A Lady Never Surrenders (33 page)

Before she knew what he planned, he slid her nightshirt up to bare her dusky triangle of hair, then bent and pressed a kiss right into the thick of it.

“Jackson!” she squeaked. “What are you doing?”

He spread her curls and smiled to see the pouting lips already wet for him. “Changing your mind,” he said, then covered her there with his mouth.

“Oh … my … word,” she whispered as he began to tongue her, enjoying every moan and gasp as she shimmied beneath him.

With a smile of triumph, he returned to pleasuring her in earnest, using teeth and tongue and lips to arouse her.

“Jackson … heavens … Jackson, you scoundrel, you!”

No one had ever called him a scoundrel, but under the circumstances it sounded like a compliment. The musky taste of her fired his blood, made his cock harden and his ballocks clench until he thought he’d die before he got to have her. And still he continued drinking her up, thrusting his tongue deep to keep from thinking how badly he wanted to thrust inside her.

Fortunately, it wasn’t long before he had her writhing beneath him, rising to meet his mouth, and finally exploding in a violent release that made her cry out and clutch his head to her belly.

As she lay there quaking, he kissed her belly and thighs and the place where her loins ended and her buttocks began. If he weren’t so overwhelmingly aroused himself, he would turn her over and kiss her from shoulders to soles, so he could mark every part of her as his.

His.
For the first time, he began to believe it possible.

As he licked and caressed her navel, she gasped, “Your … wickedness … never ceases … to astound me, sir.”

“I told you,” he said, unable to keep the satisfaction from his voice, “every time I’m near you, I want to do wicked things with you.”

He slid up her body, dragging her nightshirt as he went so he could see and touch the lovely breasts that regularly tormented his imagination. “Wicked, scandalous things.” He tugged at her nipple with his teeth as he rubbed her below, keeping her aroused while he maneuvered himself between her legs.

Her eyes met his, now thoroughly glazed with desire.

“It’s all I’ve been thinking about for weeks,” he said hoarsely as he tugged her knees up and entered her with one fierce thrust. “All I dream about at night.”

She closed her hands about his neck and arched up against him below.

“I never thought … the dream might come true.” He buried himself over and over in her lush warmth. “Never thought … the lady could be mine.”

“And now?”

Her cheeks were deliciously flushed, and her heart was gleaming in her eyes.

“Now I know I have no choice.” He drove into her, claiming her. “I have to make the lady mine … no matter what the cost.” He could feel his release stealing over him, ripping through him. Ruthlessly, he fought it, wanting them to reach their climax together. “Because without her … there
are
no dreams. Only nightmares.”

Her eyes softened. Then she gasped and erupted, her sweet flesh convulsing on his cock and triggering his own climax. It swamped him with such a flood of feeling that he could no longer deny the truth.

He’d lost the battle to protect his heart.

“I love you,” he murmured as he lost himself inside her. “I love you, my dearest Celia.” When hope shone in her face, he said, “I’ll always love you.”

Then he collapsed atop her.

They lay there, joined together, for several moments. When he rolled off, she curled herself against him and stared into his face uncertainly. “Did you mean it?”

“Of course.” He brushed a kiss over her lips. “I love you, sweeting.”

Joy leapt in her face, but as he continued to stare at her, it shifted to something that looked remarkably like calculation. “I suppose you expect me to say something similar.”

Though his breath caught in his throat, he arched an eyebrow. “Still torturing me for this morning?”

Pure mischief lit her pretty eyes. “Perhaps.”

“Then I’ll have to make you more sure of me,” he drawled and reached for the bell cord.

“Don’t you dare!” she cried, half frowning, half laughing, as he closed his hand around it.

“Do you love me?” he asked and dangled the cord over her head.

“I might,” she teased. “A little. Do you still think me a spoiled lady?”

She grabbed for the cord, and he lifted it higher. “Probably no more spoiled than any other beautiful female used to getting her own way with men who adore her.”

“At least you’re mixing compliments with the insults now.” She regarded him from beneath lowered lashes. “So you adore me, do you?”

“Madly. Passionately.” He released the cord. “And no, I don’t think you’re spoiled. If I’d ever had any doubt, my aunt banished it completely.”

“Your aunt?”

“I told her everything … well, not
everything,
but the important parts. And after she pointed out that I’m probably the worst suitor ever when it comes to proposing, she defended your behavior this morning with great enthusiasm.”

A devilish smile crossed her lips. “I think I’m going to like your aunt.”

“I’m sure you will. The two of you are peas in a pod.” He debated whether to tell her the rest, but decided she should know. “As it turns out, you were right about the resemblance between me and my uncle. I … um … had a long talk with Aunt Ada, and it seems Uncle William was … not who I always thought.”

The fact that she took his meaning at once told him she’d figured that out for herself already. “I’m sorry, Jackson.”

“Don’t be. If I could choose any man as my father, it would be him.” He told her the entire tale, then added, “So you see, I don’t even have any secret noble blood to commend me.”

“In that case,” she teased, “the wedding is off.”

He covered her breast with his hand. “I suppose I’ll have to do more persuading.”

“Do your worst,” she said lightly, “but I warn you, a lady never surrenders.”

“We’ll see about that,” he murmured before seizing her mouth in a hot kiss.

Sometime later, as they lay entwined again, completely spent, she nuzzled his shoulder and said, “I do love you, you know.”

“I thought you might.”

She cast him a look of mock outrage. “Cocky devil! You can be as arrogant as my brothers at times.”

“More so. Because I’m going to demand that we marry as soon as possible.” He swept his hand over her belly. “After all our activity, you might even now be carrying my son. And no son of mine will be born a bastard.”

Her eyes gleamed up at him. “It could be a daughter.”

“No
daughter
of mine will be born a bastard either,” he said.

“And will you let me teach her to shoot?”

“No need. If we have a daughter, no man will be allowed within a mile of her until she’s thirty.”

She laughed gaily. “Then I pray, for our child’s sake, that we don’t have a daughter.” She cuddled close. “But if we do, I still want to teach her to shoot. It never hurts a woman to be prepared.”

A lump stuck in his throat at the thought of all the things that had made her so wary—her parents’ deaths, Ned’s idiocy … being shot at. “That reminds me, I have to go.”

“You do indeed,” she agreed. “Much as you joke about it, it wouldn’t do for anyone to find you here. My brothers are unpredictable, and Gran might just chase you around the manor with her cane.”

“I can handle your brothers and grandmother. Unfortunately, there’s still a killer after you, and I must find out who.”

“Did you learn anything today?”

As he got dressed, he told her everything he’d discovered. When he came to the part about the letter concerning Elsie, however, she sat up. “You’ll see her first thing, won’t you?”

“I’d planned to come here first, so I could propose to you in a manner befitting your station.”

“Never mind about that,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “If you do that first, we’ll spend the entire day in discussions and recriminations and eventually, hopefully, in celebration. Before that, I want to hear what Elsie has to say. She might know the truth about Mama!”

“She might. But don’t get your hopes up.”

“If you visit her early enough,” she pointed out, “you can be here before anyone even rises.” She smiled at him. “And bring your aunt, too. I very much want to meet her.”

“I can already see that you and she will be thick as thieves.”

“I do hope so.”

The dreamy look on her face made his heart catch in his throat. Oh God, what he wouldn’t give to keep that look there forever. But what if he couldn’t? What if—

“Oh no, you don’t,” Celia said. “I can already see Proud Pinter creeping in.”

He laughed. She knew him so well.

“Hand me your cravat,” she said, snapping her fingers.

“What?”

“I shall hold on to it, and if you try to deny me again, I’ll leave it in my bedclothes and make sure Minerva finds it.”

He chuckled. “No need for that.” Coming over to the bed, he bent to kiss her pouting mouth. “I swear I’ll be here as early as I can tomorrow, ready to do battle for you, my love.”

“You’d better,” she muttered. As he headed for the door, he heard her add, “I could still ring the bell, you know.”

He grinned at her. “Go ahead, my lady. I’ll stand right here while you throw the house into an uproar.”

That seemed to reassure her, for she made a face, then said, “Oh, go on with you.”

He left the room smiling. But he didn’t stay smiling for long. He’d been so caught up in her that he wasn’t careful leaving and had only gone a few paces down the hall when he realized someone stood at the other end staring at him.

Ned, of all people. The bastard swaggered toward him with a sneer. He’d obviously witnessed Jackson leaving Celia’s room.

“What are you doing up here?” Jackson demanded.

“Not that it’s your business, but I’ve been playing cards with my cousins, who suggested I stay the night.” He cast Jackson a sly look. “It appears that the upstanding Mr. Pinter isn’t so upstanding after all. Not that I’m surprised you would take advantage of my pretty cousin’s disregard for decency, but—”

The words were barely out of the man’s mouth before Jackson had him by the throat and shoved up against the wall. As Ned clawed at Jackson’s fingers, his eyes wide with alarm, Jackson hissed, “Speak of my future wife in anything but the most reverent of tones again, and it will be pistols at dawn.”

He bent to press his mouth to Ned’s ear. “I know what you did to her when she was fourteen. You got away with it then because she was scared and naïve and thought everyone would blame her. But we both know that if her brothers learned of it, they would cut off your ballocks and stuff them down your throat. If I didn’t fear it would shame her further, I’d do it myself.”

Drawing back to stare into the arse’s face, he made sure Ned thoroughly understood his threat before releasing the bastard. “But if I ever catch you so much as whispering a sly word in her ear, you’ll wake up deep in the bowels of some gaol where no one will ever find you. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

Ned blinked. “Perfectly, sir.”

“Good.”

He watched until Ned had passed Celia’s door, gone down to his own room, and entered it. Then Jackson turned for the stairs.

The first thing he was going to do after he and Celia married was make sure her cousin was banned from Halstead Hall forever.

C
elia woke feeling rested, happy, and in love. Jackson loved her! And today he would come and propose marriage and all would be well.

She only wished that it didn’t mean Gran would win, but wasn’t foolish enough to cut off her nose to spite her face. And she did hate to think of her siblings losing their inheritances because of her.

Leaving the bed, she rang for Gillie. As the maid came in, she said, “Isn’t it a
lovely
day, Gillie?”

Since Gillie had left her crying her eyes out the previous day, she looked a bit perplexed. “Indeed it is, milady.”

As Gillie helped her dress, Celia wondered if she could take the girl with her to live in Cheapside. Could Jackson afford a lady’s maid for her if Gran really did cut them off?

But Gran wouldn’t do that. Oliver would never let her, would he? Not that it mattered. As long as she had Jackson, she didn’t care what she faced in Cheapside.

“What time is it?” she asked Gillie as the girl arranged her hair.

“It’s nearly eleven.”

“I don’t suppose Mr. Pinter has arrived yet this morning.” Celia fought a smile when the girl shot her an astonished look.

“No, milady. Not that I know of.”

If he went to talk with Elsie, it was probably too early for him to be here, she thought with a sigh.

As Gillie hunted for her mistress’s favorite mob cap, Celia wandered to the window. It was a lovely day to become betrothed to Jackson. The sun was shining, banishing the usual winter gloom. It was so clear that she could see the road and a carriage coming—

Jackson! He was here after all! And he’d come in his carriage, too, like a fine gentleman. No doubt it was because he had his aunt with him, but still, it showed he was serious about this marriage proposal.

She should probably wait up here like a proper lady until someone came to fetch her, but she didn’t feel like a proper lady today. Grabbing her mob cap from Gillie, she clapped it on her head, raced down the hall, and then down the stairs. Only minutes later she’d reached the drive, where she forced herself not to run but instead walk semi-sedately toward the equipage she could now see at the other end.

But as it came closer, she realized it wasn’t Jackson’s coach. Blast, blast, and more blast. It was the cursed Visconde de Basto. She’d completely forgotten about the house party, which didn’t end until tomorrow. This was around the time he always came.

The last person she wanted to see at the moment was one of her suitors. Unfortunately, she couldn’t get out of it now. The carriage was slowing already. He’d seen her.

It stopped opposite her, and he leapt out. “My lady! How delightful to come across you this way. I had heard you were ill.”