always better in Mother England.”
“What do I get if I win?” she insisted.
He turned her around to begin lacing her stays. “How about this. If you win, you get to plan the day’s activities. If I win, there are no activities. You stay in the cottage. I shovel.”
Perfect. “I win.”
“How do you win?” He burst out laughing. “This is a silly wager. On what grounds can anyone win?”
“On the grounds that it’s not colder in Belgium. Mathematically, the historic average March temperatures are one degree warmer in Brussels than in Chelmsford.” She couldn’t hold back a grin. “I’m afraid Mother England has let you down. Essex is not only colder, but demonstrably more likely to be cloudier, foggier, and windier.”
His fingers moved from her stays to her gown. “Demonstrably how?”
“Almanacs,” she answered cheerfully. “You’ve the same ones in your library, if you don’t believe my numbers. And before you say they’re three years old, I kept up with more recent figures via newspapers. The pattern holds.”
“England has certainly changed while I’ve been away.” His voice was droll. “Bluestockings memorize historic climate data on every major city in Europe now?”
“Not every city. I’ve no idea what winters are like in Prague or Rome. I only looked up places I knew you’d fought in or lived in.” She bit her lip. “I wasn’t trying to learn weather patterns. I was trying to get to know you.”
He finished buttoning her gown in silence, then turned her to face him. His eyes were unfathomable. “When did you do this?”
“Study Belgium? When you and the others returned from war.” Her cheeks burned. “I learned of your home in Chelmsford more recently. That’s why the slight discrepancy was fresh in my mind.”
His gaze was soft as he brushed the pad of his thumb across her cheekbone and cupped the side of her face. “All right. You win. What are our plans for the day?”
Chapter 14
A tendril of sweet-smelling smoke curled up from the cheroot clutched between her teeth as Xavier’s ever-surprising houseguest slapped triple aces onto the table and reached for the pile of betting fish.
Again.
He didn’t know what was worse—that his nightmare of contributing to a proper young lady’s descent into total debauchery was playing out in lurid color, or that he was secretly enjoying the constant upheaval of having Jane in his life. She knew scotch from whiskey, had no trouble counting markers, and almost certainly dealt her cards from the bottom of the deck.
She was absolutely shameless.
He hadn’t had this much fun in years.
More precisely, he hadn’t had fun in years. He tossed down his own trio of aces and scooped the chips right out of Jane’s hands. Between war and shutting himself off from society upon his return, he’d quite forgotten how delightful an evening of poor sportsmanship and raucous laughter could be.
He’d never expected to relive that feeling again, much less here, tonight. With her.
Her lush mouth fell open when she saw his cards. “You can’t have three aces!”
“Why not?” He gave her an innocent gaze as he raked in his winnings. “You do.”
She spluttered, then collapsed into laughter. “I thought I was
the only one with a spare deck. Two of yours are the ace of spades!”
“Never underestimate a soldier,” he warned her gravely. “We always carry spades.”
She threw a handful of cards at him. “I’ll give you an extra one, right through the heart.”
“You wound me, madam.” He pushed all the cards to the far side of the table and shook a new set from a fresh deck. “Double stakes?”
“Hmm.” She twirled her glass of port. “All or nothing?”
“You’re on.” He began to deal.
Her hair was loose about her shoulders. She’d lost the pins right about the time he’d poured her port. The long, soft chestnut waves fell down her back and caressed every curve. It took all of his strength not to shove his fingers into that beautiful hair and kiss her until he drowned.
She had enchanted him. It was impossible to keep fighting it. Over the past few days, he had slowly realized that although Jane was a wallflower and a bluestocking and a virgin, she wasn’t just those things.
Anyone this diverting didn’t have to be a wallflower. She’d already admitted to being a bluestocking by choice. And her presence on his doorstep hadn’t been by accident.
Everything she did, she did because she wished to. If she was here with him, it was because she meant to be.
He felt oddly proud at having been the one to catch her attention. She made him feel like he was the only man who mattered. “I find it hard to believe that you don’t have a dozen beaux at any one time.”
She wiggled her eyebrows. “Because of the seductive way I light a cigar?”
“That,” he admitted with a rakish grin, “and everything else. You’re smart, you’re beautiful, and you cheat at cards. Why aren’t you married?”
The easy laughter faded from her eyes. She stubbed out her cheroot in its dish. “You mean, why don’t I throw myself on the tender mercies of the Marriage Mart? You’re right. Isaac could find someone interested enough in me or my dowry to make the march to the altar. But I refuse to marry someone I don’t want. Why should I?”
“Lots of people do.”
The Dukes of War: Complete Collection Page 28
