by Anna Small
“I’m afraid I will stand on convention and the laws of this land as your husband and command you to accompany me the hell out of here.”
“The commands of a husband do not pertain to me, Jack.”
“Did you not vow to obey me? I recall hearing those words spout from your lips in a garden last week.”
“I’d have said anything to get out of marrying Herbert Richmond, but now I think I may have made a mistake.”
Before he could respond, a woman swept into view, her green eyes spitting fire, her red lips already muttering foul curses his way. He closed his eyes for a second, but the apparition was still very much in focus when he opened them again.
“Who is this woman, and why is she wearing my gown?” She poked her finger at Georgiana, who was mute with, Jack supposed, horrified surprise. He resigned himself to what would surely be an unpleasant end to his otherwise droll night.
“Calm down, Danielle,” he soothed, but she turned on him.
“You do not come to me. You do not send word to me. I left a letter for you with your man at the vignoble.” Her skin stretched taut over her sharp cheekbones. “Why is this so, Jack?”
“Who are you?” Georgiana asked pointedly, her face flushed and her lips red as burgundy wine. Jack quickly stood between them when Danielle’s gloved hand flew up to strike.
“I should ask the same of you, mademoiselle,” she spat. “Why are you wearing my gown?”
“Your gown? I…it was…”
Georgiana looked at Jack for help, but he was too busy trying to think of a solution that would not end up with two enraged females fighting over him. Not that the idea didn’t excite somewhat.
“You must have left it at the chateau last year.” He took Danielle’s arm and attempted to lead her into the more crowded ballroom. She was apt to do less damage there. “I shall have it returned to you promptly. This poor girl had nothing else to wear.” He winced when a small fist met his kidney. He considered the possibility of sprouting wings and flying through an open window when one of his gambling associates appeared.
“You seem to be up to your neck in it, Waverley.” The man’s grin ate at Jack.
“Astute observation, Marcel. I would enjoy discussing how you beat me for a thousand francs tonight, but I am, as you pointed out, occupied. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind taking one of these lovely ladies away from me.”
Marcel eyed Georgiana with a smile anyone else would think was benign, but Jack was too aware of the man’s reputation. He bowed to Danielle. “Bon soir, madame la comtesse.” She returned his greeting with a flustered wave of her hand. He winked at Jack. “Who is this très charmante English rose? Your ward?”
“I normally appreciate your sense of humor, Marcel, but not this time.”
Georgiana darted a look at Danielle, who glowered at both of them. “I am…his cousin.”
Her response seemed to placate Danielle, who struggled to free herself from Jack’s grip. She relaxed at Georgiana’s introduction.
“You never told me you were bringing your cousin to France, Jack.”
“It was a last minute decision. May I introduce Miss Waverley?” He nearly shook his head with the utter ridiculousness of the situation but decided to teach his little bride a lesson. Marcel seemed too pleased with the news and swept into a low bow.
“Enchanted, mademoiselle.” He nodded at Jack. “Does your cousin dance this evening?”
“Oh, just try and stop her. She was complaining how she has been locked away in a dreadful tower with no entertainment.” Before she could object, Jack took her hand and placed it in Marcel’s. “Have fun, cousin.” He didn’t bother hiding his grin and pretended not to notice her narrowed eyes and tight lips. Danielle gave a little sigh and nestled her arms around his neck.
“You dance with me, Jack.”
He extricated himself from her grip and took her hand. “I have a better idea.” He led her into a darkened corridor off the ballroom, aware the entire time Georgiana was staring after him, her heart fully revealed on her face.
Guilt tore at him, but he shrugged off his discomfort. He would teach her a lesson she’d never forget. Even he knew marriage between friends was a bad idea.
Although he could suffer through the benefits if forced.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Have some more wine, my dear.” Marcel urged another glass on her. With her head and stomach reeling, Georgiana peered through the throng of dancers for a sign of Jack and Danielle, but they were gone. She smiled widely at Marcel and took the glass.
“I will at that.” The liquid rolled down her throat. She’d lost count of how much she’d drunk in the past hour but didn’t care anymore. Jack was clearly enjoying Danielle’s attention somewhere else. Her eyes fogged with tears, but she forced them back with a throaty laugh that shocked Marcel almost as much as it startled her.
“Not so much. At least, not at once. We have all night.” His words were spoken with more suggestion than she cared to notice. She set her glass down and opened her arms.
“Another dance, monsieur.”
“I am happy to oblige you.” Instead of taking her hand, he slipped his arm around her waist and led her through the throng of swirling couples. “This is a waltz. Do you know it?”
“I do now!” The ground spun beneath her slippers, and she soon forgot all about Danielle and Jack, but only for a moment.
Marcel’s brown eyes remained locked with hers, and she lowered her gaze to stare at his lips, which were fuller and redder than Jack’s. What would it be like to kiss those lips? She should do it for spite as well as in the pursuit of her education in the fine art of lovemaking. Jack could tease and mock her all he wanted. Marcel didn’t know her as a little girl who’d pestered him. He wanted her as a woman, if the glances at her cleavage he didn’t bother to hide were any indication.
She didn’t object when Marcel took her for another turn around the floor and then smoothly exited the ballroom to the opened doors of a veranda, his arm securely around her waist.
****
Jack swatted away Danielle’s hand as he took position behind a heavy curtain blocking his view from the ballroom.
“I can’t see them.” He pulled back a corner so he had full view of the dancers. He spied them immediately. Tall, handsome Marcel with his glossy black hair and Georgiana, petite and vulnerable in his arms as they waltzed away, Danielle’s gauzy gown a blur as she swirled in his arms.
“I thought you wanted to be alone with me.” She slipped her arms around his waist from behind and pressed her breasts against his back. “Do not worry about your cousin. She will be all right. Marcel never seduces on the first dance.”
“This is their second.” He turned around, trying to hide his annoyance. “Why do you not get us some wine? I will remain here.”
She glared at him. “I am not your servant, Jack! Why are you so concerned about your cousin? You brought her to d’Oursy’s, so you cannot be too concerned with her welfare.”
“I didn’t bring her. She followed me.” The orchestra began another waltz, and he attempted to turn his attention back to the ballroom, but she tapped his shoulder, hard.
“I never knew you had a cousin, Jack.”
Her steely eyes glared at him. He struggled to say something to placate her, but the time had come. He shrugged.
“All right. She is not my cousin. She is my wife.”
Instead of spinning into a tirade of anger and emotion, Danielle merely laughed, as if he’d told her a simple joke.
“Your wife? Jack Waverley, a married man?” She shook her head patronizingly and patted his arm. “Oh, Jack, that is delightful. I would be jealous if you’d said she was your paramour. But I have little to fear from a wife.”
He scowled. “I do not find it so amusing, Danielle. At this moment, another man is trying to seduce my wife, and he may very well succeed.” He rubbed his jaw. “I have not been forthcoming with her, I’m afraid.” He regarded her for a moment
until she sobered. “Forgive me, Danielle. I intended to send you word, but…”
Her eyes flashed. “Please, do not tell me you are…Oh, merciful Father!” She laughed again, short and bitter. “Have you fallen in love?”
He scowled. “I would never sink so low as that, Danielle.”
“Yet you avoid my advances. Ignore my letters.”
“I’ve been…preoccupied.” He mentally cursed his bad manners in not responding. One, simple message might have spared them all this trouble, and Georgiana would not, most likely, be contemplating an affaire with his longtime rival to spite him.
She snorted. “Yes, preoccupied! With your new bride who cannot take her eyes off you.” She drew in a shaky breath. “I pity her, Jack.”
“Pity her?” He laughed roughly. “I am so miserable a catch?”
“No. You will break her heart. You scorn the idea of love.”
“Spoken by a married woman whose husband adores her, yet you are always chasing me.”
They stared at each other in silence. Slowly, her frown disappeared until the barest, ironic smile remained on her lips. “I chase you because you cannot be caught. Goodbye, Jack. I’m sure you will send for me when you tire of this game.”
He had no response. She spun away, the flounce of her hem swishing around her. He watched her, but only for a moment. When he turned back to the ballroom, Marcel and Georgiana were gone.
****
Marcel threaded her arm through his as they walked the spacious veranda. Large, sculpted planters overflowing with flowers bordered the edge, and she inhaled the scents of heliotrope and freesia.
“How long will you be in Bordeaux, mademoiselle?”
Recalling the way Jack had exited so blithely with his mistress, Georgiana squeezed Marcel’s arm.
“Long enough.”
“Ah.” He abruptly stopped walking and faced her, his cheekbones casting shadows over his face in the moonlight. “I will have to make your remaining days here memorable. Your nights, as well.”
His fingertip caressed with her cheek, and she nearly pulled away, but stiffened her resolve. “That would be nice.”
The corners of his mouth lifted. “Nice? What a strange, beautiful thing you are. Fortunately, your cousin is not very good with a sword, or I would fear him in a duel.”
“My…cousin?”
The black eyebrows lifted. “Jack. Forgive me, is he not your cousin?” The fingertip dropped from her face.
She shook her head, unable to bear the pretense any longer. “No, he is not.”
Her vision blurred suddenly, and she stumbled away, looking for something to hold onto. Five glasses of wine—or was it six?—had affected her more than she’d thought. She reached behind for the wall and her hand was caught in a firm and familiar grip.
“Thank you for taking care of my wife,” Jack said to Marcel. He peered down at her face. “You don’t look too well, Pudding Face. Or should I say, Wine Breath?”
“Your wife?” Marcel grinned slowly, then bowed with a crisp gesture. “The pleasure was mine, Waverley.”
Jack slipped his arm around her and led her toward the ballroom. He paused and looked back at Marcel, who seemed more amused than disappointed. “And you are mistaken, Marcel, as so many others have been. I’m more than competent with a sword.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“I can’t believe how much wine I drank.” Georgiana groaned and clutched her stomach as Jack helped her from the carriage.
“You possibly surpassed my limit, which is saying quite a lot.” He paused when she stopped, leaned over and vomited the remains of her adventurous night all over the front lawn of his chateau.
“I’m so sorry.” She wiped her mouth on the back of her glove. “If anyone saw my atrocious behavior, I will be ruined.”
Jack stripped her gloves off her arms and balled them up, stuffing them into his coat. He shook his head.
“It’s rather a scandalous society at the comte’s parties. I doubt anyone will snub you. All that’s transpired is a bottle and a half of wine you just deposited all over the lawn, and a waste of a perfectly good pair of boots.” He clucked his tongue and hauled her upright. “You’re very fortunate I found you before Marcel could have his way with you. When I came upon you on the veranda, you looked as if you were tempted to respond to his advances.”
“Oh, dear,” she moaned, but he shook his head in a friendly manner.
“Have no fear. I will not be meeting him at dawn in a deserted wood on the morrow. He would not have presumed to seduce you if he’d known you were my wife. He’s more decent than I am in that regard.”
His face shimmered in front of her. First, there were two Jacks and then there was one. He slipped his arm around her waist.
“Best to get you into bed, little drunkard, before you decorate the flower beds with the best Bordeaux has to offer. The next thing you know, dozens of drunken little bees and butterflies will be flying around.”
She stumbled again, and this time, he swung her up into his arms and carried her into the house.
“I’m sorry, Jack.” She squeezed her eyes shut but the world continued to spin. She wasn’t aware they arrived at her chamber until he dropped her on the bed.
“Sorry for what?” He unfastened her dress and pulled it off. When he unlaced her stays, she took a refreshing deep breath. He lingered over her stockings, sliding his hands gently up and down her calves. “You’ve done no harm to me, little goose. Besides, now I’m in control of your thousands, I will order up ten new pairs of boots and send you the bill.”
“I’m not talking about the boots. I said I was your cousin, because that woman…”
“What are you talking about?” He untied her garters and slipped off her stockings, kissing her toes in turn before drawing the coverlet over her. The quilt floated over her like a downy cloud. The room was still spinning, but Jack’s presence relieved it somewhat.
“Danielle.” The name hung in the air. “I saw the way she looked at you. She’s in love with you.” Her words came heavier now, slower. “You meant to be alone with her, and I ruined your evening.”
He sank onto the bed beside her, and she closed her eyes while he stroked the hair from her sticky forehead. “You did not ruin a thing, Georgie. I was not waiting for Danielle. I have not seen her since the last time I was in Bordeaux. Besides, it was utterly delightful to watch you flirt outrageously with Marcel. I believe you even made certain promises to d’Oursy’s footman.”
The dim edges of an encroaching dream filtered into her thoughts. “I wanted to make you jealous. I couldn’t help myself.” She lazily stroked the back of his hand and pulled it to her lips. “Forgive me, Jack.”
“I do not forgive you,” he said softly, curling his fingers around her hand. “I am jealous, little Pudding Face. Greener than you were out on the lawn. I can’t stand the idea of any man looking at you or touching you…” He stretched out beside her on the bed. “And dancing is completely out of the question. From here on, I forbid you to dance with anyone but me, especially black-eyed Frenchmen. And dash it all if that offends anyone. If you ever dance with another man again, you will be duly chastised.”
“How frightening! What will you do?”
“All I can say is it will involve much rolling about on the bed and seeking my own satisfaction while being completely oblivious to yours.”
“You are a brute.”
His caressing fingertips over her collarbone belied his words. “I will ensure you never recover from it.”
“Then my wicked device worked.”
“Yes, it did.”
His heart beat reassuringly against her ear, and she drifted off to sleep, the low murmur of his voice singing to her or saying something; she couldn’t tell which.
****
The wall pressed uncomfortably to the back of his head, but Jack ignored it. He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting on the window ledge but guessed from the purple streaks in the sky that i
t was almost dawn. Across the room, Georgiana stirred in her sleep. He watched her hand search the bed, and when the object she desired was not found, she moved into the spot he’d vacated.
He should have written Danielle immediately upon realizing he no longer wanted to continue his passionate, though emotionally draining relationship with the volatile countess. Although he hadn’t loved her and she’d made no similar protestation to him, it disturbed him he should have caused her any pain. The flash of jealousy in her eyes when she’d accused him of being in love with Georgiana could not bode well.
He swiped his hand across his face. His eyes burned as if he’d rubbed sand in them. Having a conscience was new and not entirely unwelcome. Danielle’s mocking words still rang in his ears. He’d begun to wonder himself if it were possible he could ever give his heart away.
Georgiana was no courtesan or experienced paramour, but a remnant of his childhood and happier, easier times. It was obvious they were becoming closer than friends. Where once a kiss was forbidden, she now touched and kissed him with complete abandon. The physical intimacy was bound to have happened. He’d sensed something of his own insatiable passion within her that first night what now seemed ages ago, though only a week had passed since their spontaneous wedding. Even if she hadn’t suggested losing her virginity to tighten their legal bond, he would have found a way to convince her to share his bed. This truth didn’t bother him the way it should. The more time they spent together, the more voracious his need for her grew, affecting him the way no other woman ever had. She was intoxicating—an addiction.
But that was only part of his problem.
How would he explain himself to Lockewood, when they returned to England? Worse, what the devil would he do now, saddled with a wife?
“Jack?”
Georgiana’s sleepy voice broke into his thoughts, and he nearly lost his hold on the ledge. Ghostlike, she hovered across the floor, her chemise floating about her like gossamer.
His lips parted to tell her to go back to bed, that he was only checking the security of the windows. No sound emerged. He waited for what seemed an eternity until she stood beside him, her fingers reaching out and touching the edges of his open collar.
