“Fuck,” he groaned.
She bit his lip. “Yes.” Could she say anything else?
He growled. “I plan to have you.”
“Yes, yes.” He could have anything he wanted so long as he took it now.
Their eager gazes locked as air hit her inner thighs. She thought she might die if he wasn’t inside her in the next minute. She fumbled to release him.
A louder crash slapped across her mind and stilled her senses. She blinked and looked over to find Patsy at the sitting room entrance. Her hands covered her mouth, and a tray with small cakes was scattered across the floor.
Christin also realized that she herself was sitting on her sideboard. Her candelabra, tray, and other decorative pieces that usually sat where she did had been flung everywhere in her and Jeanshire’s beastly haste.
She fumbled to right her dress but couldn’t seem to make the hem go down. She looked down and realized that Jeanshire still held it in his tight fist.
Their gazes locked again.
Patsy ran from the room without a word, her feet clattering down the hall.
“I need to fix my dress,” Christin finally managed.
Since this was the first full sentence to leave her mouth since they’d met, it seemed such a silly thing to say, but there it was. She wasn’t sure what had come over her. She’d nearly had sex with a man she knew nothing about and, lord or not, this was highly out of character for her. She’d only ever been with one man, her husband.
But instead of feeling shame for acting like one of the doxies who lived next door, she felt guilt at nearly taking advantage of this man. With her lustfulness, she’d all but climbed into his lap. What he must think of her…
The urge to apologize struck her. “I’m sorry. I—”
“Don’t.” Jeanshire didn’t move his hands from her skirts nor his eyes from hers. “Don’t regret this. I don’t.”
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CHAPTER TWO
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Aaron Welsh regretted many moments in his life, but a taste of the sweetness that flowed from Mrs. Christin Potter’s lips would never be one of them. His only regret was that he’d not closed the door before he’d proceeded to ravage her mouth. He hadn’t turned to look at whoever had come into the room and interrupted their tryst.
He hadn’t cared.
All that mattered was the woman on the sideboard before him.
The enchantress.
From the moment she’d walked into the room, everything Aaron had been sure of came into question, the first being that there was no such thing as love at first sight.
Women were captivating creatures as a whole, and he’d always enjoyed their offerings, but unlike many of his friends, he had always been selective with his taste. He liked his women tall and busting with curves.
Mrs. Potter hit those marks with ease.
But it had been more than just her body that had called to him. It was the way she’d walked into the room. One could have easily believed her to be the daughter of a lord. She had regal grace. But it had been her alluring face that sealed it for him. Heart-shaped with dark tilted eyes, a small nose, and pleasure-promising pink lips. Her hair was black, as were her thick lashes.
He’d taken one look at her, and his every intention had vanished, his mind forcibly remapping itself with one goal in mind. Her. Any objectives he’d walked into the room with had vanished in a blink and all that was left of the limited function that remained of his mind had chanted things like take, consume.
Mine.
How he’d managed to get a single word out since the moment she’d taken her seat, he wasn’t sure.
He’d suspected from the beginning that this was a setup.
He’d come to Potter Agency after failing to find a suitable governess for his charges. The suggestion had come from Alice Lockwood, the wife of one of Aaron’s many friends. Calvin Lockwood’s wife had made it known that Christin Potter could deliver whatever he needed, yet after raising two little girls for the last year, he’d come to understand female expressions quite easily and had not missed the mischief that had set Alice’s blue eyes ablaze.
She’d wanted Aaron to find Christin, and damn if he wasn’t thankful.
In the last year, out of the ten men who formed the Men of Nashwood, a brotherhood that had begun when they were but lads at Eton, six of the men had wed and each of them were blissfully happy. Last Season, the wives, who could also be now counted as friends of Aaron’s, made it very clear that they had every intention of seeing the final four bachelors married as well, but as the months had passed, his doubt had grown.
And while a year ago he’d have shuddered at the thought of marriage, the idea had started to grow on him when he considered the two people in his life who mattered most to him—Mary and Lily. Mary had turned seven last November, and Lily would be six in a week’s time. Aaron was sure there had never been more beautiful girls in existence. They had dark eyes and dark hair and though they enjoyed testing the limits of his anger, he couldn’t imagine life without them.
He simply needed help.
Aaron appreciated the help of his friends and their wives, but he was beginning to believe that what the girls needed was a mother.
So Aaron had actively started looking, accepting invites to parties he would usually turn down and calling on a few ladies he’d thought might be good examples to the girls, but none of the ladies had struck Aaron as good choices, so he’d started to look outside of his class.
Of his six friends who had married, only three of the women were ladies. Alice had been the daughter of a club owner. Taygete, who’d married Hugh, the Marquess of Edvoy, was the daughter of a businessman. Rollo, whose family was powerful gentry, had married a lady’s maid.
And though he’d expanded his search, no one had become elevated to more than simple bed sport.
And then Alice had suggested Potter Agency, and for the first time, Aaron felt hope.
Christin looked slightly puzzled, and her mouth twitched as she studied him. That mouth had set an inferno in his gut, and he wanted nothing more than to light her fires again and watch her glow.
She’d been like a vibrant sun in his hands. Aaron was surprised he’d not been burned by her touch. And she’d smelled amazing, like cream and vanilla. He’d wanted to devour her. He would have if they’d not been stopped.
He still could.
He would.
He smiled. She had no idea what she was in for.
Her eyes fell to his mouth before sliding away. She cleared her throat but didn’t meet his eyes as she summoned her voice. “Lord Jeanshire, would you be so kind as to remove your hands from my dress?”
His fingers worked to straighten her skirts but then he grabbed her waist and helped her back onto the floor, liking the sound of her sharp intake of breath.
He kept his hold on her and watched her hands hesitate before settling on his arms. She eyed him warily.
“You can let me go,” she whispered.
He could, but he didn’t want to. He could sense her retreat and had no plans of letting her escape. “I need your help.”
Her gaze turned away, and she spoke to his shoulder. “Yes, I know, but perhaps it would be best if you found another agency.”
“I was informed that you are the best,” he said. “I won’t accept anything less.”
She caught his eyes, and he could see her nervousness. She’d worn something of that expression when she’d sat across from him as he drank tea. There’d been anxiety and hunger in her gaze, but it had been the flashes of color that had spread up her throat to her cheeks that had finally broken him, calling to him, forcing him to cross the room and take her.
Mine.
“Perhaps we should set another appointment for a later date?” She tried for a smile, but it fell short, and then she was l
ooking away once more.
Well, Aaron had every intention of seeing the woman later. Of that, he had no doubt, but now that he’d found her, he wasn’t ready to part. He looked at the clock by the door then turned to her. “I still have half an hour in our appointment.”
She was staring at his shoulder again. “I’m sure we can find another time that suits you, my lord.”
He settled his hands around her back more comfortably, which pulled her closer, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Perhaps it would be best if you simply listen to my issue and tell me the best way to go about solving it?”
Her fingers tightened on his arms, and she started to push away. “Very well, but let us retire to our seats.” He could almost see her walls of civility being erected. She wore a plain expression, as though she’d not just promised to open her legs for him ten minutes ago.
He’d preferred her more carnal.
Would these things ever be easy?
Had Aaron not heard her moans himself, he’d have been offended by her show of coldness. Up until this point, he couldn’t recall a single woman who had pushed him away. Usually, they clung to him, if only hoping to be the one to gain his title.
But Christin reminded him of the women his friends had married, a group of tough females who’d not bent easily when their husbands had come to call. They'd even had the audacity to start the Spinsters’ Society, not that any of the women were actually spinsters. In the last year, the society had grown to include nearly thirty women who focused their time on charity, yet all the members were either married or far too pretty to remain spinsters for long.
And the women had the bad habit of banding together to cause their men trouble. Aaron would try to keep Christin from it all.
“My lord?” Christin called, as though she’d been trying to get his attention for several minutes.
“Aaron,” he told her.
She caught her breath with a start. “I will not call you that.”
Oh, but she would, and he swore he’d have her shouting it by week’s end. He stopped those thoughts before his body could respond.
He lifted a brow. “Call me Aaron, and I’ll let you go.”
She seemed to contemplate her choices and then sighed. “Aaron.”
He slowly dropped her hands, and she hastily stepped back and bumped into the sideboard. Then slowly, she sank to the floor and began to gather up the fallen items. “Tell me about your situation.”
He moved to the door and began to pick up the mess the maid had dropped, pulling out his handkerchief to grab the cakes, noticing how new the floors were for an older home.
The house itself had been a surprise to see in Covent Garden. Beautiful on both the interior and exterior, with hints of Roman design. The doorways were arched, the foyer domed, and at the foot of each column was a molding of a war scene. He wiped the floor clean. “I’m in need of a governess. I’ve two girls—”
“I don’t provide governesses.”
He paused and turned to look at her.
She’d stopped as well, and a dark lock slid down her cheek and past her shoulder. She frowned. “Who referred you to me, my lord?”
Aaron felt a tick in his jaw, both at the irritation of this new situation in which he’d have to find a new reason to keep her near, and that she’d addressed him formally once again. “Aaron.”
She blinked at the floor and then stood. “It seems you’ve no need of me. I could refer you to an agency that can give you what you are in search of.”
He stood with the tray in his hand and set it on the table next to the tea before approaching her again. “I thought you provided every staff member that one could need?”
She shrank away then turned to place the candles in their positions on the stand. One candle was broken, and she pursed her lips before putting it down. “It’s rather that I provide what every house needs as opposed to everyone a house would need.” She glanced his way from underneath her lashes, and he wondered if the look was purposefully seductive or if that was just her way. He knew it was the latter when she went on, once again presenting him with her back. “While a gentleman’s home might need a gardener, stable boy, or doctor, I do not provide those either. The staff I provide are more foundational. Footmen, butlers, housemaids, scullery maids, ladies’ maids, valets...”
With the room straightened and returned to order, Aaron decided to move closer.
He positioned his chest less than an inch from her back and placed his hands on the sideboard on either side of her.
He noticed the moment her breathing grew irregular, her shoulders lifting and falling with every pull. Her chest heaved.
He leaned forward and inhaled her scent once more. “Why don’t you provide governesses?”
“I’ve no children to train a governess. Therefore, I could never claim my governesses to be... exceptional… if they’re not well... trained.” She tilted her head away from him in what he was sure was her attempt to get away, yet all it did was give him access to her throat.
He brushed his mouth against where her collar turned to skin.
Her breath hitched. The air grew thick around him. Aaron’s muscles tightened, and he was struck again by the powerful craving to lift her skirts and bury himself inside her.
Her skin tasted just as good he thought it would. He ran his tongue up and behind her ear.
“Oh!” Her hands fumbled and pressed against his hips. “You shouldn’t,” she whispered.
He moved his hands to her stomach and yanked her in. Her backside cupped his ridge, and Aaron momentarily saw stars. His teeth caught her ear.
She gasped and turned her head, probably to say something, but he stole the words from her lips and she moaned just as her body pushed back against him. Her hands moved to his neck, dragging him closer.
Yes! Aaron had finally found heaven, and she was hotter than he’d imagined. She sucked and kissed his lips,
A throat was cleared at the door.
“Go away!” he commanded.
There was a shriek and then the sound of footsteps once again retreating.
Christin pulled way and moved out of his hold. Her hand went to her cheek as she stared at him. “You have to go.” She looked at the clock and then at him again. “I’ve another appointment.”
He wondered how she could think of work when he was unable to think of anything but barricading the door so that they weren’t disturbed again.
He approached her and took her free hand. “I’ll leave, but I plan to return.”
“No.” Her eyes widened with fear, and he regretted shouting at her servant. He rarely gave in to his temper now, not since taking in Mary and Lily.
“I can’t help you, Lord Jeanshire. I hope you do eventually find the right person to take care of your daughters—”
“My wards, actually,” he corrected. “They’re the daughters of a distant cousin. I inherited them along with their father’s lands. But yes, they are like daughters to me.”
She looked surprised. “How old are they?”
“Seven and five. Lily will be six in a few days.”
Her features were softened by a small smile. “They’re old enough to go to school.” She’d not been the first person to come up with that idea.
He shook his head. “That’s not an option. I’ll not send them away. They’ve already lost too much.”
And so had he.
He’d not been there when they’d lost their mother three years ago, but Aaron had been in the room with their father, Baron Columbus Gates, when he had died. He had killed himself… just seconds before Aaron could kill him.
Christin’s expression softened further, and her fingers tightened in his hand. “You seem to love them very much.”
“I do.” He didn’t know when his feelings for the girls had grown but was sure it had happened little more than weeks after taking them in.
Her face split into a warm smile, and Aaron was humbled by it, that she would give that to him. More hope. “How
fortunate they are to have you.”
“I’m the fortunate one,” he insisted. “Please, I need your help.”
“But, I don’t—”
“Perhaps, you could help me find one. Help me with my search. For them.” He felt no guilt at using the girls’ situation to endear himself to this woman. “You said you know people who train governesses, but I don’t know the first thing about them. Perhaps you could guide me on making a good choice.”
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CHAPTER THREE
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Christin was not a fool. She knew exactly what Lord Jeanshire was up to. He didn’t actually need her help in finding the right governess. Any agency she gave him would do that for him, but she admitted that in the last five minutes, he’d succeeded in peaking her interest.
As a woman who’d been raised by people who’d not been her parents, she understood the kindness of strangers. Even though Aaron shared some small portion of blood with the girls, he didn’t have to care for them himself.
In fact, she’d never have thought him the sort to do so. He couldn’t have been more than a few years older than herself, somewhere in his thirties, in his prime. Christin would have easily guessed that a man as attractive as him would have thought the girls a distraction and made them someone else’s issue, but instead, he’d taken them on himself.
And he’d been directed to her for assistance, which she thought even stranger.
She took back her hand. “Who referred you to me, my lord?”
He placed his hands behind his back. “Mrs. Alice Lockwood.”
Christin's Splendid Spinster's Society (The Spinster’s Society) (A Regency Romance Book) Page 2
