One Scandalous Kiss (20 page)

“I had taken the liberty of choosing a poem.”

Augusta made a snapping sound with her tongue. “No, I must choose. That is the way of it.”

He glanced at Jessamin as if she might come to his aid. Sitting ramrod straight, perched on the edge of the settee near his aunt, she merely nodded her head. “It’s true. That’s the way we do it.”

“What page, dearest aunt?”

“Page one hundred and three, if you please.”

He turned the pages until he was near the end of the volume and landed on the one hundred and third page. A single, short poem took up the space of the folio page. It was titled “Love’s Philosophy.” Lucius skimmed the words he was about to read and finally felt the strands of the web in which his aunt had ensnared him. He speared her with an icy gaze above the book’s edge and narrowed his eyes at the Cheshire grin sealing her lips.

The poem might as well have been written in a foreign language, so strange was its meaning to a man used to stifling his emotions. He stammered through the poem’s first stanza, every line causing him to stumble. Full of sentiment and intimate meaning, the words tripped his normally steady tongue while his mind wandered into places he’d only ventured since meeting Jessamin.

Mercifully, his aunt stopped him short. “Oh, that’s not right at all, Lucius. It seems the clever Miss Wright surpasses you in poetry reading after all. Do go and rescue him, my dear.”

Jessamin hesitated before obeying her employer, but then he sensed her moving toward him. He couldn’t look at her as she retrieved the little book from his hands. He thrust it toward her and sank down further into his chair.

Lucius had always acknowledged the beauty of Jessamin Wright’s voice. It wasn’t high-pitched and interspersed with giggles, nor too deep and unfeminine. It was smooth and rich, just the sort of voice for reading anything at all.

“ ‘The fountains mingle with the river—’ ”

His aunt stopped her. “Don’t start again, dear. Just continue on.”

Lucius knew what came next and couldn’t resist watching her mouth form the words as she read. Her full lips lovingly caressed the kind of words that had caused him to stumble. He studied her neck and followed the smooth white expanse of skin that arched up across her cheeks.

“ ‘Nothing in the world is single;/All things by a law divine/ In one another’s being mingle—/Why not I with thine?’ ”

As she read, her cheeks gradually flamed again into a blush as crimson as her mouth.

“ ‘See the mountains kiss high heaven,/And the waves clasp one another . . .’ ”

She spoke of kissing, and he was struck with the memory of her lips on his as vividly as if she stood before him, the taste of her fresh on his tongue. At that moment, he understood the value of that kiss. It had changed him—it had changed everything.

“ ‘And the sunlight clasps the earth,/And the moonbeams kiss the sea—/What are all these kissings worth,/If thou kiss not me?’ ” As Jessamin spoke the last line, her voice wavered and the book started to slip from her hands. She caught it and looked up at Lucius. Her eyes glowed behind her spectacles. Her glance drew him, pulled him, as if she alone knew how reach beyond his defenses and lure him. He started to stand, but she stopped him.

“No. I . . .” For a moment, she seemed confused, disoriented. Then she approached his aunt and handed her the book. “Forgive me, Lady Stamford. I need a breath of air.”

His aunt replied quietly, nearly a whisper. “Of course, my dear.”

A stifling silence descended on the sitting room. Lucius slid a finger between his neck and tie, wrenching the fabric until he could breathe. The press of his clothing was suddenly intolerable, as if his apparel was nothing more than a neatly tailored restraint. He couldn’t stop his foot from tapping, though the Aubusson carpet was so thick, his boot made no sound.

“Lucius?” Augusta’s voice had lost its usual lighthearted tone.

“Yes, Aunt?” He stopped tapping his foot, but his fingers immediately began to trace the carved pattern in the arm of his chair.

“You are not a fool.” She said the words firmly, without a sliver of doubt.

“Am I not?” Lucius didn’t share his aunt’s faith in her assertion.

“No. So you must go after her.” He lifted his head and met his aunt’s eyes. She looked ready to command and be obeyed. But a smile softened her lips, and he knew in that moment she’d always seen through his veneer of cool detachment—always had and always would. “Only a fool would stay here with me at a moment like this. Go and get her.”

Chapter Twenty-One

S
HE WASN’T D
IFFICULT
to find. Jessamin had escaped to the second-floor balcony, a broad and shallow terrace that ran along a patch of Hartwell’s west wall. It was a part of the house that was still structurally sound and one of the most appealing aspects of the west-facing façade. The sunset glow gilded her in warm hues and her hands rested on the weathered stone balustrade as she stared out on the lawns of the estate. Crimson and gold leaves dotted the green, discards of the great oaks and maple trees that formed the edge of Hartwell Woods. Those trees had thrived on the estate far longer than Lucius.

He could only guess her thoughts. Fear told him she was planning how to leave. And some part of him, a vein of honor and propriety, told him he should assist her to do just that. He could offer her nothing honorable, and while his aunt seemed to adore her, such a vibrant, intelligent young woman deserved more than a life as a lady’s companion.

A breeze lifted a loose wave of her auburn hair, and the strands stroked her neck and the side of her face. Lucius flexed the fingers of his right hand. He had touched that skin, knew its supple texture, and he longed to touch her again.

She must have sensed him watching, for she turned her head, eyes widening. Stepping away from the balustrade, she tipped her chin up and folded her arms across her chest. Her expression stony and resolute, Jessamin looked as if she anticipated a confrontation.

A bit of metal at her throat caught the light and Lucius saw her spectacles hanging at the neck of her gown. Tenderness washed through him, a heat in the center of his chest that made him want to smile. They seemed such a fragile contraption for such a strong, resilient woman. And the sight of them tucked into her neckline reminded him of the night in the gallery, watching her fold them neatly, admiring her fastidiousness even as he wondered what the devil made her approach. Then the jolt of shock when she lifted onto her toes and kissed him.

Lucius opened his mouth to speak, but then sealed his lips again, completely at a loss for what to say. His emotions were at odds with his reason, and he had always deferred to reason, always trusted it over emotion. His father had been ruled by his passions—anger, resentment, jealousy, fear—and he couldn’t allow himself such a fate.

Yet Jessamin provoked nothing but emotion. From the moment he’d met her and every moment thereafter, thoughts of her consumed him, and none of them had been dispassionate. He should avoid her, stamp out this endless desire that overruled his reason. He should send her away, for his sake and her own.

Because no matter the craving that erupted whenever she was near, no matter the tumult she stirred in him, he had to do his duty and marry Miss Sedgwick, or some other woman like her. He must. Despite Father’s accusations regarding Lucius’s mother, Lucius had never doubted Dunthorpe blood flowed in his veins, and that meant duty, not just to his father, but to his family, to the estate.

Yet he wanted her. Lord, how he wanted her.

Like a fever, it burned him from the inside out. As he stood watching Jessamin, memorizing every angle and curve of her lovely face, lingering far too long on the seductive swell of her lips, his body began to shudder.

A battle had commenced inside him. He knew what he had to do and what he must say to her. He would send her away—allow her to rebuild her life, and carry on with his own.

But then she moved. He might have been dreaming for how slowly she approached, lit by the gloaming light, rebel strands of red-gold hair streaming around her face. She stopped just before him, looking up at him, just as she had in Mayfair. He’d read fear in her eyes that night, but now he saw something else—desire that echoed his own.

Jessamin lifted a hand and rested it on his chest, high near his shoulder, slipping it down across his waistcoat. She would feel the tremors racking his body, sense his heartbeat banging a fearsome tattoo. He should snatch her hand away, hide his feelings—reason must conquer passion.

“This time it won’t be because you’re a viscount who snubbed another woman. It will be because you’re the only man I’ve ever wanted to kiss.”

Then she lifted onto her toes and her body swayed toward him. Lucius slid an arm around her waist, savoring the heat and weight of her. They had performed this dance before on the night they’d met. The night she’d delivered a one-hundred-pound kiss. But no one paid her for this moment. She chose it. She wanted him, here where no one watched, with no reward and no inducement but her own desire. The thought thrilled him, and he felt the tide of battle turn.

He couldn’t walk away from her now if Hartwell crumbled around him.

Jessamin pressed her mouth to his, and his knees nearly buckled with relief. Her lips were the sweetest, richest confection. Memory couldn’t compare to the raw pleasure of tasting her again.

Then he felt the tentative press of her tongue against his own and lost the battle.

He reached for her hair, allowing himself the joy of releasing a few pins. He stroked loose silken strands as he kissed her and then trailed his fingers down to explore the skin of her face, her neck. He deepened the kiss, letting her feel his hunger and need, speaking to her with the stroke of his tongue and slide of his mouth, telling her with kisses all the sentiments he couldn’t speak aloud.

Jessamin released a moan, low and throaty, and he pressed her back against Hartwell’s wall, cushioning her in his arms. He kissed her and touched her everywhere her blasted proper, high-necked gown would allow. His hands roved over the lush curve of her hips, the full swell of her breasts. Lucius pulled back to gaze at her, grinning at the dazed look in her eyes and the bee-stung plumpness of her mouth.

She smiled back at him and reached her hand out, tracing the tilt of his mouth with her fingers.

“You’re smiling again, or very nearly.” She spoke the words with a tone of wonder.

“I smile a great deal when you’re about, Miss Wright.”

She looked offended by his claim. “Rarely. You’ve only smiled at me once since the moment we met.”

He ducked his head and wrapped his hands around each side of her waist. He studied the contrast of his skin against the vibrant blue of her dress. It felt right to hold her, to trace the shape of her body with his hands. He didn’t wish to ever let her go.

“Perhaps smiling isn’t simply the matter of flashing one’s teeth and guffawing like a fool.”

She continued to trace his mouth as he spoke, stroking his lower lip, then skimming her fingers across his jaw before touching his mouth again.

“You should smile more. Laugh more.”

Lucius nipped at one of her fingers, and Jessamin let out a girlish squeal.

“As long as you’re near, I will.”

She began to pull away, but he leaned toward her, capturing her in the frame of his arms, and kissed her again, slowly, relishing the velvet warmth of her mouth. She responded by clasping the lapels of his jacket and pulling him closer.

Lucius heard another squeal, but it hadn’t come from Jessamin. Then he heard women’s voices and reluctantly lifted his head. Jessamin’s eyes were huge as she clasped a hand to her mouth.

He looked back over his shoulder and saw them. Miss Sedgwick and his sister stood on the lawn below, staring up at them. The two women were speaking to each other, his sister patting Miss Sedgwick’s arm. But then Miss Sedgwick stalked away, apparently toward the house, and disappeared under the terrace.

He still held Jessamin in his arms, but she pushed away from him, broke from his grasp, and fled into the house.

He opened his mouth to call her back, but like the moment when he’d walked onto the balcony, no words would come.

“Lucius, what have you done?” His sister still stood on the lawn below. He could hear the distress in her tone and watched as she patted at the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief.

“Go to my study, Julia. I shall be there directly.”

Now it was his turn to lean against the balustrade, sucking in gulps of cool autumn air, and struggling to tamp down the passion he’d given free rein. Control seemed so far gone, he doubted he’d ever grasp it again. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, so deafening it drowned out all other sound.

Damn it all.
Painfully aroused, Lucius wanted nothing more than to send everyone else packing and hide away with Jessamin, giving and taking pleasure in her arms for as long as he was able.

He wanted her, but it was more than that. He needed her. She’d electrified his life, animating a heart he’d thought rusty and long past repair.

But would she choose a life at Hartwell? She’d tasted independence as a shop owner and knew her own worth. She was a suffragette, for heaven’s sake. Her actions in Mayfair might have appeared the height of audacity, but he suspected she’d done it out of desperation. And it must have taken a good deal of brass for her to walk into that gallery and kiss him. The attraction he felt for her sparked to life in that moment, but so too had an abiding admiration for her courage and spirit. Could such a woman be enticed to become his impoverished viscountess?

And what would become of Hartwell without Miss Sedgwick’s wealth? The only means of preserving the estate was to diminish it, to sell off part of the land and perhaps the family silver. Maybe Miss Sedgwick would care to purchase that vase in the entry hall she seemed so fond of.

He gripped the stone of the balustrade and huffed out a bitter laugh. Miss Sedgwick might be willing to buy half the family heirlooms at Hartwell, and investors could nip at his heels to develop parts of the estate all they liked, but his father would have none of it. The man might struggle to recall people and places, but he’d never wavered in his insistence that the Dunthorpe lands remain intact.

Squeezing the flesh between his brows didn’t offer a bit of relief, but Lucius suspected nothing would until he faced whatever consequences awaited him in his study.

A
T THE C
LATTER
of a knock at her bedroom door, Jess nearly jumped out of her boots.

She both hoped and feared it was Lucius. For the second time in her life, she’d brazenly kissed him, and this kiss had been so much sweeter than the first. This time she’d known the man she was kissing, had talked with him and seen him smile. And she’d been all too aware of the consequences. She liked May, the woman his aunt intended him to marry, and she’d experienced the luxuries of Hartwell, the world he’d been born into while she merely stumbled through hoping she didn’t break anything. But knowing the consequences hadn’t stopped her. Nothing could have changed her mind when he stood there looking so lost, so anxious for her reaction, and so eager to touch her.

Someone knocked again, and she prayed it wasn’t Lady Stamford. How could she explain herself? Knowing the consequences of kissing Lucius hadn’t prepared Jess for the look on May’s face. Her guilt when she spotted May on the lawn brought a wave of queasiness that made Jess want to retch. But now, alone in her room, she couldn’t resist recalling the pleasure she’d felt before that moment, and the rightness of being in Lucius’s arms.

A deep-toned voice called through the door. “Miss Wright, it’s Rob Wellesley. May I speak with you?”

Mr. Wellesley knew something was amiss. Jess could see it in his verdigris gaze.

“I know it’s not quite proper, but might I . . . ?” He gestured toward the sitting room and then proceeded to walk in before she’d agreed.

“Did Lady Stamford send you to fetch me?”

“No. Grimsby called me into his study and asked me to come up and see that you’re well.”

The news that Lucius had sent him, that he was concerned about her, ignited a flutter of pleasure in her chest, and it eased a bit of the misery of whatever trouble she’d caused by kissing him on the balcony.

“Are you well, Miss Wright?”

Jessamin nodded. Her legs still trembled from the overwhelming sensations Lucius’s kisses had sparked. But whatever it said about her sense of propriety—and she feared it said nothing good—the truth was that she wanted nothing more than to kiss him again.

“How is Lord Grimsby faring? And Miss Sedgwick?”

“They are all gathered in his study. Lady Stamford and the viscount’s sister are there too, and his sister is carrying on dreadfully. The lady is quite inconsolable.”

“She does seem to suffer from sensitive nerves.”

Jess bit her lip the moment the words were out. It was hardly fair to think poorly of Lucius’s sister. Considering the whole matter from Lady Julia’s perspective, Lucius was sinking further and further into scandal. And Jess was the cause.

When Jess said nothing more, Mr. Wellesley took a turn around the room, glancing out the long leaded-glass windows at the view of Hartwell Woods, and then running a finger along the satiny upholstery of the desk chair before looking down to examine the papers on Jessamin’s desk. “ ‘Duty and Desire. Women’s Education at Century’s End.’ Is this a speech for your suffrage group?”

“Yes, but it’s not finished yet.”

Wellesley smiled in that slow, easy way of his, his face blooming into an expression somewhere between delight and mischief.

“Sounds intriguing. Which do you choose, Miss Wright? Duty or desire?”

When he moved closer, that amused expression still fixed on his face, Jess felt the urge to let out a burst of panicked laughter to ease the tension that had her body in knots. She coughed against the tickle in her throat.

“As I argue in my speech, women should not have to choose. We must find a way for women to do their duty
and
obtain the education they desire.”

For a moment she heard the same strident tone in her voice that Alice used during speeches at the union.

Mr. Wellesley was no longer smiling. He’d become pensive. “Will you give the speech yourself? Your meetings are in London, are they not? Do you think you’ll ever return to London?”

He spoke the questions so quickly that there wasn’t time for answers. But his last query, whether she’d return to London, had been weighing on Jess’s mind since her arrival at Hartwell. Hours ago, Kitty’s offer to help her had been tempting. But now—after that kiss and experiencing how right it felt to be Lucius’s arms—everything had changed. She couldn’t imagine leaving Hartwell and never seeing Lucius again. Yet she couldn’t fathom a way to stay.