“Threats are beneath you, Mr. Holland.”
“Not true.” He laughed. “I’d threaten quite a bit to stay close to you.”
“Jasper, you mustn’t say such things.” Gemma tried to step away, but he held fast to her hips. The silent show of his strength sent sparks of energy through her and goose bumps broke out on her skin.
“Ahh! At last, I hate it when you call me Mr. Holland. It seems only when I thoroughly distract you, do I get you to call me Jasper.” His chuckle created a warm rush of breath upon the back of her neck, making her tremble at the way it made her feel. Heat pooled inside her lower belly and she tried to exert some control over herself.
She stilled her faint struggling and tried to concentrate on taking her shot. She lifted the bow, pulled back the bowstring so it touched her lips, and let it fly. The arrow went a little to the left of center and she muttered a disappointed curse, which made Jasper laugh.
“Please take your shot Mr. Holland, I beg you.” Gemma waved her bow at the target, urging him to go.
“Would you call me Jasper again if I win?” he asked, arching one eyebrow. Half his mouth quirked into a sly smile.
Gemma weighed this consequence against getting some small measure of revenge. She planned to so thoroughly distract him he’d certainly lose.
“If you win…I will do more than call you Jasper.” She smiled this time, the same smile she’d seen Lily use to catch Henry when the pair had first met. It was a lure, something Gemma had never wanted to use before. But now she wanted to use it on Jasper, to wound him the way she’d been wounded. So she would string him out, it wasn’t as if she had anything else to lose now. James was gone, she’d been compromised, and nothing else mattered.
Its effect on Jasper was clear, his gaze sharpened on her and he furrowed his brow. “Just what sort of extra reward would I be entitled to claim?” he asked, seemingly amused at her sudden willingness to play his game.
“I am sure that whatever your imagination can devise will be suitable. I no longer care about my reputation so don’t bother to censor your desires on my account,” she snapped.
At her harsh reaction, his lips turned downward and he ducked his head, avoiding her gaze. “Ahh, I see. Perhaps no reward then. We ought to just finish the game.” He cleared his throat and all playfulness was gone.
Jasper took his stance. Gemma stood close to him, memorizing the outline of his muscles against his white blouse where the cloth molded to his arms as he raised his bow. Perhaps she could manage some measure of distraction the way he had with her. He poised to release his arrow and Gemma spoke softly near his ear, running a hand from his waist up to his chest while she pressed her body against his from behind.
You’ve tempted me, now I’ll tempt you…
Tempted by a Rogue: Chapter Seven
“I do believe you’ve awakened a rather sinful side in me, Mr. Holland…” Gemma said in a husky whisper. The rich sound of it sent a bolt of arousal straight to Jasper’s groin and he swallowed a curse.
“Oh?” He tried to sound uninterested as he readied to take his shot. If his aim was true, he would win the game, and although nothing was at stake, he desperately wanted to win. He was prepared to release his arrow when Gemma spoke again.
“After our interlude in the shed, I’m quite resolved to seek that sort of pleasure again and soon. I have you to thank for opening my eyes to the better parts of living,” she said with a light tone, one of careless disregard. He knew though that she couldn’t possibly mean it…He hadn’t made her a jaded woman after just one encounter in a garden shed, had he?
“Perhaps I’ll go to London and become someone’s mistress. It’s all I’m good for these days. Perhaps I’ll even consider being your mistress…” She leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed his left ear.
The shock of her words and the lingering kiss sent his arrow disastrously wide, so wide it missed the target by nearly thirty feet and tore straight through the fluffy plumed feather of Lady Greenley’s bonnet. Lady Greenley, who’d been conversing with Gemma’s mother, screamed when his arrow ripped her bonnet from her head and embedded it in the ground several feet away.
“We’re under attack! Sound the alarm!” Lady Greenley shrieked, parasol swinging as she ran toward the tea tables.
Mrs. Haverford’s head whipped around in their direction and she glared at him and Gemma.
“She will kill you when she finds out you destroyed her best bonnet,” Gemma said with her hands resting firmly on her hips. A little smile twitched her lips.
“And right before she beheads me with that bloody parasol, I will be sure to tell her that I did not act alone, but that you were my accomplice in the bonnet murdering plot,” he retorted.
Much to his surprise she started to giggle.
“You would betray me to such a fierce creature like Lady Greenley? You scoundrel!” She laughed heartily. It made something tug deep in his chest and his own heart beat faster. He loved to see her laugh, the way it lit up her eyes and banished all sadness. He never wanted to see tears of defeat glimmering in her gaze ever again. It would break him.
“Come on, this way, before she beheads us!” Jasper grasped her hand and pointed toward the tea tables. Gemma turned to see Lady Greenley had turned back around in her ranting.
“Oh heavens, she knows it’s you, Jasper!” Gemma gasped softy.
Lady Greenly moved her focus from the hat stuck firmly in the grass, to where Jasper and Gemma stood. The old matronly lady plucked at her sleeves in a strangely serious manner, like a solider checking his uniform moments before he set out to battle.
Oh dear. Jasper inwardly groaned. Lady Greenley headed for him in strong, quick strides, parasol ready, eyes ablaze with bloody vengeance. He’d faced many a harrowing storm, and battles at sea, yet nothing compared to this one elderly woman with her parasol. The might of the British Empire was built upon women like Lady Greenley.
“You devil, trying to kill an old woman? By God you will rue the day you accepted my invitation to this party!” Lady Greenley shouted in Jasper’s direction.
“Perhaps we ought to run for our lives?” Jasper asked casually as though offering her a cup of tea. He was rewarded with a merry glint in her eyes.
“Oh, yes. Fleeing would be wise,” Gemma agreed and Jasper tugged her back into the safety of the garden.
He led her down turn after dizzying turn in the hedgerows before finally pulling her behind a tall hedge wall that had some loose leafy branches which they peered through to the other side. Lady Greenley paraded about, hollering for the blaggards to show themselves, her parasol waving like a saber in the air. Gemma started to laugh but Jasper clamped a hand over her mouth, silencing her.
“Shh…we must be silent, fair huntress, else we’ll attract the beast’s attention…”
She didn’t glance his way when he used the nickname she’d told him about so long ago in her letters. He hadn’t forgotten, couldn’t ever forget what she’d written.
Dearest James,
Can you believe it’s almost hunting season here? My father is leading a fox hunt with the local gentleman of Midhurst. Even though he still calls me his Fair Huntress, I can’t bear to think of the poor fox. I’ll continue to work with my bow instead, much more suited to my namesake…
The image of her, standing tall with a bow, hair whipping about her face from the wind while she prepared to bring down a mighty stag flashed across his mind. It was a sight his dreams couldn’t erase. There was so much about her he’d never forget, could never let go of. If only he could have her as his own, his woman, but what if she couldn’t forgive him for what he’d done? Deception was the worst sort of betrayal. He’d tricked her in the garden and used her reaction to his body in the shed against her for his own selfish desire to possess what little part of her he could. And even more, he’d deceived her for eleven years with his letters.
For eleven years, she’d been in love with his best friend, not him, and yet he was the one w
ho’d become obsessed with her, the little country gentleman’s daughter who’d never set foot outside Midhurst except for her seasons in London. She had become his world in the last decade, and she would never know the truth of how much he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her.
Gemma tugged at his hand and he let it go for a brief moment before grabbing it again.
“Should we move further into the garden? Or do you think we’re safe from pursuit?” she whispered, turning her head so that her cheek brushed his.
He kept her caged in against the bushes from behind, and loved the feel of her body pressed length to length with his. Savoring these brief moments would be all he’d ever have with her.
“Stay here, if she comes too close, we can go deeper, but for now…” He let a sly grin twist his lips and wrapped his arms around her…
* * *
The elderly lady called out to them and moved a little closer to their hiding spot. Jasper pulled her back up against him and Gemma’s heart raced. Her body recognized his instinctively, his iron muscled frame, strong as it enclosed her from behind. He moved one hand back up to her mouth, covering it again.
“Shh…I don’t want you to make a sound, we mustn’t be overheard.” He slid his other hand from her waist down to her leg, digging his fingers into the cloth of her gown.
The pressure of his hand on her inner thigh, so close to the tender spot between her legs, made her knees buckle. She remained absolutely still, except for a faint tremor that spread throughout her body. The last thing she wanted was to alert Lady Greenley to their close proximity while in such a compromising position.
Jasper moved his hand closer to her mound, but he stopped just short of it, to powerfully stroke her through the thin fabric of her gown. She let her head fall back to rest against his chest, sucking in breaths as her body throbbed in dark, secret places.
Being held so close to him and wrapped in his arms, enveloped her in his masculine scent. It brought back a rush of images from the garden shed. How she’d loved making love to him, no matter the pain and discomfort, sharing herself with him had been a secret sort of wonder that she feared she might never experience again.
Jasper bent his head and feathered his lips along the slope of her neck in teasing kisses. His hand remained firmly in place, still covering her mouth which prevented the moan that rose in her when he sucked on the tender skin of her throat. It was wicked, letting him muffle her like this and arouse her at the same time. Yet it thrilled her too, the way he seemed to know how to touch her and keep her silent while they were so close to being discovered.
I am wicked, he has made me wicked. It should have shamed her. Perhaps that would come later, but for now she wanted to embrace this wanton side of herself with Jasper. All too soon this party would end and so would her future, but she could cling to him and this sensual dream just a little longer.
A flush of heat flowed through her whole body and she stopped fighting the building pleasure of sensations.
Like an instrument, Jasper strummed her to life at the merest caress of his hands. He tightened his palm on her thigh and rubbed her there, moving closer and closer to where she wanted him to touch her. The pain between her legs doubled, but it was a pain she remembered, a pain of need, not of actual hurt.
That lightning moment of ecstasy in the shed came flooding back, the intensity of their union, the power of their shared gaze and mingled breaths…the stiffness of him embedded deep within her.
Wetness blossomed instantly between her legs and tingles of anticipation danced excitedly up and down her limbs.
“Haverford? Holland? I know you’re in here!” Lady Greenley shouted.
Jasper’s breath on her neck quickened and he chuckled softly in between the sensuous dance of his lips on her skin.
Gemma put her right hand on top of Jasper’s where he still caressed her inner thigh. He laced his fingers through hers and moved his arm back to her waist, still holding her hand, her fingers locked with his. It was a powerful feeling to help hold his arm around her waist, as though they were dancing without any steps.
Her body hungered for his, in a primal urge that could never change, never stop. She would always crave his caress and knowing that terrified her because she would never have Jasper to call her own. He would never be hers.
Lady Greenley vanished from sight and whatever had been building between them came to a halt. For a long moment neither of them moved, afraid to break the hushed reverence of their closeness.
With a slow sign of regret, Jasper politely disentangled himself from her and peered through the hedge. She assumed he wanted to be sure Lady Greenley had given up on her prey.
“It’s safe to go, I think,” he whispered. His face was a tad flushed. He must have been enjoying himself as well.
At least I’m not the only one affected, if only we didn’t have to part ways. But they did. He’d made it clear to her that he wouldn’t take her as his wife and she couldn’t simply let her feelings for James go, even if he had turned out to be different than the man she’d grown to love in her letters. If only she and Jasper—No. She couldn’t allow herself to think on what might have been. What choice did that leave either of them? Blasted men! It seemed one couldn’t live with them or live without them. It also seemed that one could want a man who’d ruined her on purpose with no intent to marry her. Was she betraying her gender by being so torn between strangling him and kissing him?
Probably, the little chiding voice in her head shot back.
“Shall we?” Jasper offered her his arm.
Gemma studied him for a long moment and then politely shook her head. Brushing out her skirts, she walked ahead of him, leading the way. It was best if they were not seen together. She couldn’t bear to think about how much she wanted to be back in his arms, feeling the caress of his lips, the touch of his hands upon her skin. But because that wasn’t possible she’d cut herself off from him now.
When at last they emerged from the gardens people were already leaving. Carriages were lining up and horses being brought around for the men who’d ridden to the party.
Gemma slipped into her parent’s carriage without being seen or noticed by more than a handful of neighbors who simply waved at her. Throwing herself into the carriage seat, she breathed a sigh of relief that the horrid day was over. She wanted nothing more than to get home and burn the whole stack of letters James had written her.
“Well, Gemma? Did you enjoy the party?” her father asked while he helped her mother into their carriage.
“It was…eventful.” What else could she say?
Her father smiled. “Yes it was, wasn’t it, what with young Randolph getting engaged. Doesn’t surprise me though, even when he was a boy he was leaping headlong into things without thinking properly,” her father mused.
“Oh, John hush,” her mother warned.
“How do you mean, father?” Gemma leaned forward to better press her father into continuing his suddenly interesting observations.
“Well, that Stevens girl for one. Any man worth his salt can see what sort of creature she is…not a good one, that’s for sure. But you take a man like Jasper Holland, well, there’s a man with a good head on his shoulders. His time away has only improved him. He’s saved up a quaint fortune and now that he’s home his estate will have a proper master again. It’s been empty too many years since his parents have passed.” Her father talked on about other guests and Gemma soon lost interest.
Her mother however watched her with a curious expression. “Gemma, are you well? There is something different about you…”
“Different?” Gemma looked down at herself in concern, wondering if her gown had been ruined or something else was amiss in her appearance.
“Yes, my dear, you look a little flushed again. Are you coming down with a fever?”
“Fever?” she echoed faintly.
“And your gown…what have you been doing? That muslin is quite wrinkled in places…are those twigs in
your hair?” Her mother eyed her worriedly.
Her father patted her mother’s knee in reassurance. “Oh, she’s fine, Julia, she has color in her cheeks, and a twinkle in her eye. It suits her. I’m sure she’s been out gallivanting in the gardens, let her be.”
The rest of the ride home, Gemma’s parents left her to her thoughts which were focused on Jasper and the stack of letters she meant to burn to ash before the night was over.
* * *
“Just a minute, you scoundrel.” Lady Greenley’s shrill voice stopped Jasper dead in his tracks halfway across the lawn.
Tugging his coat tightly about his shoulders, he pivoted and turned back to face the old matron.
She had her bonnet back on her head, and he winced at the shaft-sized ragged-edge tear where his arrow had pierced part of the thick expensive plumage.
“Lady Greenley,” he replied. What did one say to a seasoned old woman who could likely march beside him on a battlefront?
“I know what you were up to today in my garden.” Her gray eyes were bright and clear. “Hedges talk, dear boy, and my hedges have told me quite a bit about you and Miss Haverford.”
Hedges talking? The woman was mad…utterly mad.
“Lady Greenley, I really don’t know what you—”
“Harrumph! Don’t try to lie, young pup. I’ve put up with more cunning men than you in my day. Now, tell me what you mean to do about Haverford,” she spoke so plain of Gemma, using her last name like an army general discussing one of the men in her garrison.
“Miss Haverford? I’ve nothing to do with her.” The lie tasted bitter on his tongue.
Before he could even draw a breath, the parasol thumped him hard in the chest and he muttered a foul curse not fit for even the old dragon Lady Greenley’s ears.
Her Perfect Gentleman: A Regency Romance Anthology Page 101
