Proper Scoundrel (8 page)

She laughed, easy and free, for the first time. “I’m rather fond of my power over you, Marcus Fitzalan.”

He rather liked his over her, as well.

She’d laughed. He’d melted an ice queen in a yellow gown.

The rider Emily saw was wearing a yellow gown the night before they found a stuffed “body” on the tracks, but he couldn’t ask Jade about that now, not tonight. “As I said, I’m yours to command.”

“What if I say I’m yours to command?”

“Then we won’t be getting much sleep anytime soon.”

Jade felt a pleasant ripple of shock skitter through her at his threat. No sleep anytime soon! If his words alone could move her, how would she feel lying naked beside him?

If not sleep, what precisely did a man and woman do behind closed doors during the long dark hours of the night? The process had always remained sketchy in her mind. Titillating, but vague.

She wasn’t entirely naïve; she’d seen stallions ready to breed. This afternoon, when Marcus caught her waiting for Sofia to fit her gown, he had stroked her with his hot gaze and become as ready as any stallion. Her blood had heated and skittered her veins then. It happened again times a hundred, during their kiss just now. But this time she’d arched against that very ready part of him, the corresponding centre of her pulling and pulsing to bring him in, and it all became infinitely more clear.

Jade shivered, and rather than retreat from the source of danger, she stepped nearer, and Marcus enfolded her in his warmth, holding her tighter, knowing exactly what she needed.

“I’ll have to sleep on the possibility of obeying your commands,” she said against his neck. “As far as my own are concerned, none come to mind that I have the courage to allow.”

“I await your pleasure with bated breath,” he said in a low, seductive voice as he gazed into her eyes, then he stepped back, took her arm, and directed them toward the house.

Grateful, relieved, and disappointed, anticipation simmered in Jade’s breast.

“There are any number of commands available to you,” he said as they stepped into the foyer. “Ask me to ravish you; I’ll take you to heaven. Ask me to kiss you; I will anytime, anywhere in the world ... on your body.”

There went her blood, sparking and racing again. Anywhere on her body. Glory.

They stopped as one when they saw the sprite asleep on the bottommost step. Emily.

I was just coming for her, “Lacey said,” as she rounded the bend in the stairs and came into sight. “She wanted to stay up and wait for you, Jade, though she called you ‘the princess,’ but I wouldn’t let her, so she sneaked away on her own, the bold creature.”

“I kissed her goodnight after I dressed,” Jade explained to Marcus. “She called me a princess then too.”

“Because you’re so beautiful.”

“Hah,” Jade scoffed. “Spoken like any gallant worth his salt.”

“Mucks? Jade?” Emily called in a sleepy voice from Lacey’s arms.

“We’re home, Kitten,” Jade said, kissing Em’s brow.

“Have a good sleep, Emmy-bug,” Marcus said doing the same. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

Emily nodded and Lacey took her up to bed.

Strolling up that main stairway, arm in arm with Marcus made one of those perfect moments Jade knew she’d remember forever.

“You’ve lessons to be taught,” Marcus said re-claiming her attention. “Wonderful lessons I’m more than ready to teach you, but recall my warning. Every step we take will change us. If you’re not prepared for that inevitability, step back. The fire’s too hot. For now.”

“That’s what scares me,” she said as they reached his floor.

“I know.” He kissed her once more, gentler, sweeter, enough to make her want to haul him up the stairs with her and ... then what?

“Ivy will bring my brother in the morning,” he said. “Thank you for allowing him to come. Now, go and dream of me.” A hand at her bottom, he nudged her toward the remaining steps.

When she turned at the top to look down, aching inside for something more, he stood there, watching.

With a flourish, he bowed, her smooth-talking scoundrel of an unlikely gallant, that half smile of his fluttering her heart before he disappeared from her sight, though not from her mind.

In her room, Jade stepped from her gown and petticoats, remembering the feel of his hands grazing her back, tracing the outline of her corset through her clothes. He’d stroked the lace on her drawers as he skimmed her bottom, as if the body beneath belonged to him, not her, and he’d as soon remove the impediments he encountered on his quest.

Jade stepped to her mirror to examine the image he’d admired that afternoon—chemisette and corset, stockings and garters, and she smiled remembering his reaction.

After letting down her hair, she stripped to nothing with reasonable ease, used to doing for herself—though usually not with so many layers—to view exactly what she might allow him to see ... perhaps ... someday.

Her breasts, which were too big, did make her waist look small—a fair exchange she supposed. Her bottom seemed round enough, but not too round. The unholy length of her legs had always made her feel clownish, but Marcus didn’t seem to mind.

During their conversations, her height placed his sculpted lips on a level with hers, both distracting and seducing her. If she ever gathered the courage to give in to the temptation he presented, she might be grateful for her stature. As a Long-Meg she would also meet that hard, seeking portion of him quite well, which must be considered a boon.

She turned down her covers and sighed. She’d never had the social experiences other girls of her station did, but tonight, she’d been to a ball, courted by a princely suitor, complimented, waltzed and kissed for the first time. A perfect society launch, and not more than ten years late.

She didn’t lament the tardiness of it, because Marcus seemed worth the wait.

She had but one regret. During their kiss, her breasts had prickled in restless anticipation, budding to hard points, but Marcus had not touched.

Perhaps she should have issued a command.

Chuckling at the preposterous notion, Jade dropped to her bed, for the first time ever without her nightgown, to let the evening air cool her fevered body. She didn’t even bother to pull up the covers. Aware of every new subtlety in her body, she focused deep inside, at her centre, where she pulsed still.

If Marcus were looking down at her right now, as naked and ready as she—a sight she knew she’d enjoy—she’d open her arms and welcome him.

Skin against skin. Glory.

A week ago if anyone had told her she’d be ready to lie with a man, she would have told them to go to the devil.

If Gram were here, she’d warn her granddaughter to beware of Satan’s lair.

Normally, that inner warning would stop her; she had always been ready to heed her grandmother’s warnings ... until Marcus. Her current unwillingness to listen made her understand how and why a woman might lose herself in a man, how she might forget to fight for her goals in the process of making his desires and goals her focus. She might forget to fight for her needs and rights in view of his, forget even to breathe for herself, if he would do it for her.

Yes, the consequences of surrendering herself could be staggering.

Alarm sat Jade up.

Consequences others would suffer ... which she could not allow.

She mustn’t, couldn’t, relinquish herself to passion and forget all else.

She needed to keep Gram’s secret.

She needed to stop the railroad and defeat Giles Dudley.

She couldn’t afford to lose her purpose amid a heady flight of fancy, physical or otherwise, real or imagined. She couldn’t give her heart or her hand to anyone, because in doing so—she was living proof—she would diminish her power to reason, lose her focus, her very self.

If she trusted ... the wrong man ... not only could she lose her self-respect, strength and determination, but she could lose the Benevolent Society for Downtrodden Women, and those in her care would lose as well.

If she trusted the wrong man.

If she trusted any man, she’d been taught from birth.

Perhaps any man was the wrong man. If mere attraction made her imagine herself as weak and in need of male protection and security, perhaps a woman must remain alone and invulnerable to the opposite sex to remain strong.

Perhaps—no, not perhaps, but most likely, she hated to admit—Gram was right.

She needed to reassert her power to think and do for herself as she’d been taught, Marcus or no.

She needed to remain strong.

Marcus entered Jade’s study the next morning more tired than when he’d gone to bed, because he’d tossed half the night, erect and uncomfortable.

To remedy his condition, he’d considered the problems and intricacies of the railroad, of lost records and missing finances, until his body would cool and he’d doze.

Then his dreams took over and he was back in Jade’s thrall, her touch and her fragrance arching along and against him, and he’d wake throbbing and on the brink of release.

He considered storming her door—if only he knew which door.

Now, pages of accounts sat before him and he couldn’t concentrate for anticipating her step in the hall—like that stallion again, agitated, vigilant.

Marcus swore and focused on the ledger entries.

He stood and went around the desk to lean against it. This way, when she came in, she could step easily into his arms. He’d be gentle. She’d be shy, because of their kiss and his intimation that he’d like to keep her awake all night loving her. But she would be eager to learn how that could happen and he ... would be happy to show her.

She’d wear something soft against her skin this morning, something sweet and feminine, her hair flowing down her back, a stray lock on her bodice. He’d not stroke merely the lock this morning, he decided, if she seemed willing.

It would be worth a sleepless night, if stopping had peaked her interest and she woke eager for his lessons.

He heard her voice, sharp, quick.

His body reacted, sharp, quick.

She threw the door open.

Anticipation turned to shock.

The ice-queen returneth.

The single difference between her clothing at their first encounter and this morning was the addition of a black frock coat to her trousers and waistcoat. But he feared that the declaration she made remained the same, with one subtle difference—she had him in thrall now, and it would take more than a declaration of war to stop him.

Nevertheless, her message remained clear. In charge. Untouchable. Made of ice.

“Is that my coat?” Marcus asked, annoyed, amused, beguiled.

Jade raised her chin ready to face her opponent, infinitely more handsome of a sudden. More human. Be strong, she told herself. Be firm. Leave the lock of hair on his brow exactly where it is. Step too near and get singed.

She gave him a nod. “Your tailcoat fit well last night, and it takes care of the problem. This way I won’t distract susceptible males with my ... assets.” She glanced behind her. “See, no distraction. It works.”

Marcus put the ledger down, leaned against her desk, crossed his ankles, folded his arms, and disproved her words with a hot sweeping gaze. “It doesn’t work.”

Marcus straightened. “You’ve been in my room? Going through my clothes?”

Jade had loved the experience, bringing his coats to her face to inhale his spicy scent.

By the look of him, she guessed at his displeasure. Strong. Be strong, she told herself.

She shrugged. “Everybody comes and goes here.”

“How convenient. Where’s your room?”

She attempted a chiding brow, refusing to answer, her heart skittering so hard, it battered her rib cage. This was not going the way she wanted. His question alone heated her.