Rules of Engagement: The Reasons for MarriageThe Wedding PartyUnlaced (Lester Family)

by Stephanie Laurens

  He had told her she was wasted outside marriage—he had meant every word. She was born to rule a large household, just as he had been born to head a large family. She had the makings of a matriarch, a strength to match his own. And while he was not proud of his behaviour on the dance-floor, the exercise had confirmed his rake’s assessment that she was as attracted to him as he was to her. If he had come to Lester Hall with her seduction in mind, he had no doubt he would have attained his goal by now.

  Slowly, Jason stood and stretched his long limbs, conscious of the tension rippling beneath his control, determined, today, to keep it suppressed. Her very vulnerability on that front, the quivering response of her slender frame every time he touched her, rendered any further approach by that route ineligible. Not until they were wed. Desire was all very well but it was no acceptable reason for marriage.

  She was in the library, alone. He intended to talk with her frankly, show her what her future held in unequivocal terms. She was, first and last, an intelligent woman.

  Settling his cuffs, Jason headed for the door and the library in the old wing.

  When he reached the library the door was ajar. Quietly, he entered and saw her, standing by the open window, her arms wrapped about her, deep in thought. He considered the door, deciding to close it, the latch making no sound as he eased it home. Then, silently, he crossed the room, pausing before the desk beyond which she stood.

  It was pleasant inside the library, the stone flags warmed by the sunshine. She had discarded her pinafore; it lay neatly folded on a nearby chair. A fine silk blouse moulded to her curves; the embroidered waistband of her brown velvet skirt encircled her tiny waist while the skirts fell in soft folds to the floor. Jason studied her face. Her expression was pensive, her fingers picking restlessly at the material of her sleeves. It occurred to him that she was an inherently calm woman—and he had seriously disrupted her peace. An urge to close the space between them and wrap her in his arms, to assure her that he had no thought beyond ensuring her future free of care, rose up, so strong he had to close his eyes to will away the impulse. Opening them, he shifted, as restless as she. The ring on his right hand struck the desk.

  Lenore turned with a gasp, her eyes widening as they confirmed the belated warning of her senses. Instinctively, she moved to place the desk between them, struggling to summon her habitual mask to conceal her recent thoughts. They, alone, had left her weak. “Are you interested in a book to pass the time, Your Grace?” To her relief, her voice was steady.

  Jason studied her, then shook his head. “I’m interested in you, Lenore. You and nothing else.” Slowly, he moved to come around the desk.

  Instantly, Lenore drifted in the opposite direction. “My lord, your pursuit of me is senseless.” Ignoring the erratic beating of her heart and the dizzying acceleration of her pulse, she glanced at the door. It was too far away. Her fingertips tracing the edge of the desk, she rounded the end, her eyes lifting to his face. The calm implacability she saw there sent a frisson of apprehension through her. “There must be countless women who would welcome the chance to be the next Duchess of Eversleigh.”

  “Scores.” Jason advanced without pause.

  “Then why pick me?” Lenore threw the comment over her shoulder as she hastened past the front of the desk.

  “For a host of excellent reasons,” Jason ground out. “Which I’m perfectly willing to share with you, if only you’ll stand still! For God’s sake, Lenore! Stop!”

  Passing the back of the desk for the second time, Lenore did, swinging to face him. In a single lithe movement, Jason vaulted the desk, landing in front of her. With a stifled shriek, Lenore put up her hands to push him away. Jason caught them in his, taking a single step to swing her back against the desk. Deliberately, he placed her hands, palms flat, on the desk behind her, trapping them under his, leaving her leaning backward while he leaned over her.

  It had been his firm intention to discuss the reasons for their marriage with his infuriating bride-to-be, calmly, logically. Instead, as he looked down at her, all logic went winging from his head.

  Lenore stared up at the stern face above hers, coherent thought suspended. Her senses were in turmoil. Bare minutes before she had been deep in dangerous dreams, demonstrating to her rational mind just why Eversleigh was such a threat to her. Now that threat had materialised, in the flesh. A frightening anticipation streaked through her. Eyes wide, she shivered.

  The silk of her blouse rose and fell with every agitated breath she took.

  The sight held Jason transfixed. He had been fighting his inclination for days—he had no reserves left to fight hers as well. Slowly, almost dreading what he would see, he lifted his gaze. To the slim column of her throat, and the pulse that beat wildly at its base. To her full lips, parted slightly. To her eyes, wide, peridot-green, filled with a potent blend of virginal hesitancy and raw desire.

  Lenore sensed the struggle he waged but was powerless to help. The tension in the muscles of the arms brushing hers, in his thighs where they pressed hard against hers, told a clear tale. Held by a fascination older than time, she could do nothing to aid her own release. In that instant she did not know if she wished to escape. Instead, she watched, mesmerised, as the eyes holding hers changed from grey to silver, then to a shade that shimmered.

  With a strangled groan Jason gave up the unequal fight. And lowered his lips to hers.

  It was not a gentle kiss, but in her innocence, Lenore didn’t care, held in thrall by the turbulent passion behind it. Her wits, already half seduced by her own dangerous imaginings, were swept away by the reality. Untutored, she sought to appease the hard demand of his lips, her lips instinctively softening, then parting under his.

  Any vague idea Jason had possessed of a single, short, salutory kiss—to appease his demons and to demonstrate unequivocally the unwisdom of her looking at him with desire in her eyes—disappeared, drowned beneath the tide of passion her unexpected invitation evoked. He took instant advantage, slanting his lips over hers, confidently taking possession of her soft mouth with a slow, plundering relentlessness that shook him as much as it shook her.

  Lenore shuddered, her senses reeling. She felt his hands leave hers, his arms lifting to enclose her, drawing her against him. His strength surrounded her, seducing her more completely than his kiss. Free, her hands lifted, hovering uncertainly before settling on his shoulders. She felt the muscles beneath his coat shift restlessly at her touch. Immediately she splayed her fingers, gripping hard, amazed and then enthralled by the response she drew forth, the tension that wound suddenly tighter, tautening the muscles of his large frame. Hesitantly, she kissed him back, thrilled to feel his soaring response, startled to find a similar reaction coursing her veins.

  The sensation was addictive. Her senses, so long reliably content, revelled in the magic they wove. Like pagans, they swirled to the rhythm and demanded more. Wantonly she leaned into his embrace, delighting when his arms tightened, crushing her breasts against the hard wall of his chest. Cast into a realm beyond reality, Lenore had no defence against the power that engulfed her, no reason to fight the tide. Instead, blinded to the tenets of wisdom, her upbringing and society’s mores, she followed where her senses led, freely responding, meeting every demand he made of her and wanting more.

  Which was considerably more encouragement than Jason’s frayed control could resist. He shifted his hold, one hand dropping to the small of her back, drawing her hips against his. Lenore shivered in his arms, her body pressing against his in flagrant invitation. The last vestiges of Jason’s once vaunted control cindered. He felt her fingers tangle in the soft hair at his nape. Slowly, he eased her back, bringing one hand up to cup her breast.

  Shivery pleasure cascaded down Lenore’s spine; heat swelled her breasts. She responded immediately, her kisses more urgent, her mind, her body eager to experience more. Inf
uriatingly slow and patient, Jason’s long fingers caressed her, drawing forth a gamut of sensations she had never felt before. As her nipples tightened to painful little buds, Lenore felt a curious heat unfurl deep inside. Entranced, she made no demur when Jason’s fingers slid down the row of pearly buttons closing her blouse. It felt deliciously right when he brushed aside the fine material, searching for the ribbons of her chemise. A gentle tug and the bows were undone. If she had not been kissing him, she would have caught her breath. As it was, she felt her senses slide over some invisible precipice as her silk chemise slithered to her waist. The cool caress of the air on her naked breasts was dispelled by his fiery touch.

  Desire streaked through Lenore. She gasped and broke free of their kiss. Her head fell back, her lids fell as pure sensation raced along her nerves. Time and place were no more—her whole being was alive in a world of sensuous pleasure. As Jason leaned nearer, she shifted her hands from his shoulders to thread her fingers through his rich chestnut hair, fascinated by the silky texture and the thick, tumbling locks.

  Jason drew a ragged breath, struggling to retrieve his will from the web she had lured it into. But her allure was too strong for even him to break. He could no more stop breathing than deny his fingers the right to caress the creamy mounds bared to his sight. The feel of her satiny skin seared his fingertips, burning itself into his memories. She was even more beautiful than he had imagined, her breasts a perfect fit for his large hands, their peaks pink crests, puckered with passion. Passion he had aroused. The realisation shook him, but her soft murmur as his fingers gently teased, knowingly tantalised, was like a siren’s song, dispelling reservations, dispelling all thought. Even as he lowered his head, part of him marveled at that fact.

  Trapped in a world of sensual delight, Lenore revelled in all she could feel. His subtle caresses sent her senses spinning. Then his hands left her; one tactile sensation was replaced with another. She gasped, then whimpered with desire as his lips caressed her, his tongue gently rasping one tightly budded nipple. Lenore’s fingers tightened convulsively, tangling in his hair as wave after wave of desire crashed through her.

  As she felt her bones melt under the onslaught, she was conscious of only one thought. She didn’t want him to stop.

  Enthralled in desire, neither heard the approaching footsteps nor the click as the latch lifted.

  “Here we are! The library. Knew it had to be somewhere. Plenty of books—” Lord Percy came to an abrupt halt as his gaze came to rest, goggling, on the pair behind the desk.

  At Lord Percy’s first word, Jason disengaged, pulling Lenore to him, crushing her protectively against his chest. As he took in the stunned looks on the faces of the three ladies crowding behind Lord Percy—Mrs. Whitticombe, her daughter and Lady Henslaw—he knew that nothing would erase the image they must have beheld as the door had swung open.

  Prevented from seeing what had befallen, her cheek pressed against Eversleigh’s coat, his heart thundering in her ear, Lenore struggled to recall her wits from the deep haze still engulfing them.

  To everyone’s surprise, it was Lord Percy who rescued them all. Abruptly turning, he threw out his arms, flapping to usher the ladies out. “Go and see the succession houses. I’m told they’re very fine.”

  Without a single backward glance, he herded the ladies into the corridor and firmly shut the door.

  The sound of the latch dropping home, a cold clang, jolted Lenore back to reality. Slowly, she eased herself from Eversleigh’s embrace, aware of a sense of loss as she left its comfort. She steeled herself against it, dragging in breath after breath. Her mind raced, picking up the threads, trying to weave them into a cohesive picture as her fingers automatically fumbled with the buttons of her blouse. Suddenly, she felt very cold.

  Wrapping her arms about her, she stepped back, blinking as she fought to regain her composure. Slowly, she brought her head up to stare at Eversleigh’s face. The angular planes seemed softer, but she couldn’t be sure. He was breathing rapidly. She saw him blink, as if he, too, was as affected as she. But that couldn’t be so.

  “You tricked me.” She made the statement coldly, a deliberate indictment.

  Jason blinked again, a frown gathering. Collecting his wits was proving a strain. Not only did he have to shackle his desire, now rampant, and assimilate the shock of their discovery, together with its attendant ramifications, but he had yet to succeed in convincing himself that what had occurred was real. Too much of it seemed like a dream. Never before had any woman undermined his control as Lenore had so effortlessly done. Dazed, he scrambled to catch up with her thoughts.

  Unaware of his difficulties, Lenore drifted around the desk, pacing back and forth before it, her features hardening, her entire body stiffening as all that had occurred crystallised in her brain. “I wouldn’t agree to marry you, so you arranged this!” Her voice gained in force. “This farce!” Gesturing dramatically, she flung a glance loaded with scorn at the man standing still and silent behind the desk. “When I would not agree willingly, you sought to trap me into marriage. Tell me, Your Grace,” she asked with awful disdain, contempt filling her eyes, “did Lord Percy make his entrance too soon? How far were you prepared to go in compromising my honour to gain your ends?” To her horror, her voice broke as a damning self-pity rose beneath her fury.

  Abruptly, Lenore swung to face her nemesis over the desk. Head high, she looked him straight in the eye. “You, Your Grace, are undoubtedly the most despicable rogue it has ever been my misfortune to meet! Regardless of what might transpire, regardless of what whispers and scandal you call down upon me, I will not marry you!”

  Her denunciation ended on a high, quavering note.

  Her fury was nothing to his. With a superhuman effort, Jason forced himself to stand, silent, expressionless, and let her words hit him. His face felt like marble—cold and hard.

  When he said nothing, made no attempt to defend himself against her wild accusations, Lenore’s composure crumbled. Catching her breath on a hysterical sob, she turned blindly for the door and fled, her heart twisting painfully with every step.

  In a feat bordering on the miraculous, Jason succeeded in forcing himself to remain still and silent behind the desk. Inside, his rage, a cold and deadly flame, seared him. As the danger peaked, every muscle in his body clenching in the effort to contain the explosive emotion, he forced himself to recall that Lenore had been upset, hysterical, not in command of herself.

  The rationalisation did not ease the sting of her words. Gradually, the danger passed, leaving mere anger in its wake. Even so, Jason refused to give in to the impulse to go after her; he had sufficient knowledge of his own temperament to know that if he found her, her dignity would not survive intact. Instead, dragging in a deep breath, he focused his mind on what needed to be done, first to remove the threat to her reputation, secondly to secure her hand in marriage.

  For one fact was now written in stone. Lenore Lester was his. He would not leave Lester Hall without her promise to marry him.

  Not after that kiss.

  His eyes grey coals, his expression like stone, His Grace of Eversleigh stalked from the room.

  CHAPTER SIX

  AT FIVE-THIRTY, despite the dull throbbing in her temples and the sickening disillusion that had her in its grip, Lenore entered the drawing-room prepared to greet her father’s guests. In honour of the ball, she had allowed her maid to dress her hair high, with large soft curls falling in drifts about her ears and throat. Her lustring sack of magenta silk glowed richly, cream lace filling in the expanse from its square neckline to the base of her throat, her long sleeves fashioned from the same material. She hoped the gown would underline her status; tonight she had every intention of courting the title of ape-leader.

  Jack was waiting for her, strikingly handsome in a dark blue coat over ivory inexpressibles. He winked
at her. “Ready to greet the hordes?”

  “Hardly hordes,” Lenore replied absent-mindedly. “If you recall, we agreed to invite only six couples to join us for dinner. The rest won’t arrive until eight.”

  Jack threw her a sharp look, then offered, “Took a gander at the ballroom. Doing us proud, Lennie.”

  Taking his arm, Lenore summoned a smile. Leading him towards the main doors where they would take up their stance, she tried to deflect the concern she saw in his blue eyes. It was prompted, she knew, by the harried expression she was only just managing to conceal. “I’m sure everything will turn out splendidly, just as long as you and Harry toe the line. The staff have worked like slaves and the guests have thrown themselves into the spirit of things with abandon. There’s been such demand for the crimping tongs, the maids are well nigh dead on their feet.”

  Jack laughed. To Lenore’s relief, he said no more.

  A bare two hours had elapsed since her dramatic meeting with Eversleigh; she had yet to regain her calm. She had fled the library to immediately fall victim to her hostessly chores. Mrs. Hobbs had caught her in the front hall. After she had given her blessing to the substitution of pheasant pie for the roasted grouse, Smithers had come up, wanting her opinion on the positioning of the heavy épergné in the centre of the table. Next, it had been Harris with a request for guidance in the matter of how many footmen should be stationed in the supper-room. A succession of similar questions and difficulties had kept her from the sanctuary of her room, from giving way to temper and tears in equal measure.