“Like most men, James only believes he is not ready for marriage. All he needs is the right woman. I’m sure many thought Lord Neville wasn’t destined to marry a gentleman’s daughter, then Miss Bash appeared and voila, he’ll soon be walking down the aisle without a whimper or protest.” Which meant, of course, she was the right woman for James.
Claire rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “I hope you haven’t allowed Miss Bash and Lord Neville to give you false hopes. All things in the matter of the heart are not as simple as their courtship would lead you to believe.”
“Whatever is that supposed to mean?”
“That love is not simple.”
“How would you know?” Missy asked. Then her eyes widened and she leaned in and whispered, “Have you ever been in love?”
Wistfulness clouded Claire’s hazel eyes. She studied her blue silk–gloved hands clasped neatly at her waist. After several moments, she peered up at her. “Once—at least I thought I was. It was during my first Season.”
The revelation struck Missy momentarily mute. And Claire had not said a word of it to her. “Who was it?” she asked, her tone hushed.
“None of that matters now. What matters is I knew no more about love than I knew about—about midwifery.”
“Why won’t you tell me who it was? I simply can’t believe you would keep it from me.”
Claire’s winged brow shot up. “I’m sure we don’t tell each other everything.”
A hot blush suffused Missy’s cheeks. She allowed the subject to drop without another word.
A moment later, Sir George Clifton claimed Missy for a dance. Like many of the men who had recently returned from the Crimean peninsula, he sported a short beard and a trim mustache. He had gone into the naval services after his attendance at Cambridge, where he and Thomas had become acquainted.
As they glided across the floor, Missy sensed his preoccupation. Although his narrow face wore a smile, a distant quality remained in the fleeting glances he cast ever so often in her direction. This became even more evident as they swept past James and Lady Victoria who, she noted with unwanted rancor, had also taken to the dance floor. For a brief moment, as the two pair glided by one another, the air grew taut as strained glances bumped and then swiveled away. Sir Clifton quickly whisked her in the opposite direction. Their paths never crossed again.
If Missy hadn’t had him so consumed with lust and guilt, James might have been able to enjoy the company of Lady Victoria Spencer. But it was all he could do to keep a proper smile pasted on his face and nod in all the right places. After twice being caught staring blankly back at her while she awaited a response to a question or statement she had posed, he’d had to redouble his efforts and be more attentive to her.
James found himself tracking Missy’s movements around the room. Currently she was dancing with Granville, and the fact the knowledge ate away at him in a most unpleasant manner, irritated him. Lust had made a twit of him, he thought in disgust.
Silence.
Lady Victoria regarded him in a particular manner that told him his attention to her had lapsed yet again.
Too embarrassed to ask her to repeat herself for the third time, James merely nodded in hopes that would suffice. In his estimation, most questions asked by ladies could be answered in the affirmative or the negative—that is, with the exception of Missy; her questions were never simple, the answers even less so.
“Really? You appear to protect yours like a gaoler at Newgate,” she said.
“Well yes, certainly I do.” What the blazes am I to be protecting?
“So does that mean you see marriage in the near future? I was under the impression you had no intention of marrying until well into your thirties.” Her blue eyes were intent, although her tone conveyed only mild curiosity.
Dear Lord, how had he come to be in a discussion of marriage with the one lady in the room who had expressed little interest in it?
James forced a laugh. “I consider myself too young to be tied down with a wife and children. There will be plenty of time for that when I’m older.”
She smiled in response. “Then it would appear we are well suited.”
An odd phrasing, he thought, sending her a curious look. However, her expression was as impassive as always. The tension eased from his shoulders.
Lady Victoria’s gaze roamed the room. “I am surprised to see Sir Clifton here,” she said with an off-handed air. She regarded James. The tilt of her head told him once again, she anticipated some sort of rejoinder.
He obliged. “The man is an M.P., and with his title so recently bestowed by the Queen and his close friendship with Rogers, peer or no peer, no one dares leave him off of their guest list. Do you object to his presence at these Society events? I would be surprised, Lady Victoria, as I never took you for a snob.” Her mother, yes. Lady Victoria, no.
She drew herself up, her shoulders back as her spine snapped straight. “Of course I have no objection to his presence. He has just always struck me as a man who loathed the frivolity of the ton.”
James had to agree with her on that point, but he’d not speculate on the man’s motives, so he said nothing. However, the image of Missy dancing in Clifton’s arms remained fresh in his mind. Had he, too, been caught up in her spell? It should have alleviated James’s guilt about the kiss, knowing he wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last to lose his head, however briefly, over the beautiful minx. Somehow, the thought only served to abrade his already frayed nerves.
Then he heard it, her laugh, light but unrestrained. His head swung in its direction and spied her still in Granville’s arms, her head upraised, a wide dazzling smile on her beautiful face. After the kiss they had just shared, she seemed to find it remarkably easy to flirt and turn her considerable charms on another man.
“Miss Armstrong is very beautiful, is she not?”
James turned swiftly. Lady Victoria was watching him closely. If he wasn’t careful, people would begin to take notice of his interest.
No! his mind warred in denial. He had no legitimate interest in Missy. Just because she’d grown into an utterly desirable young lady and had the misfortune to believe herself in love with him, that didn’t mean a thing. He would have to be insensate not to be tempted. And he was not insensate. Far from it.
His gaze swung back to observe the lady in question. “To many, I imagine so,” he said, his tone deliberately droll.
Lady Victoria gave a soft tinkling laugh. “Indeed. Lord Armstrong appears very particular about her suitors. Last year I heard he discouraged Lord Eldridge and Lord Harts-mouth.”
James chuckled, his spirits lifted for the first time that evening. He had been present for that particular setdown. The two men had inquired after her having been introduced to Missy at some ball. How he’d enjoyed the looks of consternation on their faces when Armstrong had informed them he’d see them on the field, pistols drawn, before he’d see either of them courting her.
“I’d have done the same if I had a sister.” The men were nothing but a couple of reprobates out to land themselves an heiress.
Lady Victoria flicked open her fan, and fluttered it with an experienced hand. “Well, when Lord Armstrong marries, I am certain—”
James laughed again, this time tossing his head back and making enough noise to draw a few glances from the guests milling about. “You have a better chance of seeing me at the altar than you do Armstrong.”
His friend had become a viscount at the age of seventeen to an estate mired in debt. He’d had a mother and three young sisters to support, so perhaps that was why his views on marriage were even more cynical than James’s own. At least he’d conceded that as heir to the Windmere earldom, it was his duty to marry at some point. The same couldn’t be said of Armstrong.
Lady Victoria merely smiled while maintaining the gentle flutter of her fan.
James climbed the stairs to his chamber in the early hours of the morning after the last of the guests had clambered into
their cold carriages spent and weary. He saw no sign of Missy. The relief that washed over him was both humbling and maddening.
The kiss had had him tied up in knots for the remainder of the evening. It was bad enough he had given in to her juvenile game, but not only had he failed, but he’d relived those heated moments repeatedly in his mind while watching as she became the success equivalent of Wellington at Waterloo. To Armstrong’s satisfaction, Granville had led the way as gentlemen of every age and rank had vied for a dance, conversation, whatever little attention she had deigned to scatter their way. The whole thing had been quite discomfiting to watch. Painful, even. Disturbing.
He lit the candle by the bed once he entered the darkened chamber. The dim lighting was all he required. Quickly he began divesting himself of his formal attire: jacket, waistcoat, and shirt were tossed wearily over a newly upholstered brocade chair. Despite the fire still burning on the grate, the air in the chamber held the distinct chill of winter’s indifference. As he reached to release the clasp of his trousers, an acute awareness prickled the fine hairs on the nape of his neck. The sensation of being watched was tangible. His head snapped and he scoured the dimly lit room.
Then he saw her standing ever so still and quiet in the shadowed corner.
He watched in dazed bewilderment as she stepped forward, her chestnut mane streaming loose and unpinned to the middle of her back. James swallowed. She could have been an angel dressed in the flimsy white nightdress, but he knew better. To him, she was a temptress in disguise.
His desire rose swiftly and violently, clamoring inside him like a volcano on the verge of eruption. Despite the coolness of the air, he was suddenly hot, his nerves protesting the unforgiving confines of his skin.
“Get out,” he said, his voice deceptively soft, deceptively low. The air around him had grown so dense, he could cleave it with a knife.
Instead of heeding his demand, Missy took several steps forward. The glow from the solitary tallow candle suffused her in a warm light. James swallowed again, his breathing an audible rasp in the dead quiet of the night.
“I know you felt something when you kissed me tonight,” she said softly.
James nearly groaned aloud, convinced his worst enemy had sent her to test him, torture him.
“Yes, and I believe you felt it too,” he replied, his voice harsh.
She displayed no shock or surprise at his crude reference to just how hard he’d been pressed up against her down in the study. In fact her eyes, appearing more gray than blue at present, grew smoky, her lids weighed down by desire. Her gaze dropped to his chest and then to the unmistakable distention in the front of his trousers.
James had nowhere to go. He stood exposed and trapped, caged like a hungry lion with a voracious appetite who’d just come upon his next meal.
“You’re very beautiful and I’m a normal male. It’s lust, plain and simple. Don’t make more of it than that. As I’ve told you before, any desirable female would elicit the same response.”
Again, she said nothing but took another step forward, the light now illuminating the full glorious length of her slim figure, her nipples jutting out impudently from the soft cloth of her nightdress.
He throbbed. His whole body throbbed.
“Go back to your chamber,” he said, his voice strained and barely recognizable.
She took another step closer, bringing her within inches of his tightly wound form.
“It’s more than lust.” It came out a feathery whisper. Slowly, she ran her fingers over the hard, stubbled plane of his cheek and square jaw.
He drew in a harsh, labored breath but didn’t move, could not move. He was caught in the heady rush of such intense longing and hunger. One move and he feared he’d splinter, his control inexorably lost.
He watched as if in slow motion, as she rose on her toes, angled her head, and pressed her soft lips to his. For several seconds he remained rigid and still, fighting the tumult of lust and desire that crashed down upon him in waves. Then the tip of her tongue pierced the set line of his mouth. Once she gained entry, her tongue boldly sought his out.
James’s control shattered. He forgot his promise to his friend. The risk. The consequences. Everything. Rocked by the fiercest passion he had yet to experience, his hands clutched the firm softness of her rounded bottom and pulled her taut against his heated flesh. As if by instinct, her thighs opened to cradle his rampant arousal. The need to be inside her, snug between the tight, wet walls of her feminine sheath consumed him, drove him.
He devoured her, his tongue a well-targeted lance. Missy moaned, her mouth parted wide to receive and to give. Her hands wrapped tightly about his neck as she bucked her hips in an effort to get closer still.
With a few steps backward, James dragged her down onto the bed. She fell atop him in a wanton heap, her slender thighs widened to straddle his hips. He retained his hold on her bottom, his hands flexing to rock her against his steely length. A keening cry escaped her parted lips as her head reared back and her eyes closed.
James had never seen such a beautiful sight in all his life. Only the cloth of his trousers and the thin translucency of her nightdress stood between them. Rising, careful not to dislodge her from where she sat perched riding him, he smoothed the garment from her shoulders. It pooled at her waist. A groan tore from his throat, echoing harshly throughout the room.
For a moment, he could only stare at the stark beauty of the firm, berry-tipped mounds before him. He marveled at their fullness on such a slender, fine-boned torso. Then her back arched. He wasn’t even sure that she was conscious of the movement but it spurred him out of his mesmerized daze. Cupping the soft weight with both hands, he raised his head, let out an anguished, hungry rumble, then commenced to feast on her sweet flesh.
Missy thought she would die of pleasure when the raspy tip of his tongue swiped at her nipple. Liquid warmth continued to pool at the delta of her thighs. Clutching the back of his sweat-dampened head, she held him close and urged him to cool the mindless hunger that had overtaken her.
But he continued to tease her, nipping lightly at the bud with his teeth. He pulled it, laved it and rimmed the tip to a ruched peak. Missy’s hips undulated helplessly, her lips pressing moist kisses along the curve of his ear and the hard scratchy line of his jaw.
In a sudden, almost violent maneuver, she was on her back, James settled between the spread of her legs. A glimpse of his handsome visage revealed a man on the brink. His expression held a mixture of intense hunger and pain, both to an equal degree. She watched in a bemused fog of passion as he lowered his head to her breast and, much to her delight and relief, parted his lips to take her into his mouth and suckle.
Her back arched off the mattress, her fingers making half-moon crescents on his muscled back.
I love you. The words became an ardent chant in her mind.
The first inkling that something was wrong came seconds later with the abrupt loss of heat, of his touch, while her declaration of love drenched the air. The chill in the chamber finally penetrated her dulled senses.
She hadn’t meant to utter the words aloud.
However, she knew the damage had already been done. James was no longer atop her, his mouth no longer at her breasts. She turned, her eyelids almost too heavy to lift. He sat hunched at the side of the bed, hands clenched tightly in the folds of the white bed linen. His shoulders rose and fell with each ragged breath.
Missy reached out, her hand trembling as she lightly touched the naked length of his back. James uttered a curse and jerked to his feet.
“Cover yourself,” he said, his back to her.
Slow to obey, Missy lay utterly still for one stunned moment before levering herself up and pushing the tangled mess of hair from her face.
James cast a dark look from over his shoulder and then his head instantly snapped back around. “For God’s sake, cover yourself. Have you no shame?”
Responding to the hard tone of his voice, Missy hurriedly
pulled up her nightdress and thrust her arms through the sleeves, concealing her breasts.
She came to her feet and stood behind him. If she offered him comfort, he’d reject it out of hand. But he wanted her. In those moments, when nothing had existed but the two of them loving on the bed, that had been as clear as her need of him.
“You’re angry.”
His breathing stopped for a long second, and then came out in an audible rush. “You are in a man’s chamber in your nightwear. Surely, I don’t have to tell you that you have more than breached the dictates of Society. Ladies do not behave in this manner.”
Missy dropped her hand to her side. If she pressed him anymore tonight, she knew he would bolt. He had already been running the last three years.
He could have easily taken her innocence, but he cared too much for her to compromise her. The knowledge helped smooth the edges of her hurt.
“I am a woman. I never claimed to be a lady.”
Missy heard his sharp indrawn breath but he remained with his back to her, his form rigidly controlled. After a pause, she slipped quietly from the chamber.
As Missy readied for breakfast the following day, thoughts of James filled every crevice of her mind. Thoughts of the fiery passion they had shared in the early hours of the morning caused heat to pool between her thighs. The now familiar throb of desire already beckoned.
After the intimacy they had shared, how would he treat her when they met again today? Smoothing the skirt of her peach morning dress, she departed her chamber and headed downstairs to the breakfast room. She would discover soon enough.
Alex and Thomas sat at the long oak table, their plates filled with scones, kippers, eggs, and kidneys. They gave her only a cursory glance when she entered the room, and bid her good morning before digging back into their food, her brother returning his attention to his newspaper.
Beverley Kendall Page 5
