than other gentlemen. Even when he was closely shaven, she could see the dark threat of whiskers beneath his skin.
Yes, he was altogether too rough. Yet he kissed like some sort of wicked angel.
"I'll never be fit for public presentation if you say things like that to me, Marissa."
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing," he muttered.
"Might we kiss more?"
Jude closed his eyes and shook his head. "Edward will come looking for us shortly, I'm sure. Anyway, it won't be good for my nerves."
Marissa felt like pouting, but she wasn't about to let Jude know. So she sniffed, "You make the oddest jokes," and pretended to straighten her skirts. "Are you ready, then?"
"I think I'm past offending, yes."
"Did you muss my hair?"
He made a show of tilting his head this way and that, then walked slowly around her, sending her body into tight awareness of his gaze. When he reached her front again, Jude stole a very quick kiss. "You look perfect." That easy kiss felt so natural that it startled her. And when she took his arm, she felt the same strangeness. Three days ago, she hadn't known him. Two days before, he'd been an unattractive acquaintance. Now he felt like a friend.
Like everything else to do with Jude, it made no sense, but there was no point poking at it with a stick. She should just be happy he was tolerable.
No one seemed to notice them when they entered the room. Even Beth didn't look up, absorbed as she was with watching Mr. Dunwoody dance with Nanette.
But Edward had been watching, and when Marissa gave him a small nod, he walked toward the musicians, his mouth set in too grim a line.
He held up his hands, and the music faded to a stop, the harp trailing out as if the song did not wish to end.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I have wonderful news tonight, and I'm thrilled you are all here to share in our family's joy. Mr. Jude Bertrand, an honorable and good friend of the York family, has asked for my sister's hand in marriage, and I was only too happy to give them my blessing." A murmur of shock trembled through the room. "Please join me in sharing congratulations with the happy couple." He gestured toward them, and the whole room turned as one. "We are all very... happy... with the arrangement."
No one seemed to notice her brother's awkward ending. They probably hadn't heard past their gasps and whispers. Every single face was etched in some measure of disbelief.
Smiling, clutching Jude's arm, Marissa looked around and caught Mr. Dunwoody's gaze. His face looked slightly crooked, torn between disbelief and horror.
In fact, several of the faces looking back at her could conservatively be described as horrified. Marissa tried to smile more widely, but embarrassment made her lips stiff. Embarrassment for herself, if she was being honest, but also for Jude. Nobody clapped. Nobody made noises of encouragement. Not one person could believe that
Marissa York would marry this man. And of course, under any normal circumstances, she wouldn't, and that knowledge was a rough stone lodged in her stomach.
But when she glanced up to Jude, he looked not the least bit discomfited.
"I'm honored," he said loudly, "that Miss York would even turn a smile in my direction, and I'm humbled that she has accepted my offer."
"Here, here!" Edward called, and the room had no choice but to follow suit. Aidan began to applaud, and the rest echoed him. Finally, the music started again, and Marissa felt faint with relief. It was done. And there was no doubt that talk of their engagement would overshadow any other talk drifting about.
Jude offered her a wink as a few brave souls approached, and his good humor helped to steady her nerves. Any other man she knew would be red-faced and fuming at this point. But Jude was steady as ever. In that moment, his brutish size seemed the least important thing about him. His strength was something entirely more than muscles and bones.
They accepted strained congratulations for a few moments before Cousin Harry clapped Jude on the shoulder with a hearty laugh. He was in on the plan, of course, but his acting had always been impeccable. Dear Harry was the star in every one of her mother's productions, and he played this role with aplomb as well. His hug was warm and genuine. His congratulations hearty but still surprised. The tension in the room eased, and Marissa found herself relaxing as she laughed and hung on Jude's arm.
For a moment it almost felt real. She was happy, and she'd he married, and she would love this man. And then Marissa caught sight of Beth's face, frozen with shock, and she remembered that this was all a terrible mistake.
Chapter 9
Marissa pushed the horse hard through the chilled dawn air, clouds of steam billowing from its nose to slide past her boots and disappear into the gray light. She didn't enjoy the hunt, she didn't like jumping, but this she loved. Speed. A horse running so fast that Marissa felt she might fly.
She wished she could fly.
There'd been no dancing after Edward's announcement had been made. There'd been a drama to rehearse and friendly gambling and charades, but no dancing. Marissa had used that as an excuse to retire early. Really, she'd been trying to escape the subtle questions and sly looks of forty people trying to puzzle out her relationship with Jude.
Beth had looked more than puzzled. She'd seemed downright frightened, and when Marissa had heard a soft knock on her door close to midnight, she'd pretended to be asleep. She couldn't tell Beth the truth. If Marissa was with child, she'd be sure that no one but her immediate family knew the truth.
She would not dishonor Jude in that way, nor the child.
The thought slackened her grip, and the mare began to slow. There was the faintest fog this morning, and while Marissa could see clearly twenty yards ahead, the world began to recede at that point, as if the earth ceased to exist once it got too far from her. That was a blessing today, so she let Cleopatra trot for a distance before slowing her to a walk and turning back. Today, her loneliness was welcome.
She wasn't with child. She was so sure of that, but no one believed her. She felt exactly the same as she had before that night, not even changed in the way that she should be. What did that say about her? Was she cold or callous? Was she missing some essential femininity that made one a woman? She'd always felt different, though not one person around her had seemed to notice. Not her brothers. Not her parents. No one... until Jude had come along. He saw her, truly, but she didn't know if she wanted to be seen.
It felt like a violation, sometimes, not being able to control what he knew of her. He didn't know her secrets because she'd told them. He saw them written on her in gilt script.
But out here in the fog, she was safe and alone, and her future was as fuzzy as the line of trees to the west. Even her cold skin was a relief from the hot blushes that had taken it so often of late.
Still, she could not stay lost forever, and the men were likely gone now on their morning hunt. If she could only find a way to avoid Beth as well . . .
Hallway back to the manor, hoofbeats approached.
For some reason, she knew it must he Jude, and she braced herself for his all-seeing eyes. He would likely ride up and take one look at her and ask why she was hiding in the fog and feeling sorry for herself .
Cheeky wretch.
She was ready for him when the horse finally materialized on the lane ahead. So ready that she felt a flash of disappointment when she saw the dark muzzle and pale white star on the horse's nose. It wasn't Jude's great ugly beast, so it couldn't be Jude on his back.
The figure raised a hand, and Marissa stifled a sigh. She knew that elegantly slim arm.
Mr. Dunwoody. Damnation.
She offered a somber greeting as he drew near.
"Miss York, I was hoping to find you on your ride this morning. The stable boy said you'd gone this way."
"Don't let me keep you, sir. I'm already returning as I can hardly feel my nose."
"Ah." His smile flashed for only a moment. "Please, if I might escort you back ..." He turned his horse, and the geldi
ng's elegant legs pranced in impatience. It was a beautiful horse, its lines as perfect as the seams of Mr. Dunwoody's coat. Marissa swept a wistful gaze over the gelding. She did so love beautiful things.
"Your betrothal came as quite a surprise."
"Mr. Bertrand has been a friend of the family for years now."
"Yes, well ... I guess I did not notice him among your many admirers."
"Come, there were not so many."
"It seemed an intimidating horde to me." His
smile tried for self-deprecation but only looked worried. "Are you quite certain all is well, Miss York? After the argument with Mr. White and now this sudden betrothal, I can't help but worry."
"Worry about what, exactly?"
Now his familiar blush returned, and Mr. Dunwoody shook his head. "I apologize. It's none of my concern."
She should have corrected him, if only to be polite, but she couldn't. It was none of his concern.
The rigidity left his spine in tiny increments. Finally, he turned toward her with his normal smile. "All that aside .. ."
She smiled hack, and wondered if she might ever have approached Mr. Dunwoody with her predicament. She couldn't imagine it. He looked so very... young. Almost certainly, he would've reacted to her story with horror and shock. He would've been disgusted or outraged. Under no circumstances could she imagine Mr. Dunwoody matter-of-factly asking if she'd bled yet.
Wincing at the thought, she faced the outline of the manor beginning to reveal itself through the white.
Beautiful or not, Jude Bertrand was a man who could see her through this haze. Her doubts about him had floated far away.
"Well then," Dunwoody finally continued. "May I ask what you think of Miss Samuel?"
Marissa's heart leapt. "Oh, Beth is wonderful. She's my dearest friend. She's kind and loyal, and I'm sure you noticed that she's an excellent dancer. So graceful."
"Of course. She's lovely and soft-spoken. Very nice."
"Yes."
"What of Miss-Nanette Samuel? You must he close to her as well."
Her leaping heart landed in a heap atop her stomach. "Nanette? Um, yes, I have spent time with her as well."
"She's beautiful and so lively, wouldn't you say?"
"Mm." Her mind scrambled. If she spoke her true feelings, Mr. Dunwoody would likely discount them as the bitter words of a rival. But if she complimented Nanette, he would believe that too well. She took a deep breath. "Nanette is beautiful," she said, swallowing back her warnings. If he was smart, he'd be able to take her simple compliment for what it was. And if he were worthy of Beth, he would be able to see the truth himself.
"Yes," he murmured. "She is that."
Marissa gripped her reins tighter and hoped she'd done the right thing. But now she had another secret to keep from Beth.
Strangely enough, she found herself yearning to get Jude alone and tell him her troubles. A very odd feeling to have about a man, wanting to talk with him. Very odd indeed.
Chapter 10
Marissa hadn't come down to luncheon, and Jude was growing worried. The woman loved to eat, though she took such ladylike bites, people didn't notice that her last bite was often from a third serving. How she managed to stay so thin was beyond Jude's understanding.
He frowned down at the carpet as he paced along the hallway.
He'd sent Aidan to find out what the matter was, and her brother had come back to report she was taking a nap. Aidan had gone on his happy way, but Jude couldn't stop worrying.
Was she sick? Or was she regretting the betrothal? He didn't care to see the woman tortured. He truly believed they were compatible or he'd never have volunteered. Did she understand that?
Impatient with his maudlin mood, Jude decided to simply ask her the question himself and headed toward the second floor and Marissa's chambers.
She didn't answer the first soft knock, so he tried again, then wondered if waking her from a nap was counterintuitive to his goal. He had the feeling that Marissa York would not trip lightly from sleep.
"What is it?" she called just as he was turning away.
He tensed in surprise. "It's Jude."
Silence.
"I wanted to check on you."
She murmured something.
Leaning close to the door, Jude thought he caught the word "men," but he couldn't make out much more.
"Just a moment," she said more loudly.
And so Jude found himself standing in the corridor like a child awaiting punishment. A few eternal minutes later, Marissa opened the door and pulled him into her room.
And Jude gawked like a naughty boy.
She looked beautiful. Her normally styled-to-perfection hair was still braided, but the strawberry-blond braid hung down to curve over her shoulder. Her checks and lips were rosy as if she'd been curled beneath warm covers. Her eyes were heavy lidded with sleep. He'd see her like this every morning if they married.
"Would you care for tea?" she asked.
"You're beautiful."
Her brow furrowed with skepticism as she touched the end of her braid with a snort. "You're either mad or a liar. I've been napping."
"Are you ill?"
Her hand went to her stomach, drawing his eve to the soft white peignoir she wore. "No. I only had trouble sleeping last night."
"The announcement?"
Gaze falling to his shoes, she shook her head.
"Not really. I can't tell Beth the truth. I don't want to avoid her, but I don't know what to say."
"Tell her that I kissed you and you couldn't refuse me. Those things are true, after all, if not in that order."
She snuck a tiny smile at that. "You want me to convince her that I love you?"
"Would she believe you?"
"I don't think so. I wrote to her a week ago, after all, and somehow forgot to mention you."
"A tragic oversight." Unable to resist the lovely picture she presented, he stroked the backs of his fingers over her rosy cheek. "Then why don't you tell her that I make you feel things you've never felt before. Would she believe that?" Her cheek grew warmer against his knuckles, and he was sure she leaned her face more fully into his touch.
Her gaze rose to meet his, eyes flashing green heat. "She might."
He couldn't kiss her. Not now. Not in her chambers when she wore that flowing white gown and nothing else. She'd be soft right now if he touched her. Soft and.... He dropped his hand and stepped back.
"I finished your book. You were right. The handsome gentleman did save the day."
Her eyes narrowed with irritation. "Mm. Who is that woman to you?"
"What woman?" He wondered if his face looked as dumbfounded as he felt.
"Patience Wellingsly. Is she your lover?"
"What?" His mind spun with the change of topic. "No. Of course not."
"Then why does she look at you as if she wants to he devoured?"
He shook his head. "Perhaps because I've refused to take a bite?"
She crossed her arms and glared at him. "I don't believe you."
"Marissa." His brain finally caught up to the topic, and Jude registered a shocking fact. Marissa York was jealous. Over him. "I have never so much as kissed Patience Wellingsly."
"Well then, that puts me a full minute ahead of her in your distribution of intimacy. A comforting lead."
He didn't point out that she was jealous. She'd only deny it. But there was one thing she might not deny. "Are you complaining about a lack of kisses, Miss York?"
"Well, what is the point of being betrothed if one can't even enjoy kisses? I was kissed more often before!"
"Were you? By whom?"
Her chin inched up. "Men."
"Are you sure?"
"Why do you keep saying that? What is this great divide in your mind that sets men apart from boys?"
This time when he stepped toward her, Marissa stepped away. Then she seemed to realize what she'd done and stood her ground, shoulders back and chin high. And when he kissed her
, she leaned into him, lingers spreading open on his chest.
He didn't lease her this time, but kissed her fully. She tasted of sweet, hot tea, and she was soft. Very soft. The layers of thin fabric did nothing to conceal the feel of her curves when his hands touched her hips. She wore no corset. She wore practically nothing at all.
When she sighed into his mouth and pressed her entire body more firmly against his, Jude groaned and told himself to set her away. Instead he shifted her toward her bed. A natural instinct. An awful idea. But he was all instinct now, as her tongue stroked his in eager hunger.
Her passion had stolen his willpower away. Her hands eased beneath his coat and snuck over his chest. Her knee rubbed restless between his. Her soft noises seemed to wind around him and squeeze till he couldn't breathe.
He eased her toward the bed until her legs touched the mattress, then laid her slowly onto the goose down. "If I were a boy, I'd probably slide my hand beneath your neckline right now."
Her eyes popped open. "Oh!"
"I'd caress your breasts until I felt enough time had passed, and then I'd pull your dress up in bunches until you were sufficiently exposed. Does that sound familiar?"
She stared, wide-eyed, at him, her breath rushing past her lips.
"Then I'd rub your sex until it was slick enough for penetration. No more than that, mind you, because if I were a boy, my only goal would be mounting you."
"I see," she whispered.
"But I'm a man, Marissa, so I'll do this instead. ..." Lying on his side, Jude made sure to keep his weight off her body as he kissed her again. Naturally passionate as she was—or perhaps just naturally impatient—Marissa slid her hands behind his neck and pulled him closer. He smiled against her mouth and murmured his pleasure, but he did not touch her. He only kissed, exploring her mouth, discovering what she liked and what she didn't, memorizing the texture of her tongue against his.
When she shifted restlessly beneath him, Jude finally broke the kiss and dragged his mouth down her neck. He sucked at her neck and nibbled her shoulder and kissed his way down her breastbone, his cock aching more with every taste. Her encouraging whimpers drove him wild. He wanted her making those sounds while she took him inside her. Wanted her begging him to give her more.
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