"You shouldn't have let him go. I warned him not to set foot here again."
"I think his intentions were sincere, for whatever that's worth."
"Hm." Her brother's eyes swept down Jude's body. "There was a scuffle, I take it?"
Jude suppressed the urge to check his buttons. "Er . .. yes, but nothing too violent."
"Well, young lady," Edward continued, clearly-dismissing Jude's mussed clothing as meaningless, "I suggest you retire to your chambers and think about what you've done."
Her cheeks darkened a bit, and Jude could imagine how pink they must be. "I am a grown woman. You can't order me about."
Edward's frown twisted into outrage, but Marissa waved a hand before he could shout. "Oh, bother. I'll go. I feel quite spent as it is."
That cheeky minx. She ambled off toward the house while Edward and Jude both stared after her.
"That girl will be the death of me," Edward muttered, but Jude was quite sure he was going to be the one praying for mercy before the month was out.
Chapter 12
She'd managed to avoid Jude for a whole day without ever admitting to herself that she was hiding. She wasn't. She just felt. . . awkward.
Not quite anxious, and yet her heart would start pounding during quiet moments, and then she'd suddenly remember. What she'd done. What he'd done.
Perched tensely on the edge of her bed, Marissa put her lingers to her lips as if she could hold in the emotions that pressed at her throat. Excitement and fear and joy and regret. .. an intense combination. In that moment, she felt almost as though she were being chased. And as if she wanted to be caught.
But that made no sense, so she had no idea what to say to him or even how to look at him. It was simpler just to stay busy with Beth or her mother, or any of the other women doing singularly feminine things throughout the day.
But then that strange anxious yearning would rise. That niggling feeling that sonic knowledge lurked just past her notice. And then she would remember again.
Jude.
She'd known that men could bring intense pleasure. She'd discovered that quite accidentally two years before, though she'd been aware of pleasantness before then. But it was still so surprising that it could be Jude. Jude, whom she'd never so much as looked at.
If it had been some other man, she supposed she'd have simply simpered at him at their next meeting. Offered a blushing smile and a flutter of her lashes as well as a few healed looks. But she'd never so much as flirted with Jude, and how ridiculous she'd feel glancing through her lashes and giggling like a silly miss.
No, she had no idea how to face him now, and yet she had no choice.
A half hour before, she'd finally got her proof. There would be no child, and she had to tell him. It wasn't fair to drag this out longer. Assuming Mr. White did not spread tales, there'd be no need for a hasty marriage. No need for a marriage at all. After a few weeks, her family would quietly put it about that the betrothal had been called off. No one would be surprised. Her family name would remain unsullied, if more associated with melodrama than ever, and everything would return to normal. She might be damaged goods, but a secretly imperfect wife was a far cry from a fiancée already pregnant with another man's child.
So why was she sitting on her bed with her hands clenched in dread? Why wasn't she racing down to tell Jude the good news?
When her door opened, Marissa took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh that sounded suspiciously maudlin.
Her mother didn't notice however. "You wanted to see me, dear?"
"Yes, Mother. I'm now certain there will be no child, so you needn't worry any longer on that score. I understand that there may yet be consequences to my reputation, but if there are not. . . there'll be no reason for this betrothal to move forward."
"Oh, Marissa!" her mother yelped. "Oh, my sweet girl, this is wonderful news! Simply wonderful! I had not even dared to picture your wedding day to that man. His presence is so overpowering, is it not? And he's really not precisely respectable, despite the duke."
"Mm."
"Well, this is stupendous news. We'll wait a decent amount of time before calling off, of course, and there must be a reasonably interesting story, though I suppose we cannot cast Mr. Bertrand in a foul light after the kindness he's done us. Yes, we will have to tread carefully here, but reasonableness is so dreadfully boring!" She paused to take a deep breath, then swooped down to hug Marissa. "Oh, my darling, I'm so happy for you. You must be so relieved! I'll go tell the baron this very moment."
She always called Edward "the baron," unless, of course, calling him "my son!" evoked more drama. "I would prefer to tell Jude first, Mother. It's only decent. Would you wait a bit?"
"Yes, yes, you must tell him first. I'll tell the baron just before we go in to dinner. How's that?"
Nodding, she met her mother's thrilled smile with one of her own, though her heart felt heavy as lead in her chest and the smile only made it worse.
But as her mother breezed from the room, trailing a happy hum in her wake, Marissa forced herself to her feet and blamed her sick feeling on the circumstances. Of course she fell grouchy and out of sorts. 'Twas only expected.
She walked slowly down the stairs, each step marking four beats of her heart. She knew this because she found herself counting them, marking the time, slowing her pace to get it just right.
There was a small possibility she was stalling. But whatever her stalling techniques, the marble approached, and she was soon standing on it, and trying to decide which way to go. Her brother's study seemed a good bet, but Marissa found it empty. The library and drawing rooms were empty as well. Everyone was dressing for dinner, it seemed.
Marissa snuck a look up the stairs she'd just descended. It wouldn't be proper to go to Jude's room, but then nothing about their relationship was proper. He'd come to her rooms once already. And certainly making love with him last night in the gazebo hadn't been proper. Or whatever it was that they'd done the night before. Was there another name for that hot, tangled embrace? "Kissing" and "touching" were not up to the description.
For a moment, she was lost in that memory. It enveloped her and pulled her back into Jude Bertrand's arms. Her body seemed to rearrange its functions, until parts that normally lay quiet roused themselves to demanding life. And parts of her that normally worked with seamless skill, her- knees, her-lungs, her beating heart... they each seemed determined to ruin themselves.
She shouldn't sneak up to his room. It wouldn't be wise. But even after she took a deep breath and steadied her heart, she still felt compelled.
If she waited, she'd feel back to normal again, back to her anxiety and cowardice. So Marissa set her foot on the first step and started up. Only two heartbeats per stair this time, as she rushed toward something she should not do. This seemed a pattern for her, but there was no time to ponder that now.
She turned toward the south wing of the manor, and spotted a maid ducking out of a room.
"Mr. Bertrand is needed in the study immediately. Which room is he in?"
"The green room, miss."
Marissa hurried on. Down the hall. Around the corner. There.
She would have hesitated. Would have stood there and agonized for a few more moments, but what if she was seen?
Marissa tapped her knuckles frantically on his door. He must have been very close. She heard him say, "Yes?" even as the doorknob began to turn.
Certain someone else would peck from their room at any moment, Marissa slid through the opening while he was still swinging the door open.
'Jude," she whispered, pushing the door closed behind her. He was so close that she had to tilt her head back to see his face, and the scent of his skin wrapped around her as she pressed her back against the door.
But no, she wasn't pressing. It was Jude, hands on her shoulders, pinning her gently to the door as he ducked down to kiss her.
His mouth was far more effective kindling than her memories of his kiss. As she opened
her mouth to him, her blood swelled within her, putting pressure on her most sensitive parts. He tasted divine, and the thrust of his tongue made her legs shake with the memory of his fingers pushing inside her.
It had been so ... naughty. As wild as she'd ever felt. As wicked as he'd named her.
Now she wanted to do it again. She wanted to stretch her arms above her head and let him touch her everywhere. Let him strip her dress from her body and see her nakedness. But she was in no condition for that, she suddenly remembered. And that was why she'd come.
Shaking with the strain of it, Marissa put her hand to his chest and turned her face away. Jude's mouth didn't give up its quest to distract her. He ducked his head and sucked at her throat, sending sparks of fire trailing down to her fingertips. "Wait," she panted. "Jude ..."
When he lifted his head, his eyes were dark and drowning in want. For a moment, she was caught in their depths, sinking in----
"You were hiding today," he murmured. "From me."
That sobered her, and her body suddenly felt real again and weighed down by the truth. "No. I only ... I didn't know what to say. ..."
"Nothing," he murmured. "Nothing at all." He kissed her again, and, sweet Lord, she wanted so badly to lose herself in it. Give up her body to that gorgeous weakness again.
But she pulled away. "Jude. We need to talk."
He straightened with slow deliberation, and his eyes lost their wild darkness by small degrees. "Ah. I see. Of course."
She felt too cool now, pressed to the wood with the distance between them measurable in lonely inches. They were two separate people suddenly, and now they always would be, and she hadn't realized... that kiss had been the very last. She shouldn't have turned away.
"I'm sorry," she said, and Jude frowned and stepped another few inches away.
"I'm not with child."
"You've bled?"
Her face Hashed to a prickly burn. "Yes."
"A typical amount?"
"Good God, why do you insist on mortifying me?"
"I eavesdropped on my mother and her friends constantly as a child. This conversation is not new to me."
"It's new to me! I've never discussed this with anyone."
He shrugged. "Well? Is it normal?"
"Yes!"
"Then congratulations. You avoided disaster."
"As did you."
He inclined his head, his face giving no hint to his feelings.
"I do so appreciate what you've done for me. I don't know another man who would have offered the same."
"I am exceptional." Surely that was a hint of sharpness in those words?
Marissa curled her fingers against the wood, wishing she had something to hold on to. "You are exceptional. An exceptional friend."
"Of course."
"And I'm sure you're relieved not to have to sacrifice yourself on my behalf."
"Oh, quite."
She would've thought he was angry if she hadn't witnessed his fury the night before. His face wasn't twisted with rage, it was simply a bit more stiff than normal. But there was no sign of a smile, crooked or otherwise.
Perhaps he was only... serious? Concerned? Marissa stared up at him, more confused than ever. "You'll probably want to leave soon?"
Now he frowned. "Why would I want to leave?"
"Because most of the guests are departing tomorrow. I assume you'd only planned to stay because you... might have been needed."
He watched her for a long moment, and his gaze dipped down her body so briefly that she wasn't sure she'd seen it.
"No," he finally said. "I hadn't planned on leaving soon."
She didn't like the way her pulse sped at those words. "But why?"
"Aidan invited me to stay as long as I like. I like it here. In fact, I'm considering renting a cottage."
"A cottage!"
"Yes, my only home is in London, and I enjoy this part of the country."
Her pulse tripped and stumbled now, panicking at his innocuous words. "Here? I see. Of course." She squeezed her fists harder, until the nails dug into her palms. "Well, I do thank you. Sincerely. And I enjoyed our time together."
One of his dark eyebrows rose to mock her.
"That is ... I... well, I will see you at dinner, Mr. Bertrand."
His jaw jumped at that, and Marissa fumbled for the door knob. Why did she feel she was doing something wrong? Why did she feel ashamed now, when she hadn't felt it before?
"Marissa."
She froze at the soft strength in his voice.
"We are still betrothed."
"I-I suppose we are. Until everything settles, at least."
"Agreed."
She was so flustered that she forgot any idea of stealth, and simply slipped from the room as quickly as she could. Only when she found herself standing in the corridor did she realize her mistake. Luck saved her from stumbling into another guest, but she didn't pause to savor it. Marissa sprinted around the corner, only able to force herself to slow when she could no longer see Jude's door.
This nightmare of hers was almost over, and as she walked sedately toward her room, chin held high, Marissa convinced herself that the sick feeling in her stomach was relief.
What else could it possibly be?
Chapter 13
"I just don't understand what he's still doing here," Marissa hissed as they ascended the steps of the Framershams' front entrance.
Aidan glanced down at her with an arch look. "He's my guest, and I am still here, so I gather that's why. The question, darling sister, is why his presence is causing you so much bother. Jude means nothing to you, or so you say."
It had been a week. A week of guilt and uncertainty.
Turning her head, she caught sight of Jude twenty feet behind her, gallantly escorting Aunt Ophelia up the steps. Cousin Harry followed with Beth and Nanette, and Edward had already swept Mother inside and out of the cold.
"He reminds me of something I should never have done. That's all."
"Well, I'm pleased you're capable of feeling regret, Marissa," Aidan drawled. "I wasn't sure you could. And I tell you, if I were your eldest brother, I would have turned you over my knee and paddled your backside for what you did."
She set her jaw and thought, Hypocrite, but she wasn't rash enough to say it aloud. Aidan's temper could crack like lightning, and she didn't care to face that storm in a public place. Once again, she felt the sharp loss for the brother he'd once been. "Of course I feel regret. I never meant it to affect any of you. I just want this incident to be over, and Jude reminds me that it is not."
"Good, because it isn't. It's not yet clear that the talk has died down, and we still have no idea what Peter White will say. If you're not feeling relieved, I'd say that's a sign of intelligence."
"Pardon me if I don't simper with gratitude at your assessment."
His bark of laughter was loud and harsh, but it was laughter, at least, and when he laid his hand over hers and squeezed, Marissa found that his eyes had softened. "You were born into this family, so you were bound to suffer a scandal or two. Let's hope this is the worst of them."
She longed to turn and hug him, but they were entering the hall now, so Marissa only smiled. "Will you dance with me tonight, Aidan?"
"I am here," he sighed. "I suppose I may as well dance."
"So gallant."
"As ever," he agreed, turning her for a kiss on the check before he walked away. She knew from experience that he was off to fortify himself for the evening with a few glasses of brandy. But Marissa was going to fortify herself with dancing.
A quarter hour later, and she'd already greeted the hostess and danced with two gentlemen she'd never met. The Framersham country ball was one of her favorites, for they always invited too many people and sent their footmen out in force with glasses of champagne punch.
In the mayhem, it was easy to lose sight of Jude and the reminder of the past two weeks of tension. Here, she was back to her old self, and when a beautiful young ma
n approached her for the next dance, Marissa didn't have to fake her fluttering response. She'd met him twice in London, and his sky blue eyes and smooth cheeks had inspired several fantasies of kissing and more. So her enthusiasm was quite real when Mr. Erikson led her out into the center of the dancers. Her body tingled quite recklessly at the touch of his gloved hand on her back and the thought of him wrapping his arms around her. Oh, my.
When the dance called for separation, she took the opportunity to ogle his lean, graceful legs. But then something went wrong. The cut of his trousers was splendid, revealing the line of his thighs perfectly. But the line struck her as a bit. . . underwhelming. His coat was divinely constructed, but even with the expert padding in the shoulders... well, she certainly couldn't imagine Mr. Erickson picking her up and carrying her into a secret bower to make love.
Marissa forced herself to smile wider when he tossed her a flirtatious wink. It wasn't the carrying that mattered, after all. It was the kissing and the stroking, and surely none of that would be affected by the anemic color of his skin. That was only proof that he was always careful to wear a hat while riding.
His mouth looked made for kissing, after all, so rosy and lull. Yes, Mr. Erickson would give lovely, gentle, skilled kisses, she was sure of it.
But somehow as she slid past him and took the next dancer's hand, Marissa's thoughts of warm, skilled kisses twisted. Now she was thinking of being devoured. Of a mouth demanding that she open and yield. Of hands that lifted her into place and held her there for anything the gentleman might wish to do to her.
And when she swung back around toward her partner, he filled a disappointingly small area of her vision. But he was pretty. There was no doubt of that, and she could happily stare into his blue eyes for hours.
So that was what she focused on during the last steps of the dance. His eyes and the way the smiled at her, crinkling with delight at her attention.
By the time he escorted her off the dance floor, he seemed perfectly nice again. Not inadequate. Not disappointing.
Until she turned and found herself face to face with Jude Bertrand.
A Little Bit Wild Page 11
