A Little Bit Wild

by Victoria Dahl

  Marissa and her mother gasped. Somehow, asking for money seemed even more crude than trying to force her into marriage. Marissa crossed the room and dropped onto the sofa to clasp her mother's hand.

  "That's outrageous," Cousin Harry harked.

  Jude clasped his hands behind his back. "Five-thousand pounds or he'll do what?"

  They all looked to Edward, whose hand slowly fell to his side. He pressed his lips together and didn't answer.

  "What will he do?" Marissa demanded.

  Edward cleared his throat.

  "Oh, just read the note, Edward!" she cried, unable to take the suspense a moment longer.

  "Yes, do," her mother chimed in. Obviously, it would be impossible to gauge the appropriately dramatic action if one didn't know the details.

  He cleared his throat loudly again, then snapped the paper out in front of him. "It has come to my attention that the honorable Miss Marissa York was recently discovered in a scandalous embrace. If you care to protect Miss York's precious reputation, you will surrender five-thousand pounds at the location and time specified below."

  "I presume," Jude drawled, "that the letter isn't signed?"

  "It's not."

  "Then how can you know it's from White?"

  Edward's face turned red. His jaw clenched and jumped.

  Aidan propped his back against the wall and crossed his arms. "That could be from anyone."

  "He offers proof," Edward finally ground out.

  "Oh, Baron!" their mother cried. "Just read the letter!"

  His ears turned red as he looked down to the paper, and though Marissa had no idea what he might say, she started to raise a hand to stop him. She was too late.

  "If," Edward ground out, "you do not provide the money as directed, I will reveal to society that Miss York has been compromised. As proof, I'll offer a description of a heart-shaped birthmark very high on Miss York's thigh."

  A rush of sound seemed to enter the room with his words. Oh, part of it was certainly the gasps of those around her. Her mother, in particular, was letting out a distinctly warbling kind of wail. But there also seemed to be an ocean tide washing in and out of her hearing.

  "Does he think we won't kill him?" she heard Aidan snarl.

  "I made that quite clear," Jude responded with his usual calm.

  Cousin Harry asked the most pertinent question, "Does anyone know where he's gone?"

  The roaring waves swept in and out of her hearing until she finally identified the sound as rushing blood.

  "He's close, I don't doubt." Edward's voice was hard as stone. "I assumed he'd gone to stay with the Brashcars. His sister's family. They're only an hour or so away."

  "Well, then, "Aidan drawled. "Let's go pay him a visit, shall we? Apparently he needs a demonstration of just how much more valuable his life is than a measly five-thousand pounds."

  She heard the rustle and the mutter of men forming a mob, and Marissa realized she'd closed her eyes. She forced them open even though she wanted to hide forever. If she could only disappear from this moment, she wouldn't have to face the next.

  Tucking her hands into her lap to stop the shaking, she spoke. "It might not be him."

  Her words had no effect on the group. The preparations for murder and mayhem continued.

  Beside her, Marissa's mother muttered a continual stream of sound, the emphasis falling on words like blackmail and scandal and rapscallion. She sounded equal parts horrified and enthralled, but Marissa was sure she also detected a soupcon of joy.

  "It might not be him," she said more loudly.

  One by one, the men ceased their violent planning and turned toward her.

  "Pardon?" Edward said.

  "Peter White. He might not be the one who wrote the letter."

  Aidan rolled his eyes, as if she were a silly miss whose brain moved at a snail's pace. "Marissa, it's obviously him. Or an associate of his, at least."

  Every face held varying degrees of confusion as they awaited her explanation. Every face except Jude's. He raised an eyebrow, and his eyes glittered with amused curiosity.

  "There's a small possibility ..." Her dry throat formed the words roughly, so she coughed into her fist and tried again. "There's a small possibility that someone else could've written that letter."

  Realization took hold of Aidan's face first, then Edward's. Jude's eyes fairly glittered with laughter.

  "Marissa," Edward growled.

  "I would not like to see Mr. White unjustly murdered."

  Aidan snatched the letter from Edward's hand and held it out toward Marissa. "He says he's seen your thighs, Marissa. So how could it be anyone but him?"

  "Yes, well..." What in heaven's name was she to say to that?

  Aidan's hand crumpled the letter, and the sound of it made her wince. "Is the description accurate?"

  "Is it accurate?" he shouted.

  Strangely enough, his anger stoked her courage. She sat straighter, raised her chin, and met Aidan's furious green gaze with her own. "Yes, it's accurate. So before you string Mr. White up from the nearest tree, you may want to speak with Fitzwilliam Hess as well."

  "Fitz... William ..." Aidan stammered, his face growing alarmingly red.

  Edward put a hand on his brother's arm. "Marissa, you're not saying ... you said you were a virgin."

  "I was." She didn't dare meet Jude's gaze. "Fitzwilliam and I only engaged in kissing. And such."

  "And such!" Aidan yelled.

  "Yes."

  Their eyes were like flames against her skin, and Marissa felt a tickle of perspiration on her hairline. But it was nearly over. Nearly.

  Edward dropped his head, hands fisting on his hips. "Is Hess even in the country? The last I'd heard he was on the Continent."

  More voices joined in, debating the whereabouts of Mr. Hess. She glanced over her shoulder to note that her mother had fallen into a faint, her head hanging perilously over the side of the couch. Possibly, she was truly unconscious this time.

  It was now or never. Marissa chose a particularly faded rose on the study rug to focus on. "Also she said just loudly enough to stop the conversation. "There's a small possibility of a third gentleman."

  At first, she thought the strangled huff was a male sob, and the sound startled her so much that her gaze lost its hold on the rose and flew up.

  Jude stood, crimson-faced, hand covering his mouth. Was he... crying? He sobbed again, and despite the shock of her last statement, everyone in the study now looked at him.

  Marissa's head swam with the idea that she might have broken his heart, and she was holding out her hand when he muttered "Pardon me," from behind his fingers and rushed for the study door. His eyes glinted with moisture. His neck burned red. She watched open-mouthed and horrified as he flew into the corridor and slammed the door behind him.

  "What in God's name—" Edward started, but he was cut off by a roar of laughter trembling through the wood. Even from the study, one could clearly make out the echo of it bouncing down the passageway. Jude Bertrand was laughing his head off. At her.

  "Why, I never!" her mother gasped, miraculously revived from her faint.

  Marissa just stared at the door, stupefied. Jude's choked guffaws continued to sneak into the room.

  Edward was the first to recover, and he wasn't showing even a hint of amusement when he aimed his glare at her. "Christ almighty, Marissa, this had damn well better be a joke."

  She wished it was. If only everyone in the room found it as amusing as Jude did. "It was years ago, Edward."

  His mouth opened, and his throat worked, but no words came out. She suddenly wished he were yelling. Aidan took care of that for him.

  "Well, it's a damned good thing you have a fiancé, Marissa York, because it's clear you'll have to marry! With that many men under your skirts, it's a wonder you haven't been revealed before now!"

  Her throat tightened at the disgust in his words. "Charles and I were in love. You should be able to understand that, Aidan."
>
  Her brother's eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared, but he managed to hold on to his temper for once. "Charles. Charles LeMont?"

  She dipped her chin in a faint nod.

  "Didn't he marry three years ago?"

  "It was arranged by his family. He didn't want the match."

  "So," Aidan growled, "you told yourself it was all right to have an affair with a married man?"

  "Aidan York!" she yelped, jumping to her feet. "I never would. Charles and I were in love before his betrothal, and we... we... it's possible we got a touch carried away when we were saying good-bye. And who are you to toss around such judgment, anyway?"

  Edward said her name as a warning, but she shook it off.

  "Oh, let's all stop treating him as if he were made of glass. He hates that anyway, or so he claims."

  Her mother gave a little wail and collapsed hack onto the couch.

  "Oh, Mother," Marissa sighed, though she was beginning to think she might try fainting herself. Because right now, she was standing in the center of an awkward mob, and they were all looking at her as if she were a monster.

  Marissa slumped. "I'm—"

  But Aidan cut off her apology. "Oh, for god's sake, she's right. Somebody else had better step in here, because I haven't got a moral leg to stand on."

  Cousin Harry coughed uncomfortably, and everyone else shifted.

  "Regardless," she finally continued, "I'm sure it's not Charles. He's never been anything but kind to me."

  "Kind," Edward muttered, but Aidan was the one to hold up his hand.

  "And FitzWilliam Hess?"

  "I don't know. I can't imagine it, considering his reputation."

  "That's true," Harry volunteered. "He's quite the tomcat."

  Marissa was sure she should've felt insulted, but all she could think was that it was no wonder he was popular with the ladies of the ton, with his skills. Still, Jude was more impressive.

  As if drawn by her immodest thoughts, Jude reentered the study with a sheepish raise of his brow. "Apologies," he murmured. "Something caught in my throat." He glanced beyond Marissa's shoulder. "Is your mother well?"

  "Yes," she answered without looking. Her mother-moaned pitifully.

  "So," he said brightly. "What's been decided?"

  Edward dropped into his chair. "Your betrothal is no longer a charade." "Ah. Lovely."

  "Beyond that," Edward sighed, "things have gotten a bit complicated."

  The silence that took the room felt like a physical weight, and Marissa sighed with relief when Edward waved a dismissive hand. "I need to think. Come back in an hour, all of you."

  Marissa swept toward the door, not bother ing to help rouse her mother first. Her mother could handle herself Marissa, on the other hand, felt beset and bewildered, and she meant to escape while she had the chance.

  She moved quickly enough to slip past Harry and steal from the room first, but Jude was there to open the door and offer a quick bow. By God, if he cracked a smile, she thought she might slap him. But Jude had controlled his amusement, and his face was serious when he rose.

  "Would you have a few moments to spare, Miss York?"

  "Oh, for God's sake! Yes, fine."

  She followed him into the library, and rounded on him as soon as he closed the door. "How could you do that?"

  "Do what?"

  "You... you laughed! As if my utter humiliation were a farce."

  "Marissa," his pleading tone didn't match the grin

  starting to spread over his face. When she growled, he only smiled wider. "How could I not laugh?"

  "It wasn't funny."

  "Oh, mon con: It was the funniest thing I've ever heard."

  "Jude!" she cried, stomping her foot before she realized she'd done it.

  "I'd kiss you now if I wasn't sure that you'd bite me."

  She would. She'd nip that obnoxious smile right off his face.

  "Now I know why you're so good at it. Kissing. You've had loads of practice."

  She was going to scream. She was going to stomp her feet and throw a tantrum and maybe toss a few books while she was at it.

  "Do it," Jude said.

  "Do what?"

  "Whatever it is that's got your eyes blazing. You're throwing off sparks, cherie."

  "You shouldn't encourage me," she scolded, but once again, his encouragement had freed her. Her frustration fell away, as if she had kicked and screamed. She slowly lowered herself to the chair behind her.

  Jude poured a glass of sherry and curled her fingers around the glass.

  "Thank you. I can't believe this is happening. Again."

  He dropped into the matching chair and crossed his legs, as relaxed as ever. "Care to explain what did happen?"

  "With the men?"

  "Yes," he said with a smile. "With the men."

  She shook her head, but she so wanted to speak of

  it. She'd never told anyone, and it had been torture to hold it in. "Won't you be... jealous?"

  "Do I seem the jealous type?"

  "No, you don't, and that's another thing I don't understand about you."

  "I endeavor to intrigue. So... the men."

  The men. That sounded so sordid. Or wicked. Or at least naughty. How did Jude manage to see so many unfortunate things about her? She sighed in surrender and gave up her resistance. She wanted to talk about it, and so she would.

  "Charles knew he had to marry someone else."

  "Charles?"

  She shot him an irritated glance. "Yes, Charles LeMont. You missed that part while you were recovering yourself."

  "Ah. Carry on."

  "His family... they insisted he cultivate a political connection. But we fancied ourselves in love, and it was all very tragic and romantic."

  "So you soothed your heartache in one another's arms?"

  "Something like that. But it was all quite innocent, if such a thing could be. We were young, and we only wanted a few stolen moments. It was... lovely."

  "Kisses and such?"

  She blushed. "Yes. And then he married, and that was that. He's never so much as flirted with me since his wedding. So I can't imagine he'd send such a note."

  "And then there's Fitzwilliam Hess. I needn't ask how you found yourself alone with him."

  "He's quite charming."

  "So I've heard. So has everyone. He's infamous."

  "Justifiably so," she said before she thought better of it.

  "Ah, maybe I am jealous. You know that as a proper young miss, you're supposed to avoid infamous men, right?"

  She thought of the way Fitzwilliam had touched her, and her face burned, but that didn't keep her quiet. "He could have ruined me, and he didn't. He just... he made me feel good. And wicked. And I would've done it again, if I'd had the chance."

  She held her breath after that, waiting for a response. She had liked what she'd done with Fitzwilliam. For the first time in her life, flirting with a man had felt dangerous. Risky. When he'd flirted back, there'd been more than admiration in his eyes; there had been calculation, as if she were a code he'd wanted to crack.

  She'd pretended not to notice it, just as she'd pretended not to know that he'd walked her far too deeply into the gardens at the Windsor Ball.

  Still, even with her sturdy powers of self-deception, she'd understood that stealing into the greenhouse with a known rake could not have a decent ending. And yet it had. Decent enough, at any rate. Fitzwilliam's self-preservation had protected her. He had no intention of being forced into marriage.

  He'd explained that to her as he'd placed shivery kisses along her neck. "Don't worry," he'd whispered. "I won't ruin you."

  And yet he had. The things he'd done to her in the dark. The secret places he'd put his mouth. The touches he'd demanded in return. . ..

  Despite his promises, Marissa had been ruined, because she’d only wanted more after that. More pleasure. More knowledge. But she'd been good. She hadn't snuck away with any more gentlemen, despite the wild curiosity for m
ore embraces. She hadn't even shared more than a dance with Fitzwilliam Hess when she'd met him again.

  No, she'd held her secret desires close and hidden... until that fateful evening with Peter White.

  My God, what a waste that had been. Not pleasantly enjoyable like her night with Charles. Not unexpectedly amazing as it had been with Fitzwilliam. And nothing at all like the wild pleasure Jude Bertrand had shown her.

  She glanced toward Jude and realized she'd pressed the tips of her fingers to her lips in memory. His gaze was focused just there.

  "Yes, I'm quite sure I'm jealous, after all," he murmured.

  She snapped her hand down to her lap, and nearly blurted out that she'd been thinking of him, not Fitzwilliam. But how would that be better?

  "I did not know you then," she snapped.

  "Ah, but you wouldn't know me now if you could help it."

  What could she say to that? Hadn't she dismissed him as soon as the danger had passed?

  He leaned forward. "Don't feel bad. Over the years, I've enjoyed some kissing myself. And such."

  Marissa nodded and rose to leave, but somehow his words didn't make her feel better. In fact, she felt much, much worse.

  Chapter 15

  Jude Bertrand was in a foul mood. Bad enough that he was facing Peter White again. But he was also facing an uncomfortable truth.

  He'd been perfectly confident in his seduction of Marissa York two weeks before. Yes, she was wild and wicked, but he'd been foolish enough to think he could turn her head with pleasure. He'd thought to show her exactly what that wickedness could lead to.

  What an arrogant fool he'd been. Apparently she knew quite well that wickedness could be grand fun.

  Jude suddenly found that her affection for untried boys was no longer amusing. He'd seen Fitzwilliam Hess a time or two. In addition to being an experienced lover, the man was exactly the type who caught Marissa's eye. Lean and pretty and polished to a goddamned glow. And this Charles fellow... Jude wanted to get a look at him as well, though there was no good reason to meet him, aside from torturing himself.

  When Peter White finally slipped into the Brashearses' drawing room, Jude bared his teeth in a

  predatory smile. His smile widened when he saw that the cad's eye was still discolored and he was twisting his hands together in nervousness. Jude was just thinking about punching him in the nose when Aidan interfered by grabbing White's cravat and lifting him off the ground.