A Little Bit Wild (14 page)

"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 more 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.

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.

"What. . . ?" he croaked, grabbing for Aidan's wrist.

"Are you having trouble keeping your mouth shut?" Aidan growled.

"No! I... please ..." When his face turned purple, Aidan set him down and gave him a shove for good measure. White stumbled back and caught himself on the wall.

"You'd better start explaining," Aidan said over White's coughing. "If I'm satisfied with your honesty, perhaps you'll escape this room with your life."

"I ... I came to see her, I admit it. We met, but nothing happened! " His bulging eyes slid to Jude. "He was there!"

Aidan's voice offered no quarter. "The letter."

"W-which letter? I sent them. I did, but I was only trying to talk her into marriage. It was an entirely honorable communication, I swear on my life."

Jude finally spoke. "What of the last one?"

"What of it? She met me, and I had my say. I'm done with her. She's a faithless—" His gaze slid around the room, and Peter White closed his mouth with a snap.

The other men exchanged glances. Edward stepped forward to stand intimidating close to White. "Who else did you tell?"

"No one! Christ, do you think I'm mad? Even if I left my name out of it, everyone would know I was part of the story. I'd be struck from half the guest lists of the ton."

"But you threatened her." Edward leaned closer. "That night. You threatened to tell tales, and to and behold ..."

"I didn't do it! Please. I admit to seducing her, but I wasn't out to ruin her. I loved her, and I thought she was only being high-spirited. This wasn't my plan!" He jerked his hand to indicate the room and the men and the situation.

"I warned you that if I heard one word, I'd hold you responsible."

"I promise, if someone is talking it isn't me."

"What of your hosts?"

"I didn't say anything."

When Edward glanced over his shoulder, Jude jerked his head toward the far corner of the room and then joined Edward there.

"I think he's telling the truth," Jude muttered.

"He's the obvious suspect."

"He was sincere the night he spoke of his feelings for Marissa, and he's terrified enough to tell the truth now." They looked over to see Aidan looming over the crouched man. Peter White covered his head. "He's not a man brave enough to carry out a bribery scheme that would put him up against this family and the law."

White sobbed, and Edward rolled his eyes before he stalked back across the room. "The truth, Mr. White, is that regardless of who you did or didn't tell, my sister would not be in this situation if you hadn't behaved so dishonorably."

He peeked past his hands. "I know. I'm sorry.

This wasn't what I had in mind. I expected we'd he happily engaged by now."

"Get out of this district and don't return."

A flush crept over his face, but he nodded, and Edward turned and walked out.

As soon as they were free of the house, Aidan grabbed his brother's arm. "How can you be certain it wasn't him?"

Edward shook him off. "Jude is sure it's not him." "Why?"

"He doesn't have the bullocks."

"Out of the three men we suspect,
he's
the one who ruined her. I should go back in there and strangle him now. He has no character. Hell, she's not even the first woman he's debauched!"

"His character is weak," Jude agreed, "but men have different weaknesses, do they not? He wanted her like a child wants a toy. He wasn't greedy for money. And at this point, his reputation is hanging by a thread. If that story gets out, he will be named. I don't doubt it."

Edward nodded. "Jude's right. White has nothing to gain and plenty to lose. And now, considering we have a whole legion of other possibilities ..."

Aidan cursed and stalked toward the horses, leaving Jude and Edward to watch his retreating back.

"Well," Jude muttered. "He's handling this well."

"Marissa is right. We've coddled him since she died. Regardless ..." He turned a dark eye on Jude. "We're off to visit the LeMont estate. I'd like you to return to the manor."

Jude stiffened. He wanted to see this Charles LeMont for himself. "Wouldn't you like another set of eyes? I'm good at reading people."

"I don't want to leave her alone, in case the threat becomes more malevolent. At any rate, it can't hurt for you two to spend more time together. It looks fairly certain you'll marry."

Jude stared into the distance. W
^r
est, toward the York manor. An hour's ride and he'd be back with Marissa. And he wanted to see her a damn sight more than he wanted to set his eyes on Charles LeMont. What, exactly, did he expect to glimpse in the man, anyway? A resemblance to Jude that would give him hope?

Ridiculous. And pitiful.

So he nodded his agreement and set off for the lonely ride back. It seemed that he was about to get what he wanted—Marissa York as a wife—but he'd lost his certainty that he could turn this scandal into a happy ending.

The cold had finally set in, and the lire crackled and whooshed in the quiet drawing room. She and Jude were alone after a long, tense dinner with her mother and Aunt Ophelia and Cousin Harry.

Her mother had joined them in the drawing room, but she'd left a few minutes ago after several loud declarations of how weary she was.

"No, no! You two must stay," she'd protested, though neither Marissa nor Jude had offered objection. Finally, she'd yawned extravagantly and swept from the room, closing the door behind her.

Marissa knew what she was up to. Her mother had said earlier in the day that a marriage was irritable, and Marissa would be wise to ensure that Jude didn't change his mind. "You know what to do," she'd whispered, poking Marissa in the thigh. "Clearly."

Her mother was arranging a seduction.

Too bad Jude didn't seem in the mood to be seduced. Marissa snuck a look at him, and found him in the same position he'd held five minutes before. One ankle crossed over a knee. His thumb under his chin and lingers poised thoughtfully beneath his bottom lip. His eves stared into the fire as if it had transported him to another place. He held a brandy snifter, and that was different at least. Five minutes ago it had been full. Now it was empty.

Whatever her mother's expectations, Marissa had no powers of seduction. She'd only ever
been
seduced. All her experience lay in acquiescing.

So she sat, staring into the fire and trying to imagine her future. But the future seemed impossible to predict when the present fell so thoroughly muddled.

After the past week, she had no idea if Jude wanted to marry her any more than she wanted to marry him.
Did
she want to marry him?

The thought wound like a tightening snake around the muscles of her body, and Marissa leapt up to try to stave off the creeping sensation. "More brandy?" she asked, striding over to the table to grab it up.

"Yes, thank you."

The half smile Hashed for the briefest moment as she bent to pour the brandy; then the smile was gone, replaced with this new, brooding expression that shut her out. Marissa looked at the blunt fingers holding the snifter, and her heart squeezed.

Jude wasn't even looking at her, so how in the world would she get him to
touch ?

"Did you see any suitable properties this week?" She hurried back to the table and poured herself a glass as well. "I mean, when you were looking for a house to let?"

"Perhaps. There's a likely place about three-quarters of an hour from here. Closer to Grantham?"

"That's a lovely area. Very green."

"Yes."

And here they were, awkward again, each sipping their brandy and looking toward the flames.

He'd come to regret his offer of marriage. She was sure of it.

Marissa wandered around the room, sipping her brandy and touching various objects, trying to look at ease. But her heart was fluttering with uncertainty. Her life was in suspension, stuck somewhere between her past and her future, and she wasn't sure she was even tethered to the ground. Her body felt too light and her mind far away.

"What's the matter,
mon coeur?”

Marissa finished the last of her brandy and set the glass carefully down before she met his eyes. For once, she was too tired to be witty. "I think I'm supposed to seduce you, but you don't seem in the mood for it."

That got his attention. Jude's brow rose, and he dropped his foot to the floor. Perhaps he really did like her when she was outrageous. "I'm sure I'm always in the mood to be seduced," he said. "Who suggested it? I'll offer him a toast."

"My mother."

"Ah. Perhaps I won't mention it then. But I should endeavor to keep my future mother-in-law happy. How did she think you should go about it, exactly?"

"Oh, hush. Did you not notice all the obvious efforts to leave us alone? She fears you regret your proposal." Marissa kept her voice light.

"Does she? And she believes you should seduce me into complacency?"

"More like satisfaction, I believe."

Now his eyes darkened, and she was gifted with a full, wide smile. Marissa's heart ceased to flutter and began to pound. Power singed through her. Maybe she
could
play the seducer.

"Satisfaction?" he purred.

"Perhaps."

His smile grew wider. "Come." He patted his knee, and though Marissa felt a spark of trepidation, she steeled her spine and approached. Only to stop at his shoulder.

"Impossible to seduce me from there, Marissa."

She wasn't sure that was true. Jude seemed able to seduce
her
from across the room. Then again, his knee beckoned, and it was attached to such a welcoming thigh. It would certainly be
easier
to seduce him from there.

Before she could lose her nerve, she scooted around him and perched on his knee. She didn't know how it fell to him, but the daring of the act sent wicked thrills shivering up her spine. She was silting on a man's lap. In the hopes of arousing him.

Tapping her toes, she closed her lists and rested them on her legs. Now she was back to not knowing what to do. But her worries were baseless. Jude slid one hand under her hip and wrapped the other over her knee to pull her closer.

She grabbed him to balance herself, and Jude put his arms around her and pulled her down to his chest. Strangely, it didn't feel seductive. Her cheek was pressed to his shoulder, and he held her too tightly for her to wiggle up for a kiss.

"Shush," he murmured. "You don't need to seduce me."

Marissa lay stiffly against him, frowning at his throat. What did he mean, she didn't need to seduce him? Because he liked her or because he didn't care for her anymore?

'Jude ..." When she placed her hand flat on his chest, the strength of his body made her heart ache. She wanted...
something from.
him. But she no longer had any idea what it was.

"It's all right,
mon coeur.
" He stroked her back, and she finally relaxed into him a bit. His heart beat against her ear. "Are you reading a new novel?"

Frowning in confusion, she nodded.

"Tell me the story."

"What has that to do with anything?"

"It has nothing to do with anything, but I want to hear it."

After a few puzzled moments, Marissa shrugged and started the story. As she spoke, Jude stroked her back, then her arm; then his hand curved around the nape of her neck and rubbed small circles into her muscles. He laughed at the parts she'd thought were funny, and clucked over the drama of the six couples and their intrigues. And he touched her, always.

Marissa didn't want him to stop, so when she came to the last part of the story she'd read, she continued on, wearing her own tale. She felt safe in his arms. Cared for. And
knoxim.
It was so strange to consider a man a friend, and yet he was a friend. That was what she didn't want to lose.