by Darcy Burke
“I hope he isn’t being difficult.” Her gaze flashed toward Jasper’s cheek for the barest moment, but he caught it—and the unspoken question.
His father hadn’t lifted a hand to him in years. Not since Jasper had fought back. “No, not that. I’m quite capable, Aunt.”
She patted his knee. “Of course you are, dear. Now then, let me help you.” She perused the room. “Berwick’s daughter?”
“Fuzzy blonde hair and a sing-song voice? No.”
“Miss Donnel? She’s lovely at the pianoforte.”
Jasper had no intention of selecting a wife based on musical skill. This talk was making him claustrophobic. “She’s clearly interested in Foley.”
“Ah yes, you might be right. Very astute, my dear. You pay more attention than you let on.” She continued her search. “Miss Stone?”
“God, no. The duke keeps suggesting her.”
Louisa wrinkled her nose. “Never her, then.” She tapped her finger against her knee. “You need someone with above average intelligence. Not too young or silly-mannered. I suppose you’d prefer a beauty.”
Surprisingly, he thought of Miss West. She certainly looked the part, but was of course utterly lacking birth. And, whether he liked it or not, his future wife’s pedigree was the most important thing of all. Begrudgingly, he knew his father had been right about Abigail at least in one respect—Society may have accepted her as Jasper’s countess, but she would never have fit in, nor would she have been happy. She’d been a country miss through and through. Jasper needed a wife who was both capable of mastering Society and eager to do so.
A jab to his side drew him from his thoughts. Louisa peered up at him. “You’re thinking of a specific girl. Do tell.”
He had to be careful. Louisa always saw what others never bothered to look for. “No one.”
The corners of her mouth pulled down, and Jasper knew she meant to call him on his fib. Instead, he got to his feet. “Pardon me, but I need to speak with someone.”
“Coward.”
He leaned down and took her hand, quickly pressing a kiss to her knuckles. They both knew he’d immediately make his exit.
Except the duke stepped into his path just as he made the door. “Leaving so soon? After last night’s pointed absence?” He didn’t wait for Jasper’s response before launching his next volley. “What the hell happened to your face? You look as though you’ve been run down by a coach and four. Good God, did you lose at Jackson’s?”
Jasper curled his fingers into his palms, a typical response to the duke’s presence. Jasper didn’t want him to know about the club, but his attempts at hiding things from Holborn always ended badly—from the figurine he’d broken at five, to the bottle of brandy he’d downed at twelve, to the girl he’d fallen in love with at eighteen. As punishment the duke had ensured the consequences of each transgression hurt: the destruction of all of his toys, a diet of bread, cheese, and water for a month, and, most excruciating of all, the complete excision of Abigail from his life.
“No. Not that it’s any of your concern.”
“It bloody well is. Everything you do is my concern until you provide an heir. Then everything he does will be my concern.”
A well-worn conversation. “The poor child’s doomed, and he hasn’t even been conceived yet.”
Holborn unclasped his hands. “What are you doing to secure a wife?”
He wasn’t going to question Jasper about the fighting? Jasper, rarely surprised by the duke, blinked. But then Holborn was so fixated on Jasper’s bride, he likely didn’t care about anything else. At least for now.
Jasper kept a firm grasp on his temper. “I’ll meet your silly deadline. Stop pestering me.”
“I’ll do more than pester. I still like Stone’s chit.” His gaze strayed to where the young lady in question stood talking with her mother and another pair of women. “Her dowry’s nice, and her tits are even nicer.”
Jasper stifled a twitch of revulsion. He refused to discuss a female’s physical attributes with his father as if she were a piece of horseflesh. “You needn’t concern yourself with my selection.”
Holborn made a sound that was half snort and half grunt, though soft enough so no one could possibly overhear. A sound he never, ever made in polite company, but then he’d subjected Jasper to many things he’d never do in public. “Of course I do. Your taste tends to run to the gutter, if memory serves.” He paused to let the insult—and reminder—hang in the air.
Jasper stepped around Holborn, eager to be on his way.
The duke grabbed him just above the elbow. He spoke low, but the fury in his voice was evident. “Tell me your prospects.”
Jasper’s temper buckled and snapped, something he never let happen in public. Until last night…twice in two days? He turned his head with an angry intake of breath. “I find it ironic that if you hadn’t intervened, I’d have been married these past ten years with an heir and plenty of spares. Don’t you?”
“Wed that lowly country sow?” The duke struggled to keep his voice low. “You should thank me for rectifying that abominable situation.”
“I’d thank you more for staying the hell out of my life.” Jasper neatly shook off Holborn’s grip and then took the older man’s narrow wrist between his fingers and squeezed. “Are you going to let me pass or cause an even greater scene? If you laugh just now, we might play this off as something bordering genial. If not…”
The duke scowled then chuckled. A dark, tinny sound that might delude the fools of the ton, but never Jasper. He let go of his father’s wrist and quit the townhouse.
AFTER combing what felt like Greater London in search of work, Olivia made her way to her lodgings, her feet aching and her spirit crumpled. The evening was exceedingly warm, and her clothing weighed heavy on her tired frame. At the end of her long day, she had nothing to show for her efforts, save the deposit of ten handkerchiefs on commission with a kindly shopkeeper in the Strand.
Her stomach growled, but she knew she’d go to bed without fully satisfying her hunger. The heel of bread and small wedge of cheese left from breakfast would make a poor excuse for dinner.
At least two of the shopkeepers she’d approached had already heard from Mrs. Johnson, who’d been only too eager to share her negative opinion of Olivia. It didn’t matter that she possessed exceptional skill. Tomorrow she would redouble her efforts.
Tilly loitered outside the boarding house. “Livvie,” she called, “where’s yer lordship this even?”
“He’s not ‘my’ lordship.” Olivia wondered if her answer to his proposition might have been different if it had been posed tonight.
Tilly clicked her tongue. “Such a shame. Girls like us wait our whole lives for just one night with someone like him.”
Olivia shook her head. “I’m not like you, Tilly.”
“Because you don’t lift your skirts for coin? Bah, you’re no better. Scraping away at some half existence.”
Tilly didn’t know about her past, and Olivia would never tell her. “I don’t want to submit to a man. I can’t.” Not after everything she’d seen happen to her mother, one man after another taking from her until she had nothing left. Until she was dead.
Tilly propped a hand on her waist, accentuating her undernourished form. “What if you didn’t have to submit to him?”
Olivia’s ears perked up. “What do you mean?”
Tilly’s lips spread into a wicked grin. “I’ve an idea that’ll get you your money without even touching him. You’ll invite him over, get him in the mood—it won’t take much—then we’ll switch places. We’ll get his money, I’ll be taking a share of course, and I’ll get me a spot of fun.” Her eyes narrowed deviously.
Olivia shivered. This sounded too dangerous. What if they were caught? “You want to trick him? I’m not sure that’s a good—”
Tilly held up her hand. “We’ll blindfold him. He’ll be so worked up, he’ll never know he’s shagging me instead of you.”
&n
bsp; “I couldn’t. Tilly, it’s too risky.”
“Does he scare you?”
Olivia recalled the violent way he’d come to her rescue. She’d been shocked by his quick defense but not really frightened. “No.”
Tilly patted her arm. “It’ll be fine. From the looks of him, he’s got coin to spare. No harm’ll come of it.”
He was a rich nobleman, without any of the cares that crowded her life with pending disaster. He didn’t have to wonder about his next meal or whether his choices would be stolen by a violent man seeking his pleasure. However, justifying the act in her mind didn’t ease all of her fears.
“I refused him. Won’t he be surprised I invited him?”
“Men don’t fret about such things. The minute he gets your invitation, all of his thinking will head south between his legs.”
That Olivia could believe.
Could this scheme really work? Olivia wasn’t sure she could pull off an almost-seduction. If she could, she’d have the money she needed without sacrificing her virtue. What of her honor? She winced, but reasoned it was something she could learn to reconcile, especially after the misery her mother had endured at the hands of men like him. Furthermore, how many times had she heard those same men—her mother’s legion of lovers—say that one willing female was as good as the next?
She firmed her shoulders and clenched her fists. “You’ll have to tell me what to do.”
“Of course, dearie. You’ll send him a note inviting him to come the night after next. In the meantime, we’ve got some work to do.” She put her arm around Olivia’s shoulders and guided her toward their building. “I don’t suppose you have any gowns that show a bit more flesh?”
Olivia glanced down at her chest and touched the demure lace edging her bodice. “I study the current fashion, not the street corner.”
Tilly chortled. “Good thing you’re handy with a needle, then. Because you need to show more of your bubbies. A lot more.”
JASPER alighted from his coach at the mouth of Coventry Court and directed March to return for him at midnight. He then made his way to Miss West’s boarding house, his steps eager and his pulse quickening. He was surprised she’d invited him. Her note had been simple, direct:
I’ve reconsidered your offer. The price is ten pounds. You may come tonight at nine o’clock. I am on the topmost floor.
It was still five minutes until the hour, but Jasper could scarcely wait. He passed the brothel he’d visited the other night, grateful that his disappointment there had turned into something far more exciting. He entered the ramshackle boarding house and took the stairs two at a time.
On the fourth floor, he rapped on the single door. Barely a moment passed before it swung open. She stood in the gap between the frame and the door, candlelight bathing her face and form in its warm glow.
“Good evening, my lord.” She gestured for him to enter.
Had her voice been that provocative the other night? He couldn’t recall, but he knew for certain she hadn’t looked as she did now. Draped in a dark green gown that made her skin shimmer like a pearl, she was achingly beautiful, but it was her eyes that beckoned him. The color of jade, they were luminous, with just a hint of seduction. He was already lost.
She opened the door wider, and he realized he was gaping. He stepped inside as she closed the door behind him. Without her to enslave his vision, he took stock of her room. Just four candles lit the space, but they lent a welcoming quality to the paucity of the tiny chamber. A solitary window offered little relief to the heat. There was a small table to the left of the center of the room with a single chair, then a cupboard, a few rickety shelves, and a small armoire missing one of its doors. Against the right wall sat her narrow bed with turned wood posters at the head and covered with a threadbare quilt. She lived even worse than he’d suspected.
He turned toward her. “We could have done this somewhere else.”
She cocked her head. “Is there something wrong with my room, my lord?”
“It’s just…” he didn’t wish to insult her, “small.”
“I doubt we’ll need much space.”
On the contrary, his mind was already devising lurid pictures of the various ways in which he could take Miss West all over her inadequate apartment. Though he doubted the table would support their weight.
Jasper reined in his thoughts. It wouldn’t do to get ahead of himself. “I was surprised to receive your invitation.” After you so coldly stated you would never contact me.
She moved closer to the window. The flimsy drape fluttered in the faint breeze. She closed her eyes briefly, welcoming the cool night air. Her profile was elegant, proud.
She turned toward him, her gaze direct and warm. “I’m particular about my clients. I don’t accept offers from strangers, but given your assistance and…tenacity regarding my safety, I changed my mind. You may call me Olivia.”
Olivia. Lovely.
“Do you have the fee?” she asked, sauntering toward him.
Yes, he’d brought it. An expensive sum, but presented with the sway of her hips and the seductive invitation in her eyes he’d gladly pay it and perhaps more. Seeing where she lived, he wanted to contribute to improving her surroundings. He extracted the notes from his coat and handed them to her.
She pivoted and went to the dresser, on top of which sat a pretty box painted with roses and vines. She placed the money inside. The coldness of the transaction ate at him. Why? He’d been the one to approach her. Was it because he felt like he knew her, at least a little bit? Had acted as her champion and witnessed her generosity to those less fortunate when she herself was clearly in need?
Further thought was interrupted as she came back to him, her lips curved in a sensuous smile. Was this the same prickly female who’d refused his escort?
She grasped his lapels and pushed his coat open. He shrugged out of it and laid it over the back of the chair. Deftly, she removed his cravat, her fingers brushing his chin and neck. Lust roared in his veins, as if he’d gone years without a woman. Once, long ago, he’d felt exactly like this—expectant, driven. However, he was no longer a fumbling lad of eighteen. Tonight, there would be no regrets.
Her hand dipped lower, to the buttons of his waistcoat. All moisture evaporated in his mouth as she pushed the garment over his shoulders. It dropped to the floor next to the cravat.
Desire pulsed through him, so strong his vision clouded for a moment. His fingers itched to pull the pins from her dark red hair and stroke the soft flesh of her neck, her back, every inch of her. She smelled of fresh-cut lavender, utterly feminine. He reached for her, but she danced away, her eyes tilting at the corners in a sultry manner.
“Is there something you wish for this evening? Something…specific?” she asked.
He hardened at her invitation. There were a myriad of things he wished for, but the only thing he really wanted was her. “Only you.”
She nodded once, moving toward the bed. She crooked her finger, beckoning him forward. “Sit. I’ll take off your boots.”
Jasper’s body thrummed with need. She kneeled before him. The sight sent a surge of blood pounding to his groin. His fingers curled into the threadbare coverlet. He despised this room, this poverty. He would surround her in satin and lace, if she’d let him.
She removed both boots and set them aside. Now she rolled his stockings down, first the right then the left. Her fingers massaged his calves, ankles, and the balls of his feet as she worked.
Around and over, her hands moved. Kneading. Stroking. Arousing. “Do you like that?”
He barely kept himself from groaning aloud. “Yes.”
When his muscles tingled from her ministrations, she moved her hands up his legs. He sucked in a breath, anticipating the touch of her fingers against his prick.
She blinked up at him, her dark lashes sweeping over the vibrant green of her eyes. “Do you trust me?”
The question surprised him, dulling the edge of his lust. He trusted no
one save his aunt and his sister. But surely Olivia only meant that he should trust her with his care this evening. And that he thought he could manage. “I will, yes.”
Her lips curved into a smile and she gestured to the bed. “Lie back.”
He did as she commanded, swinging his feet onto the pallet and reclining back against her pillows.
She sat beside him, her hip pressed against his. The intimacy tested Jasper’s self-control. She leaned over his chest, her breasts brushing against him. His breathing grew shallower.
Giving in to impulse, he clasped her sides. The smooth fabric of her gown caressed his flesh. Her heat bled through the satin, and he longed to touch her bare skin. He closed his eyes briefly, relishing both the feel of her and the spike of lust arcing through him.
Cotton settled against his eyes. He opened them but saw only blackness. He grabbed her hand, pulling the blindfold away. “What are you doing?”
Her lips tickled his ear. “You said you would trust me.”
Yes, he’d said that, but that didn’t mean it was easy. “Why the blindfold?”
She pulled her head back and gazed at him intently. Her eyes took on a sparkling, animated quality he’d never seen on her before. Gone, finally, was the wariness, the unease. “Our eyes can inhibit sensation. For now, I’m asking you to just feel.”
He nodded, aroused enough to do whatever she asked. She finished tying the fabric behind his head. Her breath gusted over him in a hot little pant. His hips twitched with need.
The blindfold was tight enough that he couldn’t see anything. Immersed in blackness, his other senses amplified, honing in on her lavender scent, the sound of her breathing, the beat of her heart against his chest. All of it combined to drive him to an erotic edge.
He curved one hand behind her neck and pulled her face to his. He leaned up, meaning to kiss her…
Her fingers pushed against his lips. “Not yet.”
Jasper drew one digit into his mouth, lightly sucking on the tip. He smiled at her sharp intake of breath.
