Jude removed his coat and crumpled it into a ball as the distant echo of gunshots hovered in the air. He lay back on the shaded grass, propped the coat behind his head, and cracked open the book that had been delivered to his room that morning.
As soon as the pages had been laid in his hand, Jude had sent word that he would miss the morning hunt, and he'd sent himself off to the garden to read. It was a beautiful morning, surprisingly warm, and Marissa York was softening toward him.
But perhaps softening was the wrong word. Tension was what he was after, and her body fairly snapped with it.
He stared at the first page of the book without seeing it. Instead he thought of Marissa. She was pretty, but more than that, she was fascinating. Her ill-hidden wildness. The way she spoke of men with simultaneous affection and disdain. Her hot temper and cool words.
Neither her activities nor dress marked her as any different from other young women of society. And yet, beneath that facade of normality, something else burned. Something hot and fierce.
Jude had admired her from afar, but now that he was close... he was enchanted.
But his goal was to pique her interest, not to follow her about like a lovesick pup. She had enough of that kind of attention. So much that she didn't see it. There were at least two young men vying for her eye at the York estate, but she saw them as dance partners and nothing more.
Marissa was bored and restless and spoiled, and she didn't even know it.
Jude slid the note free from the pages of the book and smiled at the curls of her signature. So deceptively delicate. She had everyone fooled. But not him.
He saw the meaning behind her simple words. A story of admirable emotion, it read. And she certainly was.
The book was part of her puzzle, so he forced himself to focus on it, and before long he was swept up in the rush of dialogue and drama. Soon enough, the sun's shadow had crept far down his legs when Jude looked up to see a woman in the garden. Marissa. She hadn't noticed him yet, and he didn't dare disturb her solitude.
Instead, he watched her. She moved quickly through the grassy walks of the garden, snapping off dried heads. It was unnecessary, he knew. The rose bushes would be pruned soon in preparation for winter, so a few dead blooms meant nothing, but the exercise must relax her, pointless as it was. Her face looked peaceful and younger.
She must be frightened about her future, but she had yet to let it show. He'd seen her angry and happy and disapproving and joyful. And now peaceful. But never scared.
His mother would like her, and he had no doubt the two women would meet someday. Marissa was not the kind of lady who would pass up the chance to meet a true-life courtesan. The meeting would likely be kept secret from the rest of society, but Marissa wouldn't be able to resist. Jude wasn't sure he could've said that of any other woman of the ton.
She looked up then, and her body froze when their eyes met. Jude raised the book high enough so she could see it, and her shoulders relaxed. Much to Jude's surprise, she walked toward him with a smile.
"Good morning, Marissa."
Her cheeks were pink from the sun, and her smile uncharacteristically soft as she sank down to the grass beside him. The skirts of her yellow dress belled out around her before she patted them down. "You're not riding."
"I had a book to read."
"And what do you think?"
"It's admirably emotional. And enjoyably overwrought."
"Cheeky."
He laid the book on the grass near her foot. Her bare toes curled quickly beneath the yellow fabric. Jude stared for a moment, wishing he'd noticed her naked feet sooner. "I think Wendell is a bully and Chloe a bit soft in the head. But Danielle makes the story worthwhile."
Her eyes lit. "Truly?"
"What did you think of it?"
"Well." She tugged a piece of grass from the lawn and twirled it. "My fingers itched to slap Chloe into some sense, and I yearned for Danielle to give Wendell a good set-down. But it gets much more lively when the handsome gentleman moves in next door."
"Oh, my. A handsome gentleman. I'll have to keep reading then."
She plucked another blade of grass. "I have news. One of the guests heard talk about me, but I think Edward convinced her that Mr. White and I only argued."
"And what of Mr. White? Will he spread tales when he realizes your feelings haven't changed?"
"I don't know. I hope not. It cannot flatter him either."
"I'm sure he'll leave his own name out of it."
Marissa shook her head, and one tendril of her hair escaped the braid to caress her face. "I'm hopeful he isn't so spiteful. And I'm certain there will be no other ... consequences. And if there aren't.. . what will you do?"
"Me? I suppose I will simply go back to being a bachelor."
"I would not have hard feelings between us."
When she dropped the second blade of grass, Jude reached idly for her hand, aware of her surprise when her fingers twitched against his. But she didn't pull away. "There will be no hard feelings on my part. I accept you on your own terms, Marissa."
"That's odd. For a man."
"Perhaps." He stroked his thumb along her palm, and her fingers curled as if to keep him close.
"It is very strange that you know such an intimate embarrassment about me. I'm at a disadvantage."
"Ask me anything then. I'll answer truthfully."
Her sharp glance made clear that she'd been hoping he would make that offer. When he slid his fingers in between hers, she responded by holding tight.
"So... your mother is a companion."
"Yes."
"That must mean... the household must have been unusual. Did you live there?"
"In my early childhood, yes. And then I sometimes
spent summers with her later. It wasn't so strange, really."
"Oh."
She stared down at their hands, her cheeks delightfully pink.
"Is that what you wished to ask me?"
"I just..." Her words came quickly, as if she were afraid to breathe. "I just thought you must have associated with them. The women."
"I see. Shall I tell you the story of how I lost my innocence, then?"
"Yes! That's what... yes, it only seems fair!"
"I agree. Well, I was far younger than you. Only sixteen. As you suspected, she was a friend of my mother's."
Marissa's green eyes widened, and her hand tightened around his thumb as she leaned toward him. "A courtesan?" she breathed.
"Yes. I'd been in love with her for two miserable years. She was the most beautiful, ethereal woman I'd ever seen. I wrote her poetry and made calf eyes at her. I was insufferable, I'm sure. But she finally decided I was old enough. She granted mercy and took me to her bed. By Clod, I thought I would never stop loving her after that."
She laughed. "But you did?"
"A young boy's fancy is nothing if not convenient. I was in love with the neighbor's new kitchen maid not three weeks later."
"Ah, so you fall in love often?"
He slowly raised their clasped hands to his mouth and pressed a chaste kiss to her knuckles. Marissa watched his mouth closely, as if she were waiting for
more. "I have since learned the difference between lust and love. Men are easily distracted by lust."
"But not women?" She kept the words light, but he heard the edge of worry in them.
"Some women as well. It is nothing to be ashamed of, Marissa."
"I am not beset by lust! It's only that I like to dance."
"Of course."
She yanked her hand away. "It's true!"
"I'm sure that's why you evaluate your partners' legs so carefully. To be sure they will step lightly."
Her eyes went so wide he could see the white all around. "I enjoy fashion! And beautiful fabric!"
"Come, Marissa. Tell the truth. What you enjoy is ogling men's limbs."
Color rushed to her face so quickly that Jude worried she might grow dizzy and lip over. He put a hand under he
r elbow to steady her.
"There's no need to lie," he said softly. "Not to me."
She drew in a slow breath. Then she set her shoulders back and nodded. "Yes, I like to look at them."
"There, that wasn't so hard, was it?"
"I don't understand how I can be the only one! They walk around with their legs just... out. They wear trousers so snug, and everyone pretends that we're not supposed to look as they strut about like peacocks, and—" She cut off her own rant and drooped as if her strings had been cut.
Jude raised an eyebrow. "I'm rather disappointed not to be included in your diatribe. You haven't snuck a peek at my legs yet, Miss York?" He crossed his ankles and watched her eyes slide down his body. He wore riding breeches and boots, and he knew she would look.
"I have. You are very... strong."
Despite her disapproving tone, Jude fell a coil of satisfaction warm his chest.
"They look very hard."
His thighs tightened at the shock of her words. "Are men's legs not supposed to be hard?" When she shrugged, her gaze skittering back to his legs, Jude's heart beat faster. "All that looking and no touching?"
"Hardly any at all," she sighed miserably.
Jude's nerves sang with awareness, but he kept his expression calm. "Ah, but you are betrothed now. In theory."
She finally looked up al him, brows tightening even as her mouth curved up. 'Jude Bertrand, are you inviting me to explore your limbs?"
"Would a gentleman encourage that sort of thing?" He stretched his arms high, then folded them behind his head and closed his eyes. "But if I were to take a nap, I suppose I'd be at your mercy."
"Jude," she whispered. "I can't. What if someone sees?"
"Shush. We're in the shade, and I'm asleep." But he wasn't asleep. He was tense with painful anticipation. Would she dare? He was mad to even suggest such a thing, and yet he could never stop himself from goading her.
When he realized he was holding his breath, Jude made himself breathe.
"Of the two of us," Marissa murmured, "I'm not sure who is the more scandalous." And then her hand touched his thigh.
It was all innocent touch, if such a thing could be. A gentle laying of a hand just above his knee. And yet a faint tremor shook his bones. The touch stayed tentative and light for a very long time. When he offered no response, she shaped her fingers to his leg.
"You're very solid." Her hand inched up, a shocking slide of faint pressure.
He'd be a damn sight more solid in a few minutes if he let this continue.
She squeezed him lightly, testing his give. "I prefer you in breeches, I think."
"Mm."
The supple buckskin warmed beneath her hand. When she slid her touch toward the inside of his leg, Jude felt his cock thicken. Christ.
He tried counting to ten. He tried thinking of hunting. He tried to recount the names of all his childhood tutors. But when she made a little humming sound and slid her hand slowly higher, Jude dragged his foot up and propped himself up on his elbows. She jerked her arm back.
"Thought I heard something," he said, and the words set her head turning back and forth to try to locate the nonexistent intruder. On another day, in another place, he'd let Marissa explore his thighs as much as she liked. But not here in the garden. Not when the very thought made him throb.
Goading Marissa York could prove a very dangerous exercise indeed.
Chapter 7
Marissa hurried down the stairs, surprised by her eagerness to see Jude again. After luncheon, he'd asked if she'd like to ride to the old church, and Marissa had happily accepted. Her mother was busy gathering up players for the next stage drama, and Marissa was not in the mood for bad acting.
But her leaf-green habit lightened the weight on her heart, and the thought of a ride through the warm autumn with Jude ... it sounded almost as lovely as dancing.
Lovelier perhaps, because when Mr. Dunwoody stepped into the hall, stopping her rush, Marissa felt nothing but regret. "Oh, Mr. Dunwoody. Good afternoon." He wore riding breeches just as Jude did, as the men all rode during the day. But Mr. Dunwoody looked very different in his. Elegant, of course. Or just. . . ornamental? She shook the thought from her head as Dunwoody offered a friendly bow. "I'm off for a ride," she explained with an awkward wave toward the corridor.
"Oh, of course. Forgive me for keeping you. I only wished to ask if I might escort you into dinner tonight."
For a moment, her brain told her to say yes, to cultivate a relationship with anyone but Jude. But she'd made a decision today, and she'd honor it.
"I'm flattered, Mr. Dunwoody, but I fear I've already committed myself."
"Ah. I see. A new suitor, perhaps?" he leased. His words pricked her with both excitement and guilt.
"I..." Her blush worked to the advantage of the story they were wearing, but it was entirely genuine, all the same.
Mr. Dunwoody smiled wider. "I'm relieved to see you looking more yourself. And, uh ... no word from the Samuel family as of yet?"
That erased her awkwardness, and Marissa matched his grin. "They must arrive today."
Marissa was still smiling when she swept out the front door to find the groom waiting with her horse. Her smile didn't falter until she saw Jude, mounted and waiting as well.
It wasn't the sight of Jude that stopped her though. It was his horse.
The horse—if such a beast could be graced with that name—was huge, and just as sturdy and inelegant as Jude himself. In fact, the mount was downright ugly. A gray gelding that was fading to white in splotches and stripes, the poor thing now looked like an old carthorse dingy with grime.
Marissa look her time mounting and arranging skirts, giving herself a moment to recover. But when she looked toward him again, she couldn't help but wince.
"He looks as if he will be put out to pasture soon," she ventured as they walked their horses toward the road. "Perhaps you should find another mount."
He glanced down and patted the beast's neck. "He's only ten, and his gait is perfect." "Oh."
Jude spared a look for her mount. "If I braid his mane, will you like him better?"
Her mare, a sweet, feisty girl named Cleopatra, tossed her head as if she knew she was the focus of attention. "It's only one braid!"
"She's lovely."
Marissa felt he was making some annoying point about her vanity, but she was distracted from her frown by the appearance of Harry and Aidan riding in. The men waved and nodded, as if they both agreed that Marissa and Jude were doing a good job of keeping up appearances.
Aidan's face looked younger in the warm sunlight, as it often did after a good ride. In London he never seemed happy.
"My brother," she murmured to Jude. "I'm happy you're a friend to him."
"What do you mean?"
"For a long while there, he only spent time with Harry, and that was begrudging."
"Ah. I suppose I have seen too much tragedy wrought from love. I did not find his story romantic, so he likes me."
Marissa nodded. The whole of the ton seemed to think Aidan nothing more than a dramatic figure to be used as a centerpiece at dinner parties. A young, handsome bachelor with a story that made the ladies swoon with sighed delight. The love of his life had been snatched from his arms by the cruel hand of death, and he mourned her to this day. What gentle heart could resist that story?
Aidan hated them all.
"You've been a good friend to him, I understand."
"Well, we have common interests. Between his ships and my father's investments, we often travel in the same circles."
"Really? Do you work for your father? I had no idea."
"I do. He enjoys dabbling in his own investments on occasion, and I enjoy having some industrious way to occupy my time. Idle hands make for the devil's work, you know." His gaze slid to her. "Perhaps you need more than stitching to keep you busy."
"Oh, aren't you clever?" She tried to leave it at that, but she found her body actually leaning toward h
is, curious to know more about this man. Marissa readjusted her posture and tried to look less fascinated. "Where do you travel then?"
"Well, France quite often, for obvious reasons. And all over Europe. Italy, Spain, Portugal. Constantinople was fascinating, of course."
"Constantinople? You've been there?" Well, there was no disguising her eagerness. She didn't even try. She could not imagine such an exotic place.
"I have." His eyes studied her, glinting with pleased assessment. "If we marry, I'd welcome your company when I travel. I'd be pleased to visit the Ottoman again."
She blinked several times, shocked and happy with his words. "Truly? I've... I've never considered.... Would I like it, do you think?"
His smile curved to a wicked angle. "You would love it."
She flushed at his words. The lone of them bespoke admiration and pride and a sure knowledge of her very nature. How could those simple words leave her flustered and overly warm? Marissa clutched her reins too tightly and shifted in the saddle. Cleopatra stepped nervously before relaxing into an easy gait again.
Marissa swallowed and urged her to a trot. She wanted to run, but the mare wasn't warm enough yet, even if Marissa was. She'd never been flustered by talk of travel before. Everything about Jude Bertrand was so very different. So unexpectedly intriguing. How did he make her need things from him that she didn't even want?
For instance, right now, she was staring hard toward the horizon, counting the seconds until she could push her marc to a full, hard run. The old church was only miles ahead, and she and Jude would be alone there. When they arrived they would dismount to explore the ruins. They'd disappear behind crumbling walls and overgrown orchards. Even a passing traveler would not be able to spot them.
Surely, he would kiss her, finally.
Finally.
Marissa reminded herself that she'd only known him for two days. And then she urged her horse to a gallop.
Chapter 8
Nothing.
He'd done nothing at all. Not a kiss. Not a stolen touch of her hip. Not a winking suggestion that she resume her exploration of his legs while they were away from the manor.
A Little Bit Wild Page 6
