Such as kissing Lilah in the garden in the middle of the afternoon. And he’d almost done it. Even now, part of him wished he had. Jack never should have touched her.
And why had he come up with that ludicrous idea of asking her about passion? Their conversation earlier had unlocked something inside of him—a door, of sorts, the one that separated his world from hers. The one he kept locked from all of the aristocracy and the stupid rules they followed. Now, there was that open passageway between them, and he needed to close it—fast.
Releasing the thought, he exhaled into his glass of scotch and settled into the corner of a velvet-upholstered sofa in the empty room.
Lady Hudson’s was an upscale gaming hell with a limited membership. One had to have great wealth in order to become a member. Wolford was one. In fact, on the way back to the lounge, Jack had passed Wolford playing vingt-et-un in the main gaming salon.
The proprietress prided herself on her exclusivity. Adorned in jewels and elegant frocks, many assumed, at first, that she was a member of the peerage. Actually, she was a widow of a wealthy merchant, and her given name was, in fact, Lady. Having a sense of wit, she refused to allow her patrons to call her either Widow or Missus Hudson. She would permit only “Lady Hudson,” “my lady,” or nothing at all.
Coming up behind Jack, Lady draped her arms and ample bosom over his shoulders and whispered in his ear. “Back so soon, Marlowe?” Her seductive purr was the sound men dreamed of as much as they did the skillful play of her fingertips, which were now roaming down his chest, flicking over his waistcoat buttons in invitation. “Did my new girl not satisfy you, or do you desire a woman of more experience? I bet I could show even you a thing or two.”
He allowed her to continue, hoping that the desire plaguing him would rise up, ready to be sated. “Your girl was lovely and skilled, as you ensure that all of your girls are.”
“And yet, in all the years of your membership, you have never returned twice in one week. As I recall, you’ve mentioned a reluctance to wet your wick too often in the same pot,” she said with a saucy laugh, molding her hands over his chest beneath his now-open waistcoat.
“True. Though perhaps not as poetically as you’ve just put it.” Jack never had a desire to keep a mistress, for obvious reasons. And tonight, he did not want an opera girl or even a comely widow. He only desired release.
When Lady’s hands drifted down his abdomen toward the waist of his trousers, he kept his eyes steady on her progress. He wanted this, he told himself. He wanted her hands and mouth all over him. He wanted to be feted and worshiped. He wanted . . .
Bollocks. His lust was not stirred. Not in the least. The only hands he wanted upon him were those that never would be.
What a fool he was. With a gentle touch, he stopped Lady’s progress. “Forgive me. You are all that is desirable, but I find that I am ill-tempered this evening.”
“Hmm . . . a man who is truly ill-tempered seldom admits it. His grousing and grumbling usually make it clear. You, on the other hand, seem . . . preoccupied.”
“Quite right,” he admitted. “My thoughts have been carelessly committed elsewhere.” Even now, he was thinking of his encounter with Lilah in the garden. The pain he’d witnessed in her gaze at the mention of cruelty had caused a surge of protectiveness to rise up within him. He’d had the sudden urge to dispatch anyone who’d ever brought her pain, even her own family. Then, an idiotic wave of disappointment hit him as well, for having presented her with plants that weren’t in bloom. He’d wanted to give her flowers that would bloom all year.
“A woman?”
He shrugged. “A circumstance remedied soon enough.”
“I shall wish it for my own sake, then,” she said with a sigh. “Tonight, my bed will be as cold as the frost that gathers on my window.”
Rising to his feet, he bowed and pressed a kiss to her hand. “Any man would be a fool if he did not warm you, as I am proving now. Good night, dear Lady.”
Yet at the mention of frost, he thought again of the plants. Hardy or not, in this cold they likely wouldn’t survive the night.
Staying in this evening had left Lilah far too much time with her thoughts. She’d come up with plenty of outlandish worries, which should have soothed her but instead seemed small when comparing them to her true fears.
She could fail—catastrophically. Not just herself but Aunt Zinnia, Juliet, and Mother. The stakes seemed higher, now that people were noticing her. Even if those people were debutantes like her. Calling hours today had jarred her and made this endeavor all too real.
In an attempt to relieve some of her anxiety, she’d taken a hot bath with a special selection of oils that Juliet had offered her. The rose and lavender relaxed her. The vanilla from the orchid pod was luxuriant. And the sandalwood made her think of Jack.
She’d submerged herself in the fragrance until she was out of breath, soaking until her fingertips and toes wrinkled. Then, with the help of Nellie, she’d washed her hair.
Her hair was still damp now as she paced her room in her night rail. She’d sent Nellie to bed and knew that Aunt Zinnia and Juliet had turned in as well. Beneath her feet, the floor was cold—colder than it had been for the past week or more. She’d become a well-practiced pacer in the past few days and could detect the subtle differences. Going to her wardrobe, she withdrew a pair of thick stockings and sat at her window seat to pull them on. It was only when she felt the draft through the window that her suspicions about the temperature were confirmed.
Her thoughts went directly to the garden and the new plants. The plants Jack had given to her. On such a night, they would never survive. Oddly enough, she’d grown attached to those flowers in a matter of hours, taking out several pitchers of water and admiring the number of buds she saw. While the garden was Aunt Zinnia’s, those two small plants were Lilah’s—and given to her by a man who both puzzled and intrigued her. She couldn’t let the cold damage them.
Making a quick decision, she donned a wrapper and grabbed a lamp as she stepped out into the hall. Before she headed down the stairs, she pulled two folded bed sheets from the linen cupboard.
The house was dark and quiet as she padded down the hall toward the door that led to the garden. Through the glass, she could see there was enough moonlight to aid her quick errand, and so she left her candle behind. Lifting the latch, she was thankful that the hinges were well oiled and didn’t alert the cook, who slept in a room not far from the kitchen, just around the corner.
A shock of cold air hit her, biting right through her wrapper and night rail and tightening her flesh. Wanting to stop the sharp sensation of the cotton against her taut nipples, Lilah clutched the bed sheets to her breasts and rushed down the garden path. She kept her steps light and quick, the ground frozen beneath her stockinged feet. And it wasn’t until she breached the arbor that she, once again, stopped cold.
At the sight of Jack Marlowe piling hay around the plants, a sense of hilarity broke over her. She was forever encountering him when she least expected it. A strangled laugh left her. And when the sound of it caused him to start, jerking his head in her direction, she giggled.
“Why are you here?” he asked, mirroring the same question she’d asked several times since they’d first met.
The coincidence only increased her giggles. Who knew she was so easily amused? But she felt unaccountably giddy in this moment and inordinately happy to see him.
Jack stood erect, his greatcoat parting to reveal the whiteness of his shirt and the absence of a cravat. The sliver of moonlight offered a glimpse of exposed flesh at his throat, tapering down to the V of his open collar.
Abruptly, her giggles caught in her throat. “I came out to cover the plants.” She could barely get the words out. Worse, she couldn’t peel her gaze away from his bared throat, where the shadow beneath his Adam’s apple formed an enticing hollow. She’d never seen a man’s neck, except for her father’s and brother’s. Until this moment, she didn’t realize how
interesting they were. The sight made her want to walk the few steps between them and study his more closely.
“You’re in your night rail,” he said with a low growl that hummed inside of her.
A terrible sensation, she reminded herself. Not at all pleasant.
“And my wrapper,” she corrected, as if the fact made all the difference between being decently or scantily dressed. Lifting her gaze to his, she realized he wasn’t looking at her face. Not directly. She must look like . . . like she was prepared for bed. Which, of course, she was. But seeing his gaze take in every ruffle and ribbon as if he could see through them to her skin suddenly turned the notion into something less commonplace. “There are linens in my arms as well.”
At that, his gaze lifted, as did one corner of his mouth. “Yes, of course, the linens. Otherwise, I might have assumed you’d rushed out to greet me for a tryst.”
It was a chilly night. She could see her breath. So then why did she feel warm all over? “I am not a romantic moon-gazer, keeping watch over the garden. As you see, there is no balcony outside my window,” she said with an absent gesture toward her window.
At the same time, she wondered what she’d have done if she had seen him. Until a few days ago, she knew she would have done the sensible thing. Now, she wasn’t certain at all. Especially because she was still standing here with him and had no desire to return to her chamber.
He offered the house a passing glance. “The upstairs is dark, aside from your bedchamber. Why are you not fast asleep?”
She wasn’t going to admit to being anxious about her transformation endeavors. Or confess to having a talent for worry. And she certainly wasn’t going to tell him that thoughts of him settled the worrying part of her mind. So instead, she said, “I was merely allowing my hair to dry after my bath.”
He groaned, shoving a hand through his hair as his gaze raked down her body again. “You’re standing out here in your stockinged feet. You must be cold. You should return to the warmth of your chamber.”
He was right. She should return. But she didn’t want to. Not yet. “I still need to cover the plants.”
“Very well. Then we will be done with this before irreversible damage can be done.”
“Do you think it is too late for them?”
He stepped close to her. “I was talking about you, Lilah. Your reputation—your innocence—is not safe with me. Not tonight.”
He reached up, his hand curling over the first sheet. Watching his long fingers slip between the folded layers caused a tide of warmth to rise up inside of her, and she wasn’t even certain why.
“Why not tonight? Does the moonlight affect you strangely?” She tried to make a jest of it, but her words came out breathy.
As he whipped open the sheet and tucked it over the first plant, he shook his head. “Of late, neither moonlight, daylight, cloudy skies, rain, nor fog can make my thoughts predictable. The only thing they have in common is you. I fear my behavior will soon follow their path.”
She frowned, concerned when he made no sense. He’d been thinking of her? No. Surely not. “Are you . . . unwell?” She moved closer, tempted to lift her hand to his forehead.
He released a hollow laugh and shook his head. “I should not be here. I should have stayed with a woman who could have helped to tame this alien need.”
Stayed with a . . . He’d been with another woman tonight? Suddenly, every compulsion she had to feel his brow turned into something far less tender.
“Instead, I am here,” he continued, prowling toward her again. “And you are standing in a bit of nothing, your dark hair in waves around your shoulders, your face lit up with moonlight, your eyes on my body, and your lips turning plump and crimson, as you are—no doubt—ready to scold me about being in the company of another woman. Damn. Even your jealousy is arousing.”
She straightened her shoulders, clutching the last sheet like a shield and wishing she had a sword to match it. “I am not jealous. Not at all. Why should I be?”
He reached up for this sheet, his hand curling over the part that was directly between her breasts. Because his hands were so large, even grabbing the center of the sheet caused his knuckles to brush the inner swells. The flesh surrounding them drew tighter in response.
“Why, indeed. And why am I not half as tempted by another woman’s charms as I am by the mere thought of you?” As he withdrew the sheet, the backs of his fingers grazed her nipple accidentally. Surely, it had to have been an accident.
The shock of it tunneled through her. She gasped but did not flinch or retreat. Instead, she lifted her gaze to find him looking back at her with dark, feral intensity.
Something inside of her tilted, drawing taut, warm, and liquid at once. A low, foreign mewl left her throat. She found herself nodding, even when he hadn’t asked a question. And in answer, he dropped the sheet to the ground, snaked his arms around her, and hauled her against him.
He captured her mouth, his kiss hard and unapologetic. Lilah met him with the same force. Her fingers dove into his thick mane. His ears were cold beneath her palms, but his scalp was burning, inviting her closer.
She practically crawled up his body, wanting to be nearer to his mouth. Her head slanted instinctively, her nose pressed alongside his. She could hardly breathe. Opening her mouth, she inhaled at the same time he exhaled, and in that instant, she could taste him on her tongue. A sweetness of liquor, an enthralling heat combined with an unnamed spice, created an elixir that filled her lungs, flooded her veins, and incited her curiosity. What if she pressed her open mouth to his? She didn’t know why she wanted to do so, but she needed the answer.
She didn’t waste any more time with breathing. After all, time was not her ally. Hadn’t she heard that enough? This moment would be over too soon, and she needed to make the most of it. And oh . . . what a sensation. Open-mouthed, their lips pressed together, and then together, their mouths closed, their lips tangling one over the other, nibbling each other like candied fruits, again and again, gorging themselves.
“I should not kiss you,” he said on a growl as he kissed her again. His tongue slipped between her lips, gliding over the sensitive inner flesh, tracing the ridge of her teeth, brushing against her tongue.
She broke away on a gasp, unsure, panting for breath, wondering if he’d meant to do that, wondering if she was supposed to allow such an intimacy. “You are teaching me . . . about passion. Therefore . . . a kiss is completely acceptable.”
“Mmm . . . irrefutable logic,” he said, nuzzling the corner of her mouth. “Now give me your tongue, Lilah. I want to claim it.”
Any hesitation she might have had evaporated in the steam they exhaled as their open mouths fused once more. She gave him her tongue—an offering more than answer to his command. Although at the moment, she would have given him anything he asked. Never in her life had she felt this secure. Nothing bad could happen while here in the shelter of his arms. The solid strength of Jack’s body, his arms tight around her, ensured it. She was so certain of this that she curled her legs around his waist, her night rail migrating upward.
He groaned—a delicious vibration against her tongue and lips. Apparently, her new position forced him to alter his hold because his hands slipped from her waist to the swells of her bottom. Even through the fabric, his hands were hot. He squeezed her flesh, his fingertips splayed, skimming the sensitive underside. “You’re making me forget my code of honor.”
Dropping her hands to his shoulders, she wriggled closer, seeking the hottest parts of him while nipping at his lips. “Code?”
“I am honor bound not to bed a virgin,” he said, even as his fingers kneaded her flesh and pulled her closer, sliding her against a rather hard, hot, and lengthy part of him.
Lilah blushed. She might be inexperienced, but she wasn’t a simpleton and understood what he was saying. Yet her mother had informed her—in a vague, general sense—that a husband and wife would lie down together, and it was the wife’s duty to bea
r it as best she could. “Surely that is nothing to worry over now. Not while we are standing in the garden.”
“I am standing. You, however, are perfectly situated to make it possible.”
I am? She wondered how that could be true . . .
He growled, his dark pupils expanding as he shook his head. “And you must stop staring at me with such blatant curiosity, or I will ask you to reach between us in order to show you.”
“It’s hardly my fault. You’re the one who involved my imagination,” she scoffed but only half-heartedly.
His gaze dipped to her mouth. “If you scold me once more, I will not be able to control my actions. I will rob you of your innocence here, in this very garden, and then carry you up to your chamber, bolt the door, and continue until I’ve satisfied every curiosity you could ever conjure.”
She wondered if he realized that he was terrible at issuing threats. And for that she was thankful, for she’d overheard too many in her life. “Then kiss me again, and I won’t have cause to scold you.”
He did kiss her but briefly and far too chastely. “I cannot do that either. Your sinful mouth has the same effect on me, no matter what it is doing.” And this time, it was clear he meant it.
Disappointed, she uncurled her legs from around him. Gradually, he lowered her so that her feet could touch the ground, but the journey—her body sliding against the length of his—was pure, wondrous torture.
Lilah kept her hands on his shoulders, unwilling to release him. “Are you going to return to that woman?”
“I should. You and I would be better off if my desire was slaked. Then I would not be—even now—contemplating all the things I could do to you. Things that would leave your innocence intact but only by the strictest definition,” he said, making her blush again. His hands lingered at her waist, as if he was equally as reluctant to let her go. “However, it would be unfair to her if I could think only of you.”
“I agree.” She nodded, earning a low chuckle from him. “It would not be fair to any of us.”
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