One More Kiss (36 page)

Cecilia’s horse needed no urging, and she concentrated on the race ahead of her without one more worry for her sister.

“Y
OU ARE QUIET
.” Beatrice was not happy. Jess might be a fool but even a fool could see that. He knew from Callan, who knew from Darwell, that Miss Beatrice had slept well enough.

That was a plus. On the minus side, she had spent the whole of yesterday “preparing for her talk” on the art at Havenhall, a talk she could have easily given without preparation at all. She had not been at dinner last night and Cecilia had excused herself early as well.

“I have nothing to say to you, Lord Jess.”

Beatrice did not spare him a glance but continued over the grass, watching her step as though there were rabbit holes at every turn.

“I understand that.” Indeed, he had avoided her so as not to witness the distress he had caused. For all his faults, he had never spoken to a woman as cruelly as he had spoken to Beatrice. But then he had never felt his life a waste before he had met her and realized how little he had to offer any woman of worth. He might not be able to change that, but he could do one thing to make her happier in this moment. “Beatrice, I want to apologize.”

“It is forgotten, my lord.” Her tone said the opposite.

“I have not forgotten it. And I want to apologize.”

“For what, my lord?” She raised her eyebrows. Those dark-swept brows were a very effective weapon. But she gave him, however unintentionally, the opening he wanted.

“For our conversation the night of the ball, and for hurting you with words that were nothing but lies.”

“Our conversation?” Beatrice furrowed her brow as she pretended to try to recall what he was talking about. “Really, being called a slut—”

“I did not call you a slut. That is too extreme.”

“Perhaps, but ‘slut’ is what I heard.”

“Beatrice,” he tried again, despite the feeling that the conversation was passing from his control to hers.

“Perhaps I can pose nude for an artist and make certain the description.”

“Stop it.” He took her by the arms and she froze, a look of such panic in her eyes that he released her at
once. “It’s true that I wanted to drive you away. For the last two days I had exactly what I thought I wanted. But I was wrong.”

“Don’t you dare—” She stopped herself, pressed her lips together, and turned from him, running, not toward the racecourse, but toward the trees in the opposite direction.

He took off after her. It did not take him long to overtake her but by then they were both breathless.

She whirled to face him. “I do not want to hear anything you have to say, be it truth or lies. Why can you not leave me alone?”

“Because you will not let me leave you alone.” Which was not what he meant to say, even if it was the truth. “You are always there, those eyes, those damnably beautiful eyes, mirroring your endless curiosity about every little thing.” He pulled her closer to him. “Curious about everything until there was one thing that my head could not let go of.”

She did not pull away from him this time and was about to speak when he raised his hand and covered her lips with his fingers. “And your mouth. Word upon word, about art, gaming, people, ideas, on and on endlessly until I wanted to be the only word on your lips, those perfectly shaped pretty pink lips. Until I wanted those lips on mine.”

Now she was stunned, there was no hiding that.

“Beatrice, everyone knows, even I know, that Jess Pennistan is the wrong man for you. That your goodness and sweetness deserve more than a dandy who games as his life’s work. That your fine, bluestocking mind deserves more than a man who cares most about where the best game of chance is played.”

There were tears in her eyes.

“I will seduce any woman willing. Do you hear me?” He wanted to shout but whispered instead.

Beatrice opened her mouth but said nothing. He waited, giving himself credit for patience. It took a moment but when she spoke her voice was steady. “Do not forget your arrogance.”

She might have tears in her eyes but she was thinking clearly.

“Really, Jess, do you not see that you are so much more than a profligate? You are kind to everyone, no matter if they can improve your lot in life or not. You play only with those who can afford to lose. You seduce only the willing. There is not a mean bone in your body.” She stood on tiptoes and leaned close enough to touch her lips to his but did not. “And now you must listen. You have not seduced me. For the love of God, I was willing.

“At first I thought that this house party would be the safest place in the world to experiment with someone dangerous, but I think that was terribly unfair to you.”

“Pure torture,” he agreed, but with a smile.

They both jumped at the sound of the gun and the start of the race.

“I’m sorry. Now you are late for the race,” he said, not sorry at all.

“It doesn’t matter. The finish is what matters.” She took a step away from him. “So now you’re telling me that what you said the other night was a lie?”

“Yes,” he said firmly. “God, I’ve thought about this endlessly and I can explain my behavior a dozen ways, but I will settle on two.”

“I don’t mind long stories.” Her smile meant forgiveness
and the rebirth of curiosity. Jess could not help but be relieved. He sobered almost as fast. “Crenshaw had made me angry as a hornet and I vented it on you.”

“That’s what Cecilia told me that Destry told her, but I was not ready to believe it.”

“And the other reason is that I wanted to scare you away. You are right, you were too great a temptation. Your very presence makes me want to make love to you.”

“How many women have you told that same thing?” she asked as she leaned back against the tree behind her.

“Too many.”

“You are all braggadocio. I have seen no proof that you are such a rake. None of the servants run from you. Nora Kendrick is a widow, a wealthy widow, and you never approached her.”

“As you said yourself, Beatrice, this house party is a protected world. It is not London. Once you are there you will hear the truth. There have been too many,” he repeated, “but never someone as young and untouched as you are.”

“Untouched is such an unappealing word.” She angled her head and looked up from under her lashes. “Could we not touch a little so that I am not quite such a threat to unmarried men?”

He shook his head and, with one finger, raised her chin.

“You are impossible.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her mouth.

“Not really,” she whispered against his lips. “Only curious.”

He was the one who was seduced. He had been so
determined not to take but now found it was so much easier to give. Her joy and his surrender took them far beyond the touch of lips and tongues. The trees and shrubs around them were every bit a bower, he thought, nature’s summerhouse where they could be as private as they needed or wanted.

“I want to lie on the grass with you, right here,” he murmured between kissing her neck, then her throat. “I want to unpin your hair.” He did so as he buried his face in it and she wrapped her arms around him, pressing them closer to each other.

“I want to see you dressed only in the shade and shadows of summer.” He cupped her breast through gown and stays and then reached to rub the tip of it with his thumb. He ran his hand down to the soft spot between her legs and pressed his fingers, through her dress and shift, into her just enough that she pressed her legs together to hold him there and gasped with the pleasure of it. He scooped her up and carried her. She buried her face in his neck, pressing kisses, licking him and pressing her teeth against the vein that throbbed.

The summerhouse was buried in the shade. A table and chairs sat on one side of the room, and a long sofa that was more of a day bed with scrolled ends and no back was on the other. He laid her down on it and she raised her arms to draw him over her. They kissed and touched and soon his fall was undone, his manhood upright and hard with arousal. Beatrice’s dress was pushed up to her waist, the sweet tangle of hair between her legs wet with welcome.

Lying beside her he used his hand again to bring her to pleasure without costing her the virginity that, to the ton at least, was her most valuable asset. She turned
her head into his chest to smother the cry as waves of sensation pulsed through her, and then gave in to the final sweep with her back arched as if she wanted every last bit of what he gave her.

Afterward, they lay in each other’s arms for a long while. It did little to ease the ache in his loins but she held tight to him and he wanted only to make her happy.

And when had he ever thought that before?
You love her
, a little voice whispered and he let the truth flood through him.

He moved to sit up. She shivered and held him to her.

“No, Jess, I cannot leave you so frustrated.”

“You can and you will.” He pushed away from her, smoothing her dress down around her legs.

“Let me—” she began.

“No!” He stood up and turned from her, welcoming the chill of separation. His body began to recover. He was not sure his heart ever would.

“I feel so very selfish and I do not feel quite so complete without you holding me.”

He turned to look at her. “You know this is only headed for disaster.”

She opened her mouth and then bit her lip in that gesture she had of holding back more. Standing up, she brushed her skirts down and pushed her hair back and looked exactly like what she was, a woman who now understood the pleasure of sex.

“There is no point in discussing this with you when you are not quite yourself,” she said. “And since you will not allow me to do anything about it I am going to the house for a few minutes to try to tidy myself.” She was going to say more but he did not let her.

“Come to the racecourse as soon as you can. They are sure to ask where you are.”

“I hate the way you dictate terms to me. You are as bad as Papa.” She let out her breath in a huff and then stopped, as though just then struck by something. She shook her head and began to the walk back to the house.

Jess watched her. She turned back once, waiting for him to move from the tree.

Finally she made a dismissive gesture with her hands. “Stop watching me!” she called back and he obeyed her, heading to join the others, where he hoped to find sanity. What did it say about the state of his mind that he was looking to Destry’s exploits as the sane moment in his day?

Chapter Thirty-three
 

T
HIS IS DECIDEDLY
odd
, Destry thought as he turned to see exactly where Cecilia was. Right behind him, but definitely moving at a pace that kept her there when he was moving at the perfect pace for her to pass him.

If she was in front of him he could admire her seat, how beautiful she looked in the dark blue habit, and daydream about spending every morning riding the land with her after spending every night together in bed. Instead he was trying to devise a way to lose without falling off his horse.

They had truly raced for the first half, neck and neck the whole way. He could have gone faster but did not want to endanger her. Or himself, to be honest. Destry knew every time she glanced his way, as she knew when he looked at her. Occasionally they looked at the same time, which made them both grin and push their mounts a little more.

At the ford, which she reached first, she let loose a triumphant laugh even as they both slowed to cross safely. Back on land they moved on barely at a canter, her golden hair no longer streaming behind her, now barely stirred by the afternoon breeze, which looked to be bringing rain their way.

Cecilia was acting as though she did not want to win.

Which was impossible.

Winning was as important to her as it was to him.

Destry slowed his horse a little more and Cecilia did the same. Totally confused by her behavior, he slowed even more, settling into a walk. She came up beside him but did not pass him.

“What are you doing?” Because of the sidesaddle she had to look over her shoulder at him even though they were side by side.

“What are
you
doing?”

“Move a little ahead of me, my lord, so I do not have to twist so far to see you,” she ordered.

“No, you come around to the other side and move a little ahead.” Two could play this game.

“Do you want me to win this race?”

“No more than you want me to win.”
Genius
, he thought. That was the perfect non-answer.

“That makes no sense. What do you mean?”

“The same thing you mean.” That sounded more evasive than clever.

“Oh, stop, Destry. This is not some verbal puzzle. Answer my question.”

“Only if you will answer mine.”

“All right,” she said with such vehemence that he thought she was barely hanging on to her patience.
“Are you letting me win? That is, are you
trying
to let me win?”

“Yes,” he said, amazed at how hard it was to admit it.

“You are willing to lose deliberately to make me …” Her voice trailed off. “To make me do what?” she finished, confusion evident.