She sighed. “Even at the time of my debut, my father didn’t think I could be trusted to pick out a husband. So he would pick them out, and they were invariably dull, stable, older men, friends of his who were willing to put up with me for my fortune.”
Harry could easily imagine the kind of men the viscount called his friends. “Go on.”
“Whenever I found someone I could love, my father got rid of him.” She examined the toes of her black walking boots. “Usually with a bribe.”
“True love, indeed.”
“Not true love, but at least some excitement! Anyway, you see the problem. I can marry a young, ne’er-do-well fortune hunter of my own choosing, or an old, dependable fortune hunter of my father’s choice. The ne’er-do-well would make me miserable. The dependable one would bore me to death.” Putting down her plate, she leaned forward and took Harry’s hand in hers. “As far as I can see, men are never interested in their wives for themselves, only in what their wives can bring to them. I don’t like to hurt your feelings, Mr. Windberry”—she patted his fingers—“but your gender is entirely untrustworthy.”
“Lady Jessie, you have dealt a grave blow to my masculine pride.” He watched with fascination as, once again, that little smile flirted with her lips.
“I believe you’re laughing at me, Mr. Windberry.”
“I believe you show a great deal of wisdom, Lady Jessie.” Turning his hand, he clasped her fingers in his. “But pray tell, if your suitors are here and in pursuit, what good does it do to try and avoid them?”
“If none of them ever find me, I won’t have to reject them.”
“That’s not going to work. You can’t stay at the resort forever, hiding in my shrubbery.”
Her lips trembled. All the beautiful fire in her eyes was extinguished. “I suppose not.”
A movement around the side of the cottage caught his eye. “And I believe, my dear Lady Jessie, your first suitor has caught up with you.”
Two
Jessie turned her head so quickly, her neck cracked. Mr. Windberry was correct. Jenour-Redmond was limping past the rhododendrons, his gaze fixed on her as he extinguished the beauty of their glorious pink blossoms with his presence.
In a panic, she turned back to Mr. Windberry. “Please, please don’t leave me alone with him.”
“It is my cottage.”
Was he being uncooperative? For all his open laughter and kind words, she couldn’t read this man. There was an edge to him, as if beneath the sympathy he hid a razor. He commanded rather than spoke, and always his eyes were watchful. Not that he didn’t focus on her. She had no complaints about that. But at the same time, she would have sworn he observed the flight of every bird, the movement of every creature within view of the cottage. “You mean—you’ll do as you like, not as I say?”
“No, I mean—no one’s going to chase me off of my porch.”
“Oh.” Placing her hand on her bosom, she heaved a sigh of relief. So all she had to do was stay here and she’d be safe from Jenour-Redmond’s disgusting, slobbery kisses. Although Mr. Windberry would have her believe some men’s kisses were acceptable, or even enjoyable.
Mr. Windberry’s?
He squeezed her fingers again. “Chin up. It won’t be so bad.”
She shot him a glare that should have withered him in his chair. Instead he smiled at her so mockingly she realized he was forcing her to seek courage.
What a man. If only her father would find her a fortune hunter as gorgeous as Mr. Windberry, she’d go to her wedding with more resignation. She snuck another glance at him. Indeed, she’d appear at her wedding with bells on her toes.
Black hair, swept back from his rugged face. A blunt nose, broken and healed. Broad lips, so soft and full she wanted nothing more than to kiss them over and over until he revealed all the secrets he knew about lovemaking. And those eyes…blue, magically, fabulously blue, an ocean of blue that concealed his thoughts, his feelings, until she would have done anything to coerce him into revealing himself.
For he carried himself with a strength and arrogance that drew her like a diamond displayed on black velvet. If he wished, he could rule the legions, he could control the tides…he could love a woman until she no longer remembered her name, until she abandoned pride, until her body was no longer her own and she would do anything he commanded for the pleasure of his mastery.
She gazed into his blue eyes, trying without words to lure him into a single kiss of incredible passion, when—
“Lady Jessie, I have been searching for you all over the estate.”
Jessie deflated. It took an effort of will to look away from Mr. Windberry, but she managed, and the buzzing in her head told her she’d been holding her breath.
Of course, such lascivious thoughts about Mr. Windberry, an unknown gentleman and most definitely not one of her suitors, proved that her father’s criticisms were true—she did have a light mind, unsuitable for making decisions of such importance as that of her future partner in life.
But it also proved she recognized a real man when she saw him—and Jenour-Redmond did not fulfill those requirements.
He was tall, thin almost to the point of emaciation, with a prominent Adam’s apple that bobbled as he spoke and a voice so deep he sounded as if he were speaking into a well. He cut a comical figure, except for his title, which was marquess, and his ancient lands, which required her riches to prop them up. Of all her suitors, he was the one who most desperately wanted to marry her, and he might, perhaps, be the best husband— if she didn’t mind being held in lower esteem than a stable of horses and an estuary full of fish.
“My lord, how good to see you.” She extended her hand to Jenour-Redmond, who pressed far too arduous a kiss upon her knuckles.
His gaze flicked down toward the stains on her knees, and up to her lopsided coiffure, but he said, “You’re beautiful, as usual.”
“You’re elegant, as usual,” she returned.
Jenour-Redmond was elegant, clad in a eye-popping waistcoat of purple trimmed with gold fleur-de-lis, a royal-blue jacket, and matching striped trousers. His boots shone, and his black, high beaver hat proclaimed him a man of style.
“Elegant to a fault.” Mr. Windberry’s tone insinuated Jenour-Redmond had chosen his wardrobe badly for such casual circumstances.
The glance Jenour-Redmond flicked at Mr. Windberry made clear his contempt for Mr. Windberry’s costume. “What are you doing here, Harry? Playing the merchant?”
In a noncommittal tone, Mr. Windberry answered, “Soaking up the scenery, Gerald.”
Startled, Jessie asked, “You two gentlemen know each other?”
“Only too well,” Jenour-Redmond said with crushing disdain.
Harry watched Jenour-Redmond steadily and in a manner that bespoke contempt—and Jenour-Redmond squirmed. Which surprised her, for Jenour-Redmond was far above her on the social scale, and thus even farther above a mere mister.
Turning his back to Mr. Windberry, Jenour-Redmond gave him the cut direct—not that Mr. Windberry seemed to care. “Lady Jessica, we should adjourn somewhere more private where we may pursue our courtship.”
“I dare not, my lord.” Not if you were served on a silver platter with an apple between your ample lips. “That wouldn’t be proper without a chaperone, and since she is not present, I fear I must rely on this gentleman’s kindness to protect my reputation.”
With an almost audible clatter of bones, Jenour-Redmond rushed to sit beside her. “Your sentiments do you honor, Lady Jessica.”
As Jenour-Redmond tried to grasp her hands, Jessie kept them moving, and the chase reminded her of a marionette’s pursuit.
Apparently it reminded Mr. Windberry of something similar, for he leaned back and grinned.
She threw him an exasperated glance, and in her moment of inattention, Jenour-Redmond managed to grab her. His clammy hands painfully crunched her knuckles together, and he drew her unwillingly to her feet. As he led her toward the far railing, s
he wanted to dig her heels into the boards of the porch. But that would be foolish, an act of defiance when she had sworn to herself and her papa that she would, for once, be sensible. Yet when Jenour-Redmond tried to pull her closer and whisper in her ear, she skittered backward—and into the corner formed by the house and the railing. He followed close behind.
Trapped! Silently she told herself, See? That’s what happens when you get flustered.
“My darling.” His already bass voice lowered dramatically. “You must know how I feel about you.”
About my money. But she couldn’t say that.
“Your father has given me grounds to hope I have engaged your affections. Hope, as I have never hoped in my life.”
My father is a despicable liar. No, she couldn’t say that, either.
Jenour-Redmond hunched his shoulders and lowered his head in the general vicinity of her face. A gust of sausage and kippers made her jerk back. She bumped her head against the wall.
He didn’t notice, or if he did, he didn’t care. Pinching her chin in his fingers, he brought her face back to his. Afraid to close her eyes for fear he would consider it encouragement, she stared at him. At the large pores on his nose. At the gray hairs poking out of his ears. At the damp, blubbery lips so close to hers. “Lady Jessica, I confess myself swept away by your beauty, coerced into improper behavior by your”—his gaze dropped to her neckline—“character.”
She shook in a brief gust of laughter, then cut a glance toward Mr. Windberry, expecting him to share in her merriment.
He sat with his finger beside his nose, watching Jenour-Redmond with a killing gaze.
Jenour-Redmond continued, oblivious to her amusement and Mr. Windberry’s displeasure. “Your father has already granted me permission, so I apply to you for your hand in marriage.”
At last! Her cue. “My lord, while I regret—”
“But first, I can no longer resist snatching a single kiss from your succulent lips.”
Taken by surprise by his uncharacteristic audacity, right here in front of Mr. Windberry, she forgot Mr. Windberry’s instructions and tried to jam her elbow into Jenour-Redmond’s chest. Alas! Too little, too late. His long arms wrapped around her back. He pulled her against him and pressed such a hearty kiss on her, he crushed her lips against her teeth. She would have made a gagging sound, but that would involve opening her mouth. She wished she could breathe, but she could hold her breath for a long time before she would allow him to touch her with his… Dear heavens, was that his tongue?
She shuddered, a long shiver of repulsion that shook her from head to toe.
And from the chair against the wall, Mr. Windberry drawled, “Darling Jessie, are you trying to make me jealous? Because it’s working, and if Jenour-Redmond doesn’t unhand you right now, I’m going to have to kill him.”
Jenour-Redmond did unhand her, so quickly she was dizzy. He stumbled backward, all the way across the porch. The whites of his eyes showed as his gaze swiveled toward Mr. Windberry. He reached beneath his cravat with one finger and tried to loosen it. “Is she… are you a suitor, too?”
“No suitor would dare take the liberties with a lady that you have been taking.” Mr. Windberry spoke with stinging disdain. “And in front of another gentleman!”
Jenour-Redmond didn’t glance at Jessie, and for the first time Jessie realized that unexpected kiss was more in pursuit of some ancient competition with Mr. Windberry than interest in her.
She wiped her mouth on her sleeve to dislodge the taste of the odious lord.
“Are you calling my breeding into dispute?” Jenour-Redmond demanded of Mr. Windberry.
“Your breeding is impeccable, as we all know,” Mr. Windberry answered. “It’s your manners… and your bravery …that require bettering.”
Jenour-Redmond doubled his fists.
Mr. Windberry observed him, and in a tone that mocked and insulted, he asked, “What are you going to do? Call your servants to thrash me?”
Straightening his skinny shoulders, Jenour-Redmond said, “I should say not! If I wished to thrash you, I’d do it myself. But this chit isn’t worth fighting over.” He flicked his gaze at Jessie’s dishabille, then at Mr. Windberry’s informal dress. “Not if she’s already been in your bed.”
Jessie gasped in dismay. Such rumors would bring her terrible disgrace!
Standing, Mr. Windberry paced toward Jenour-Redmond.
Jenour-Redmond scrunched himself into a corner, his head tilted, his lips open as he gasped like the bony fish he so resembled.
Jenour-Redmond’s stiffly starched cravat made a crunching sound as Mr. Windberry gathered it in his fist. “Lady Jessie has done no more than offer me the kindness of her conversation, and if I hear of you spreading gossip to the contrary, Jenour-Redmond, please remember how long it took you to recover last time I was forced to teach you some manners.”
Jenour-Redmond nodded.
Mr. Windberry shook him. “What did you say?”
Speech poured forth from Jenour-Redmond in a fearful torrent. “I do remember. I won’t say a word about you and Lady Jessica. In fact, if you don’t mind, I won’t tell anyone I was even here.”
“Yes.” Mr. Windberry let him go and dusted his fingers and stepped back. “That will save you the embarrassment of rejection.”
“Precisely.” Jenour-Redmond bobbled his head at Mr. Windberry, bowed to Jessie, and sidled along the porch railing, all the way to the stairs. Once there, he turned and fled toward the inn.
Jessie was torn between expressing her amusement at Jenour-Redmond and her admiration for Mr. Windberry. She chose admiration for Mr. Windberry. Extending her hand, she walked toward him. “You must allow me to express my undying thanks. I fear if he had caught up with me when no one was about, he would have done everything in his power to force a marriage upon me.”
Mr. Windberry took her hand and cherished it between his two. “He’s continually without funds, and a bully to boot, so I suppose you’re correct. He would indeed have forced himself upon you to achieve his aim.”
She liked having Mr. Windberry hold her hand. She liked everything about him. “He’s the kind of man who makes me wish my father would pick a truly old man to be my husband.”
“Why so?”
“Because at least an old man would be unable to consummate the marriage.”
Mr. Windberry lifted his brows and chuckled.
“Why are you so amused?” she asked.
“My dear, dear Lady Jessie. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but there isn’t a man in England who wouldn’t rise from his deathbed to consummate a marriage with you.”
She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what to think. Most people, certainly most men, would never have responded to her frank observation about Jenour-Redmond. And although she had never made such an earthy comment about another human being—indeed, she could only blame her frankness on her upset—she doubted that anyone would ever reply in such a lustful manner. Although…although…“Was that a compliment?”
“It was the truth.”
She couldn’t restrain the smile that blossomed on her lips. “What did you have for breakfast?”
“Why?”
“Because I just kissed a man who tasted of sausage and kippers, and I don’t want to kiss another one.”
Three
It had happened at last. Some remnant of the lead bullet that had lodged in Harry’s shoulder had migrated to his brain, for he was surely hallucinating. That was the only possible explanation for Lady Jessie. She smiled as she turned her fingers out of his grasp and slid them gradually… sensuously …up…his…arm, leaving a trail of desire that sank through his skin and into the depths of his soul. When her hand rested on his shoulder, she stepped closer. She leaned against him, her body warming his, her breasts crushed against his chest.
He stood immobile, frozen with shock…with unanticipated, bone-deep pleasure.
Rising on tiptoe, she twined her other hand in the hair at th
e nape of his neck and brushed her lips against his. For all her boldness, she seemed uncertain, bumping noses with him, twisting her face from side to side.
She smelled of cakes and soap and sweet, warm female, and if he were hallucinating, he might as well make this his favorite hallucination. Wrapping one arm around her waist, he pulled her tightly against him. He leaned her backward, letting the rail support her weight. She gasped and squirmed as he cupped his palm beneath her head. Smiling into her eyes, he commanded, “Relax. I won’t drop you.”
With a note of confidence that filled him with pride, she said softly, “No. I can’t imagine you ever do anything you don’t mean to.”
“Remember that.” With a firm, soft pressure he took control of the kiss.
He didn’t completely close his eyes. A man who lived with the kind of danger he’d experienced never closed his eyes except in the deepest of slumber.
Her eyes, too, fluttered open, then closed, as if she didn’t know what to do.
So he pressed his mouth over each eyelid. “Trust me,” he whispered.
He molded her lips with his, discovering the contours. He alternated pressure to find her preference, and when he found the right combination, she rewarded him with a startled clutch of her fingers on his shoulder. Then he kissed her, closemouthed, over and over, soft, pleasant, unthreatening kisses, until she relaxed in his arms. Until her mouth quivered beneath his. Until she sighed and he could sense feminine contentment and the faintest nudge of curiosity.
Lifting his head, he murmured, “Open your lips.”
She tried to look at him, but he kissed her again. “Open them. Just a little,” he coaxed. “Trust me.”
“I do.” And she opened to him.
He didn’t wish to frighten her. She was young, untried. But the blood thrummed in his veins, urging him to thrust his tongue deep in her mouth, to set up a rhythm that drew her into the tangled world of sensuality where she had never before visited. Somehow he restrained himself, easing his tongue between her lips, tasting her with the expertise of a connoisseur.
She was unsure at first, startled by the intrusion, bewildered by the taste of a man. Of him. But as he continued his gentle assault, she relaxed again, and when she dared to meet his tongue, he could scarcely subdue his triumph.
Hero, Come Back Page 19
