Hortense fluttered her silk fan in front of her face. “I am sorry to hear she’s feeling unwell. I suppose there’s always tomorrow at the wedding to meet.”
“Yes, of course,” Lucy said brightly.
Jane winked at Lucy. She’d never been much of a winker before, but this little victory called for a wink if anything did.
“Janie, come with me. Let’s take a turn around the room. We’ll go slowly for the sake of your ankle,” Lucy said. “You’ll excuse us, won’t you, Lady Lowndes? There is a certain gentleman I’ve been wanting Jane to meet.”
Jane’s mother looked as if she’d just been told that Jane’s engagement was imminent. A smile spread across her face. “Oh, yes. Yes, of course. Please go. Have fun.”
“I shall see you later, Mama,” Jane said, waving as they left, arm in arm.
“That was a nice touch with the bit about the gentleman, Lucy,” Jane said with a laugh, after they were well away from her mother.
“She’s predictable, the poor dear,” Lucy replied with a sigh.
They made their way slowly around the room while Jane continued to test the strength of her ankle. They were nearly to the other side of the large space when she spotted a small group of people that unfortunately included Mrs. Langford.
The widow was wearing purple this evening. Jane snorted. Typical. She thought she was a queen.
Mrs. Langford’s head snapped up and she spotted Jane and Lucy.
“Miss Lowndes,” she called, leaving the group of gentlemen who were paying her homage and coming to stand near the two ladies. “May I have a word?”
“I suppose so,” Jane replied, wanting to be anywhere but in Mrs. Langford’s odious company. Reluctantly, Jane relinquished Lucy’s arm and painstakingly followed Mrs. Langford over to the wall where there was a bit of privacy.
The widow turned to face her. “I wanted to say one thing.”
Jane sighed. “Very well. Say it so that I may limp back over to my friend.”
Mrs. Langford’s eyes narrowed. “Fine. I’ll be blunt. I want Garrett Upton. And I intend to have him.”
Jane placed a steadying hand against the wall. She took a breath, concentrating to keep a blank look on her face. So there it was, the ultimate challenge, and stated in such a way that it sounded absurd. “What are you planning to do? Toss a sack over his head and abduct him?”
Mrs. Langford smirked. “Such a wit, Miss Lowndes, and such a child. I am a full-grown woman and, believe me, I know the way to bring a man to heel.”
Jane’s eyebrows shot up. “To heel? Like a dog, you mean?”
“If need be.” She tossed her head and barely shrugged one shoulder. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”
“Like tampering with a saddle and challenging someone to a race?”
The widow gasped and took a step back. “What are you implying?”
Jane eyed the woman. She had no intention of getting into an argument with Isabella in the middle of the ball at Cass’s wedding party, but she also refused to allow the widow to think she was fooling anyone. “Don’t count your victory quite yet, Mrs. Langford. I, too, have read Secrets of a Wedding Night.” Jane brushed past the widow and made her way back to Lucy. Admittedly, her departure would have had a superior impact if she hadn’t had to half limp, but an exit was an exit, was it not? The words were more important than the walking.
Lucy had managed to find Garrett, and they were standing together when Jane returned. She smiled at him brightly and he rushed to offer his arm. “How is your ankle?” he whispered in her ear, causing gooseflesh to pop up. Hopefully he’d got a good whiff of that magical perfume.
“Not perfect but much better,” she replied.
To Jane’s chagrin, Mrs. Langford sauntered up and joined their group. The woman’s strident voice rang out behind them. “Your Grace, it’s lovely to see you again.”
Lucy rolled her eyes but turned to greet the widow. “Mrs. Langford.” She inclined her head.
They turned to face one another in a small circle. Jane kept her arm firmly wrapped around Garrett’s.
Mrs. Langford touched her elegant fingers to the strand of pearls at her neck. “It’s really too bad you cannot dance this evening, Miss Lowndes. I do hope your ankle heals eventually.”
“I’m sure you do, Mrs. Langford,” Jane replied, a false smile on her face.
“I myself would love to dance.” Mrs. Langford eyed Garrett expectantly.
Jane’s grip on his arm tightened. For one awful moment she thought he would be obliged to offer.
“I’d be honored if you’d dance with me, Mrs. Langford.” Owen Monroe was there. Jane couldn’t stop her sigh of relief. The man had a knack for materializing at the precise moment he was needed. A helpful chap indeed.
Mrs. Langford gave Owen a tight smile, but she had no choice but to accept. She took his arm and allowed Owen to lead her to the floor.
“I’m off to find my handsome husband.” Lucy gave Jane and Garrett a small wave as she trotted off.
“I’m sorry you cannot dance,” Garrett said as soon as they were alone.
“I’m not.”
He raised a brow. “You’re not?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
She leaned up to get closer to his ear so only he could hear. “Because I’d much rather … go look at the paintings in the upstairs drawing room.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, but otherwise, his face remained a mask. “I see. And would you allow me to accompany you on such a mission?”
“I was counting upon it.”
He made to offer his arm, but Jane shook her head. “We shouldn’t be seen leaving together,” she whispered. “I’ll meet you there in ten”—she studied her ankle—“no, fifteen minutes.”
* * *
The journey to the upstairs drawing room took Jane longer than fifteen minutes. First, she had to wait for her chance to leave the ballroom without anyone noticing, a particularly difficult task given that everyone kept coming to inquire after the health of her foot. By the time she actually made her way from the room, she was still favoring her ankle more than she’d realized. She hobbled out of the ballroom, down the corridor, and up the stairs.
When she finally pushed open the door to the upstairs drawing room, she breathed a sigh of relief. Garrett was waiting for her on the settee in the middle of the room. He faced the portrait they’d pretended to look at the other night. A brace of candles on the mantelpiece illuminated one side of his handsome face. Jane was suddenly shy to be back here, remembering what they’d done on that settee.
Be bold. Wasn’t that Lucy’s favorite saying? Jane had become quite bold indeed. And she was about to become even bolder.
She opened her reticule, pulled out a key, and locked the door.
“What do you have there?” Garrett called, his voice warm.
“The key.” She glanced over her shoulder, giving him a positively flirtatious look—one she was not certain she’d heretofore had in her.
He whistled, his eyebrows lifted. “The key?”
“Yes. I came prepared this time. We don’t want anyone walking in on us, do we? I asked a footman for it earlier. I gave him a guinea for his trouble.”
“Not Mrs. Langford’s footman, I hope.”
“Certainly not.”
She sauntered over to Garrett—as well as one could saunter when one’s ankle was doing poorly. She felt more feminine than she ever had in her life. Feminine and romantic. The gown was lovely, the room was cast in shadows, the man was handsome and dashing and … she wanted to kiss him. The thought made her shiver.
“How did you get away from your mother?” He took her hand and helped her to sit next to him.
“I told her my ankle was hurting and I needed to prop it upon pillows. Mama said she’d send a servant to check on me, but Lucy volunteered.”
“What about Mrs. Bunbury?” he asked, his mouth quirking into a sensual grin.
Jane laughed. “Don’t worry. My chaperone is rubbish. Believe me, we’ll be completely safe from her.”
Garrett’s lips twisted into a beautiful smile. “I suppose we cannot expect too much out of her in that she doesn’t exist.”
He slid across the velvet seat until his thigh touched Jane’s. “You look absolutely stunning in that gown,” he breathed. His warm breath caressed her neck. She shuddered.
“Thank you.”
“I may like it better than the blue one and I hardly thought that possible.”
“Thank you.” Her good leg shook furiously beneath the silvery folds, but she refused to pluck. Be bold. Be brave.
She took a shaky breath. “What should we talk about? Portraits?”
His hand moved to her shoulder. He lightly stroked the column of her neck with one finger. Jane closed her eyes. She couldn’t think. His touch did funny things to her insides.
“Seeing as how you’ve locked the door,” he whispered. “I was thinking of something else.”
“Something … el—else?”
“A lesson.”
A shiver chased its way down her spine. She opened her eyes again and focused them on him. “A lesson?”
“Yes.” His lips hovered near her ear. “You like to learn new things, do you not?”
She turned her head. Their mouths were only inches apart. She watched his lips. “I do. But what can you teach me?”
His other hand came up to rub her opposite shoulder. “Ah, you may think you know everything, but believe me when I tell you there is a thing or two that a supposed rake could show you.”
Her breath came in short pants. “Is that right?”
“Yes.”
Her head tipped back. “By all means, then, show me.”
He carefully reached behind her ear and unhooked the wire bar of her spectacles. Facing her, he put his other hand behind her opposite ear and pushed that one up too. He carefully pulled the spectacles away from her face. For a moment, Jane felt naked, vulnerable.
He set the spectacles on the table in front of the settee and turned back to face her. His thumb rubbed across the underside of her eye.
“I like your freckles,” he said.
Her throat went dry. “Oh, they’re just—”
“Charming,” he finished.
“I thought you said something about teaching me a lesson?”
“So I did.” He pulled her to him, his mouth capturing hers. His lips slanted over hers, and his tongue plunged inside. Jane fiercely wrapped her arms around his neck. He quickly maneuvered them so she lay on the settee and he was on top of her, kissing her, pressing his hardness against her softness.
He braced himself on one elbow and, using one hand, untied his cravat, uncoiled it quickly, and ripped it from around his neck.
“What are you going to do with that?” she whispered against his rough cheek.
“Tie you to the settee.”
Jane’s eyes flared. Her heart fluttered in her chest. She’d never heard of anything like that, but she was intrigued. More than intrigued. Ooh, perhaps a rake did have a few lessons to share after all. She met his eyes in a challenge. They’d turned a dark, mossy green. “You wouldn’t dare.”
He’d arched a brow. “Wouldn’t I? Try me.” Clutching the rumpled cravat in his fist, he stared her in the eye. “Say the word.”
“What word?” Her breath was a heavy pant against his firm chin. Her chest rose and fell rapidly with her excitement.
“Yes,” he whispered.
“Yes,” she breathed.
* * *
That was all Garrett needed to hear. He pulled Jane’s arms above her head and wrapped the cravat around them, securing them at the wrist. Then he wove the top of the material around the settee’s open wooden arm. He made a tight knot. He’d never been so thankful for his army training before. He might not be a sailor, but damned if this knot wasn’t good enough for his purposes.
Jane’s eyes sparkled, but a hint of apprehension lurked in them. He didn’t want her to have any doubts.
He kissed her temple. “If you want me to stop, just say so.”
“It depends,” she breathed, her gorgeous chest rising and falling. Garrett couldn’t look away. He wanted her naked and writhing beneath him. But tonight he’d settle for caressing those gorgeous breasts.
“On what?” he answered, his voice muffled as he kissed the tops of both.
“On what you intend to do with me.”
His mouth met hers again in a fierce tangle. Then he pulled away and his gruff voice sounded in her ear. “I intend to make you come.”
Jane closed her eyes. “You … you do?”
“Yes. Do you know what that means?”
All she could do was nod. “I’ve…” She bit her lip. “I’m very well read.” She turned to the side.
“Let me assure you,” he said, as his fingers made quick work of the buttons on the back of her gown. “This is one thing that’s much better to experience than to read about.”
Jane twisted to help him unbutton the gown. He pulled it down to her waist. Her stays and chemise were all that remained between the two of them. “I’m quite sorry for this,” he said, just before he pulled something from his boot.
“For wh—”
The quick flash of a blade before her eyes told Jane he had a knife. He sliced her stays down the middle in one quick maneuver. She sucked in her breath, hard. How had he done that so quickly and effortlessly? Were rakes trained in this manner? Impressive, to be sure.
Still bracing himself on one elbow, he peeled away the remnants of the stays and then slowly, so excruciatingly slowly, he cut the straps of her chemise, first off one shoulder, then the other. His finger traced the line of the fabric where it hovered just over the tips of her nipples. She shuddered.
“Garrett, please.”
The knife dropped to the carpet with a soft thud. His hot mouth fell to the exposed skin above the shift. “That’s right. Say my name. Beg me.”
* * *
Jane closed her eyes and arched into his hot mouth. This was the most erotic thing that had ever happened to her. Not that bluestocking spinsters had much occasion for erotic things to happen to them, but suffice it to say she was glad she’d asked this man to meet her in the upstairs drawing room tonight.
“Garrett, please,” she whimpered, closing her eyes, feeling every touch, every kiss, every lick with every bit of her soul.
His lips moved lower, nudging the fabric away from her breast. Jane gasped. His wet mouth covered her nipple and … sucked. Oh, God. Yes! She clenched her jaw and twisted her head to the side. The pleasure was exquisite. So good. So, so good.
His mouth and teeth tugged at her while his hand came up to play with the other peak of her breast through the fabric of her shift. Somehow the soft scratch of the fabric with his thumb flicking back and forth made her mad with wanting. “Please,” she begged.
“Please what?” he murmured against her scorching skin.
“My other breast.”
His smile burned against her. “What do you want, Jane?” He moved his mouth an inch, two. “Do you want my mouth here?” He flicked his thumb against her sensitive nipple again.
“Yes. Please. Now.” She tugged at the bonds that held her hands above her head. He gave her what she wanted. His mouth scorched across her nipple and Jane closed her eyes and moaned.
Why was this so incredible? Who knew that being trussed up like a hare while the most handsome man in the world did amazingly sensual things to your body was this much fun? None of her books had taught her that.
But she wanted to touch him, wanted to run her fingers through his dark hair, pull his mouth up to hers, wrap her arms around his broad shoulders, kiss him again.
His mouth tugged again and again on her breast. His thumb flicked achingly back and forth against her other nipple. She moaned again and strained against the bonds.
“Easy,” he said hotly against the soft flesh of her breast. �
��We’ve barely got started yet.”
Her breath left her body in a whoosh. Her eyes rolled back in her head. “Barely even—” Her breath was a rush of heat and lust.
“That’s right.” His grin was positively wicked.
One hand left her breast while his hot, wet mouth still tugged at the other.
She shuddered as his free hand moved down, down, down, outlining her legs beneath her silvery skirts. He found the bottom of the fabric and flipped it up, his hand moving slowly back up her leg, along her stockings, only this time it skimmed along the hot skin of her inner thigh.
A tremor racked Jane’s body. Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. He was going to touch her. There.
His hand slowed as it made its way unerringly toward the juncture between her thighs.
She tugged against her bonds again, but it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t have stopped him even if she could have. It was delicious torture to be unable to touch him. Instead, she mentally begged him to find just the right spot.
And he did. Oh, God, he did. His finger stroked against her once, twice, before settling between the slick folds and finding the—sweet Jesus—exact right spot. Jane bit her lip. Her hips arched off the settee.
His mouth never ceased its gentle assault on her nipple and a pressure built between her legs. Ecstasy shot down from her breast, making the exquisite torture worse, much worse.
His finger slowed, then stopped.
“No,” Jane cried out.
Then the tip of his finger touched that perfect spot again, the one that made her eyes roll back in her head. “Yes, Garrett, yes,” she breathed.
“Yes, what?” he murmured against her breast, nipping at her skin.
“Yes, please.”
His finger circled that spot, again and again, while her hips rocked in a rhythm she was completely helpless to stop. She strained against the bonds that held her wrists, her teeth clenched, her eyes closed.
“God, Jane, you’re so hot. So hot and wet and—” He groaned. His erection pressed tightly against her outer thigh. She wanted to rip her bonds away and reach for him, feel him, stroke him. But the circling of his finger couldn’t be denied. She arched her back again, pressing her breast more fully into his demanding mouth.
The Unlikely Lady Page 17
