“I won’t. Never again.” She reached for her cards. “Losing my fiancé was the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“Your what?” A white-hot streak of jealousy ripped through him. He forced his tone to modulate. “You were to wed? What happened?”
She picked through her cards without meeting his eyes. “It didn’t work out.”
“How in the world did being betrothed not work out?”
“Many ways.” She rubbed her temple. “Besides, it’s in the past.”
He narrowed his eyes at the evasion. “How far in the past?”
Her gaze slid away. She set down her cards and began sorting her markers. “I was almost seventeen. It would’ve been a small wedding.”
His stomach twisted. “A bride at sixteen? How old was he?”
“Five-and-thirty. It didn’t happen. Don’t look so thunderous. Isaac agreed I was too young for suitors and talked our guardian into letting me wait a few years. As soon as Isaac gained his majority, he got a town house and brought me to London to make my curtsey.”
His hands clenched and unclenched. “What happened to your ex-intended?”
She shrugged. “He was someone else’s suitor by then. Besides, I never intended to have him. That decision was made for me. My guardian didn’t want wards.”
Fury gnawed at him. A sixteen-year-old girl had no business being wed against her will. “Who is this paragon that wanted a young girl for his bride? And who the devil was your guardian at the time?”
“It doesn’t matter.” She pushed away her stacks of betting fish and shrugged. “That was then. I was young.”
“That’s exactly why it matters!”
“That’s exactly why it doesn’t. Eight years change a person. Besides, he probably doesn’t remember my name.”
“I wish I knew his.” Xavier cracked his knuckles.
“Why? He’s irrelevant. I haven’t seen him in years.” Her voice grew softer. “I stayed in the shadows for a long time, and by the time I wanted out, it was too late. I was invisible. No one noticed me, no matter how hard I tried. For years, I blamed everyone else. And then I thought—why not go after what I want?” She smiled up at him from beneath her lashes. “What I wanted was you. That’s why I’m here. No matter what happens, I won’t regret it. I got to know the man you really are.”
He stared back at her in consternation. If only her words were true. If only it were possible to know what kind of man he really was and not regret it. He shoved his fingers through his hair. He liked her, too. Despite himself. It had been easier to push her away, easier to say no, when all they’d shared was physical attraction.
Of course he desired her. That long, magnificent hair. The curve of her arse. The swell of her breasts. Her plump pout. Those incredible brown eyes. He longed to watch them darken with passion as she locked her legs around his hips and made love to him.
Except then there’d be an after. She deserved so much more than any of the afters he could give. He couldn’t marry her. Wouldn’t wish anyone the bad fortune to be leg-shackled to him for eternity. He was not a good man. He’d make a terrible husband.
Which left what? Giving in to her desire to be his lover? She didn’t deserve that either, no matter how much he wanted her. She deserved a man who would never let her walk away.
He picked up his cards and tried to focus. The suits blurred. Concentration was impossible. All he could think about was her.
From the moment she’d walked in his front door, it had just been a matter of time. And willpower. With every saucy little grin, every surprise, every ace up her sleeve, she dug herself a little deeper into his heart. He cared about her.
All the more reason to keep her safe, not seduced.
He drained his whiskey. No matter what she thought about the prospects for her future, she would make some other man a wonderful wife. In fact, he couldn’t imagine a better partner.
At first, he’d assumed a woman like Jane Downing would be the last person he’d be able to talk to or relate to. He’d been wrong. Her very bluestockingness meant she was the only non-soldier of his acquaintance that was familiar with the geography of Belgium, who kept up with the war and its soldiers beyond the sightings of officer regimentals in the scandal sheets.
More than that, she knew her history. Not just Napoleon, but any major war, going back for centuries. She could put things into context in ways he’d never even considered.
All this, without having lost her innocence. She might think her books made her world weary, but her lack of personal experience with life’s horrors kept her innocent. She believed in the causes all those people died for. She believed in him.
It was almost enough to make him feel like it was possible. Like he could become a good person again, if he tried hard enough and wanted it bad enough.
The first step would be doing the right thing by Miss Downing.
Which meant as much as he liked her, as much as he ached to give in to desire and pull her close, the best thing he could do for them both was to keep his distance. Even if he had to drink himself into a stupor just to keep from touching her.
He gestured toward the table with his glass of whiskey. “Your move, milady.”
Before either of them could play the first card, an ear-piercing screech filled the air. A gray blur flew across the table, sending cards and markers spraying into the air like so much confetti.
“Get him!” Jane leaped up and fled the room.
No problem. He was an ex-soldier.
He set down his whiskey. As he lurched to his feet, his chair tumbled over backward and clattered to the floor. The cat jerked its head toward the sudden noise, which gave Xavier just enough time to launch himself atop and trap Egui in his arms.
The cat thanked him with a full set of claws.
Jane raced back into the room with the wicker basket she used as a cage. “We’ll need some new string. He chewed through the latch.”
“Hard to imagine,” Xavier gritted out whilst attempting to keep the beast immobile. “I hate to say it, but your cat is a menace.”
She knelt before him and opened the basket. “Egui isn’t my cat.”
He paused and tried to focus. “What?”
“Egui.” She positioned the basket like a box trap. “He’s not my cat. If I had a cat, it would be well behaved. And I’d name him something more sensible. Perhaps... Ambrose. Or Mr. Whiskers.”
Xavier shifted to one side. “What kind of name is Egui?”
“A Chinese one. It means ‘hungry ghost.’ That’s why he can’t resist eating linen.” She motioned for him to release the cat. “Gently. My brother will cry if anything happens to his precious fur demon.”
The cat shot out of his hold and straight into the basket. It was certainly as hard to catch as a ghost. And it spared no linens.
Xavier sat up and rubbed his new welts. “I don’t always know when you’re teasing.”
“I’m never teasing.” She tied down the basket lid with a ribbon of cloth that looked suspiciously like the lining of his new waistcoat.
“Do you and your brother speak Chinese?”
She finished tying the knot. “I do not.”
He blinked. “Then how did this cat get that kind of a name?”
“We don’t know. He already had that moniker when he came to us. Isaac is watching him for a friend.”
“A Chinese friend?” he guessed, feeling lost.
“Obviously.” She tested the knot’s hold. “How else would Egui get a Chinese name?”
“How did your brother get a Chinese friend?” Who was this family? Xavier felt like he was living in an Italian farce. Any minute now, dancers would burst onstage and put the whole situation to music. He was almost disappointed that they’d missed their cue.
Jane pushed the basket into the furthest corner of the room. “How would I know? I didn’t know Isaac had any friends until Egui showed up and demanded his rightful place as supreme ruler of our household.”
&
nbsp; “How long ago was that?”
She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Nine years.”
His jaw fell open. Nine years. They’d been looking after a devil-possessed feline for nine long years. Just the thought made his skin tingle with dread.
He shook his head. “I’m afraid your brother doesn’t have a Chinese friend. He has a very clever Chinese enemy.”
“You’re bleeding.” She lifted his hands to inspect his shredded sleeves. “Come with me. I have a special salve in my valise.”
Of course she did. She was the keeper of a hungry cat demon.
And yet, it didn’t detract from her charms. If anything, it made her all the more surprising and mysterious. He could spend every moment of the rest of his life with this woman and never have a single boring day.
Or a single boring night. There was no better distraction from the scratches on his arms than the sway of her hips as she walked. All he had now was the familiar ache in his heart at the thought of her leaving.
This would be their last evening together.
As soon as they entered the bedchamber, she stripped him of his coat. His waistcoat. His shirtsleeves.
He’d foregone a cravat this morning because he couldn’t find any non-shredded ones. Now he wished he’d worn ten shirts, just to feel her fingers unbuttoning him, again and again.
Cool air met hot skin. His chest was naked, his arms bare.
She wasn’t looking at him like a field nurse inspecting a soldier for wounds. The catch in her throat and the jump in her pulse indicated she saw him for what he was. A man.
A half-naked one.
She held one of his forearms above the basin of water. He let her. She lifted a sponge from the basin with a trembling hand and daubed it gently along his arm.
He didn’t care about the scrapes. He couldn’t tear his eyes from hers. The dark curve of her eyelashes against the pale white of her cheeks. The way she nibbled her rosy lower lip. The sweet smell of her hair. How he yearned to take her in his arms and show her how much she meant to him.
She reached for his other wrist. “Almost done. Then I’ll get the salve.”
“I don’t need salve.” His voice was husky and raw.
Her lips parted. She gazed up at him, eyes wide. “What do you need?”
“You.”
Chapter 15
The sponge fell from Jane’s hand, forgotten.
Yes. A thrill shot through her as Xavier’s mouth covered hers. At last, she could do with her fingers as she pleased. She splayed them against his bare chest and shivered at the feel of her naked palms against his hot male flesh.
She ran her hands up over his shoulders and clasped them about his neck. His warmth seeped through her clothes, heating her skin. An entire library of erotic sketches wouldn’t have prepared her for so many conflicting sensations.
Her stays were suddenly too tight, her shift suffocating. But all she could do was press even closer and lose herself in his kisses.
His lips against hers were firm, insistent. Her heart thudded. He wasn’t the only one who wanted more. She wanted everything. She wanted him. Her lips parted, demanding.
He swept his tongue into her mouth to toy with hers. Every touch was a teasing promise of what it might do, how it would feel, upon the rest of her body. Her breath came faster. She hadn’t forgotten the joy of his tongue against her breast. She longed for it.
His body was strong and hard beneath her fingertips, yet the hair at the nape of his neck was soft and silky. Desire began to coil deep within her. She wanted to explore the rest of his body. She wanted him to explore hers.
Her secret book of sketches was nothing compared to this. A mere hint of future pleasure. Some illustrations had depicted a man placing his open mouth upon his lover’s breast or betwixt her thighs. But the drawings had failed to show how dizzying it felt to have his open mouth on hers, to quake with delicious anticipation.
One of his hands traveled slowly down her spine to the small of her back. She held her breath, hoping he would loosen the buttons as he went. Her tongue became just as demanding as his.
“Feel me, Jane,” he murmured against her mouth. “I want you.”
He grabbed her hips and hauled her to him. The proof of his arousal was now flush against her belly, every inch as hot and hard as he was. He desired her. A bolt of power raced through her. Nothing could be more erotic.
He slid his palm up her rib cage to the curve of her breast. Her nipples instantly hardened. She moaned as his fingers teased one at a time. The thin layers of her gown were too much of a barrier.
“Unbutton me,” she begged. “Please.”
His mouth covered hers, claiming her. He tasted of whiskey and wicked promise. She sank her fingers into his hair and arched into him. He smiled against her lips, then deepened the kiss. One by one, the buttons along her spine popped free. She held her breath.
At last, her dress fell forward. She pushed her arms through the sleeves and let the gown tumble to the floor. Only her shift remained. She reached behind her back to loosen the stays.
He stilled her hand, his eyelids heavy with passion. “I’m in no hurry.”
“I am.” She peered up at him from beneath her lashes. This was her chance to finally have him in her arms. To experience passion with someone who cared about her. “I want to feel my body against yours.”
He turned her around. “As you wish.”
She twisted her hair in one hand and held it above her head to afford him easier access. Cool air kissed the back of her neck, but only for a second.
As he unlaced her stays, he pressed openmouthed kisses to her neck and shoulders. Each kiss reverberated through her body, stealing her breath. Once she was freed, he cast her stays aside. His lips were dark with desire when he spun her back to face him.
“I can’t fight it anymore,” he rasped, pulling her close. “Yes or no?”
There was no mistaking his intention. Or hers.
“Yes.” She had never been more certain. At last he would be hers, even if for just one night. She would simply make the most of it.
She lifted her shift over her head and flung it next to her stays. Her slippers were next. Now nothing covered her, save the silk stockings gartered just above her knees. She was naked before him. Yet she’d never felt so beautiful.
He drank her in as if her body filled him with wonder. The rise and fall of his chest indicated his heart sped just as fast as hers. Without another word, he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed.
She reached for him as her head fell back onto the pillow. He immediately discarded his boots and lay down beside her.
“Your breeches?” she prompted.
“Not yet.” He cupped the side of her face and slanted his mouth over hers.
She reveled in the heat of his mouth and the chill of her bare skin in the cool air. The hearth warmed her feet and cast a soft glow about the chamber, but the only warmth she craved was the heat of his body. Her entire body tingled.
Without breaking their kiss, he splayed his hand just below her bosom. Her breast swelled in anticipation of his touch.
When at last he cupped her flesh, she sighed with pleasure. His fingers pinched and teased her nipples until she arched toward him, panting. Surely he could feel the thrum of her heart through the palm of his hand.
He lifted his lips from hers only to lower his head and take one of her sensitive nipples into his mouth. She moaned. His hand slid down over her stomach until it covered the juncture of her thighs. He glanced up from her breast, as if asking permission.
She spread her legs, allowing him access. It wasn’t permission. It was a demand.
The illustrations she’d seen indicated a man could work as much magic with his fingers as with his member. She had every intention of finding out.
Just as he turned his mouth to her other breast, he slid his fingertips between her legs. Pleasure shot through her. She felt swollen and needy. This was heaven. She grabbed h
is hair as his wet fingers brought her close to the edge.
He slid from her grasp and lowered his mouth to join his hand. Her eyes fluttered backward in rapture as his tongue and fingers emulated what she hoped their bodies would soon do in earnest.
“Breeches,” she croaked, gripping the blanket in fistfuls. “Off.”
He ignored her. His fingers and tongue continued his slow, steady assault on her senses. The pressure that had been building within her grew to a crescendo. She threw her head back. Her legs stiffened about his shoulders as waves of pleasure burst from within.
Only when she fell limp atop the blanket did he leap to his feet and shuck his breeches before returning to the bed.
He held her cheek and kissed her as he eased his member between her legs. She was slick and ready from her recent release, but still he could only enter her a fraction of an inch at a time. Pain shot through her.
He froze. “I’m hurting you.”
“I wanted you to.” Already the pain was receding. She reveled in the feel of him within her. This was not her moment. It was their moment. She licked his lower lip. “I want you. All of you.”
“Thank God.” He slanted his mouth over hers.
Gently, deliberately, he began to move within her. The pleasure began to build. She had never felt such utter abandon. His breath was as uneven as her own. When at last he was sheathed fully within her, she gasped into his mouth and wrapped her legs tightly about him.
His kisses became hotter as his thrusts grew deeper. Lovemaking was everything she’d ever longed for, and more. The sweet pressure between her legs coiled once more and her hips rose to meet him. She panted and pulled him close. The friction was dizzying. She couldn’t possibly give this up. Or him. They were too perfect. He made her feel… He made her feel.
He fixed his blue eyes on her mouth. Tremors rocked her legs and she held on tight. She reached her climax with their gazes locked together. If it had been incredible with his fingers, she was struck wordless by the sensation of him driving within her as her muscles contracted around him.
His hips bucked. He jerked free and grunted as he spilled his seed into the blanket. Without raising his head, he flung a heavy arm about her and pulled her close.
The Dukes of War: Complete Collection Page 29
