The Debutante Is Mine (11 page)

She didn’t waste any more time with breathing. After all, time was not her ally. Hadn’t she heard that enough? This moment would be over too soon, and she needed to make the most of it. And
oh . . . what a sensation
. Open-mouthed, their lips pressed together, and then together, their mouths closed, their lips tangling one over the other, nibbling each other like candied fruits, again and again, gorging themselves.

“I should not kiss you,” he said on a growl as he kissed her again. His tongue slipped between her lips, gliding over the sensitive inner flesh, tracing the ridge of her teeth, brushing against her tongue.

She broke away on a gasp, unsure, panting for breath, wondering if he’d meant to do that, wondering if she was supposed to allow such an intimacy. “You are teaching me . . . about passion. Therefore . . . a kiss is completely acceptable.”

“Mmm . . . irrefutable logic,” he said, nuzzling the corner of her mouth. “Now give me your tongue, Lilah. I want to claim it.”

Any hesitation she might have had evaporated in the steam they exhaled as their open mouths fused once more. She gave him her tongue—an offering more than answer to his command. Although at the moment, she would have given him anything he asked. Never in her life had she felt this secure. Nothing bad could happen while here in the shelter of his arms. The solid strength of Jack’s body, his arms tight around her, ensured it. She was so certain of this that she curled her legs around his waist, her night rail migrating upward.

He groaned—a delicious vibration against her tongue and lips. Apparently, her new position forced him to alter his hold because his hands slipped from her waist to the swells of her bottom. Even through the fabric, his hands were hot. He squeezed her flesh, his fingertips splayed, skimming the sensitive underside. “You’re making me forget my code of honor.”

Dropping her hands to his shoulders, she wriggled closer, seeking the hottest parts of him while nipping at his lips. “Code?”

“I am honor bound not to bed a virgin,” he said, even as his fingers kneaded her flesh and pulled her closer, sliding her against a rather hard, hot, and lengthy part of him.

Lilah blushed. She might be inexperienced, but she wasn’t a simpleton and understood what he was saying. Yet her mother had informed her—in a vague, general sense—that a husband and wife would
lie down together
, and it was the wife’s duty to bear it as best she could. “Surely that is nothing to worry over now. Not while we are standing in the garden.”

“
I
am standing. You, however, are perfectly situated to make it possible.”

I am
? She wondered how that could be true . . .

He growled, his dark pupils expanding as he shook his head. “And you must stop staring at me with such blatant curiosity, or I will ask you to reach between us in order to show you.”

“It’s hardly my fault. You’re the one who involved my imagination,” she scoffed but only half-heartedly.

His gaze dipped to her mouth. “If you scold me once more, I will not be able to control my actions. I will rob you of your innocence here, in this very garden, and then carry you up to your chamber, bolt the door, and continue until I’ve satisfied every curiosity you could ever conjure.”

She wondered if he realized that he was terrible at issuing threats. And for that she was thankful, for she’d overheard too many in her life. “Then kiss me again, and I won’t have cause to scold you.”

He did kiss her but briefly and far too chastely. “I cannot do that either. Your sinful mouth has the same effect on me, no matter what it is doing.” And this time, it was clear he meant it.

Disappointed, she uncurled her legs from around him. Gradually, he lowered her so that her feet could touch the ground, but the journey—her body sliding against the length of his—was pure, wondrous torture.

Lilah kept her hands on his shoulders, unwilling to release him. “Are you going to return to that woman?”

“I should. You and I would be better off if my desire was slaked. Then I would not be—even now—contemplating all the things I could do to you. Things that would leave your innocence intact but only by the strictest definition,” he said, making her blush again. His hands lingered at her waist, as if he was equally as reluctant to let her go. “However, it would be unfair to her if I could think only of you.”

“I agree.” She nodded, earning a low chuckle from him. “It would not be fair to any of us.”

“Including your future husband,” he reminded. This time, he was able to set her apart from him, and she instantly shivered from cold. He shrugged out of his greatcoat and settled the heavy garment over her shoulders. It was still warm, and his scent rose up to fill her nostrils, filling her with a sense of comfort. “Come. I’ll walk you to your door.”

They walked the stone path in silence, the weight of honor and expectation between them. Lilah was the first to speak.

“I do not think that I will sleep at all tonight,” she said, facing him.

The muted glow from the candle just beyond the door glass caught the heat in his gaze. Lifting a hand, he brushed her cheek softly with his fingertips.

“Nor I.” Then, slipping that hand to the back of her neck, he lifted her hair free, letting it fan out over her shoulders. “I like the look of you, wearing my coat over your nightclothes.”

She grinned and offered a small curtsy. “I shall tell that to Juliet’s modiste when she arrives tomorrow morning before calling hours.” She hesitated. “Speaking of which, do you think perhaps . . . ”

She let her question trail off, hoping that he would issue a command for her to be
at home
for him. And she would let him know that she would consider receiving him, all the while hiding her eagerness.

“I have business matters that I have been neglecting since my return to town,” he said instead, his brow lined with regret. “I never imagined that the aristocratic practice of
calling hours
could be something I would find so distracting and so tempting. And by the by, what you referred to as
tomorrow morning
is actually only a few hours from now.”

Lilah sighed. “Juliet will likely murder me if my eyes are shadowed with bruises before the Corbett Ball in the evening.”

“You will look lovely, of that I am certain,” he said, stepping near enough to gently grasp the lapels of his coat.

Feeling wistful but not wanting to let on, she smiled up at him. “Knowing that you will not attend in order to confirm your claim, I will tell you in advance that I will be at my loveliest. It will be a pity that you will miss such an awe-inspiring sight.”

Without warning, he tugged her close and kissed her once more, making her forget what she was saying.

Before removing the warmth of his coat from her shoulders, he whispered, “Don’t dream of me, Lilah. I forbid you.”

She caught sight of his smirk just before he turned away and strode down the path. “I will not, Mr. Marlowe. After all, it would be unfair to all the
other
gentlemen I have parading around in my dreams already.”

The sound of his knowing laugh warmed her through.
What an arrogant man
.

“ ‘
A
nd as for the newest name to grace our humble pages, we are all wondering which party the mysterious Miss A— attended last evening
,’ ” Juliet read, beaming over the edge of the morning’s
Standard
. “You see? Just as I said, your name is on everyone’s lips.”

Lilah bit back a yawn, hoping that her efforts resembled a smile instead. She stood in her bedchamber upon a crate, her arms lifted and straining at her sides, as the modiste set about pinning her gown. “
Miss A
could be Miss Ashbury, Miss Amherst, or even Miss Ainsworth. I’m not so quick to suspect that my forgettable-ness has altered from one evening.”

“Gossip travels swiftly, my dear,” Aunt Zinnia said from a chair near the hearth, a cup of tea waiting on the rosewood table beside her. “Be thankful it is in your favor.”

“Indeed,” Juliet added, that one word holding the weight of experience, both favorable and censorious. “If horses fed upon gossip instead of hay, then we could all travel to the Continent and back before luncheon.”

“Since we are on the topic, I wonder what Lord Thayne’s reaction was to the column in the
Standard
.” Aunt Zinnia offered a pointed glance in Juliet’s direction.

Juliet smiled sweetly. “Choking on a bit of egg in the breakfast room, I hope.”

“Marjorie and I were not pleased at the bargain you struck. And to involve Lilah?” She pursed her lips an instant before she exhaled her displeasure. “She already has quite enough to worry over.”

Strangely enough, Lilah hadn’t worried at all this morning. Not even once. Likely it was because she was far too exhausted. Then again, her mind had been so agreeably engaged with memories from last night that she may not have had time to worry. “Actually, Aunt, I volunteered. Thayne was antagonizing her so much that I had to do something.”

“Well, you certainly have no lack of bravery, much to your credit.”

“And I have complete faith in Lilah,” Juliet interjected and then turned to the modiste gesturing to the pins in Lilah’s bodice. “Claire, perhaps we should maintain a little more mystery. We don’t want our efforts to be obvious—just a few hints here and there.”

Thank goodness!
If Lilah were to lift her arm during a quadrille, she would likely spill out. Then there would be no mystery, and gossip would soon turn ill favored. Of course, that was only if she were asked to dance. According to the letter she’d received from her mother this morning, it was next to impossible.

“Be sure to thank my sister for all she’s done. And should you attend any balls, be sure to stand beside a girl with a bad complexion and poor posture. That should improve your prospects of finding a gentleman who is willing to dance with you.”

Mother hadn’t meant to be awful. She simply spoke with her own brand of honesty, believing that her opinion and desire for perfection was universal. Yet even having come to this understanding over the years, Lilah still felt a twinge of sadness.

Juliet surveyed the reinvented gown, tapping her fingertip against her mouth. “Now you need a signature, a statement, something that is unmistakably you, my dear Cousin. And I think I have the perfect thing.”

Stepping over to the vanity, Juliet lifted up a small wooden box and carried it back. When she opened the latch, Lilah gasped. Dozens of pearls of all shades and sizes filled the cavity. Each one glowed, transforming the gray morning light into satiny spheres.

Then, when her cousin pinched one in between her thumb and forefinger and raised it to her gown, Lilah suddenly understood the reason. “You cannot mean to use—no, I won’t allow you to waste such a beautiful treasure.”

“And what use have I for them? As you know, Lord Granworth left me very wealthy indeed,” Juliet said matter-of-factly. “These pearls make me think only of you. So why shouldn’t they be yours?”

Lilah wasn’t sure what to say. She still wasn’t used to her own reflection in the mirror. But at least she knew it was still her. “I don’t know. It just seems as if I’m misleading everyone, pretending that I have pearls of my own.”

“
You
are the pearl. Remember that.”

“H
ave you seen it, Marlowe?” Thayne barged into Jack’s study and slapped down a copy of a society newspaper. “Lady Granworth is a bold one, indeed. She must have had this entire charade planned even before our wager.”

Jack brushed the paper aside. Beneath it, the ink smeared on the letter he’d been writing to his groundkeeper in Huntsford on the topic of the proper care for azaleas. “I’ve no desire to read about frippery and nonsense. As you see, I’m quite busy. Or perhaps you don’t know what an occupation looks like. I can give you an example. There are some men, you see, who sit at desks, much like this, quill in hand, ledgers open, a stack of letters to be read and answered . . . ”

“And it’s all there, the curiosity about a certain
Miss A
,” Thayne continued as if he hadn’t heard Jack speak. “One can only assume that ‘
Miss A
’ is Juliet’s cousin, Miss . . . Miss . . . ”

“Appleton?” At this, Jack took the paper by the folded edge and scanned the page.

One mention of Lilah, and curiosity got the better of Jack. Then again, it wasn’t as if he’d spent any time
not
thinking about her. Especially not after last night. He’d been so close to losing complete control that it frightened him. Her kiss, the soft, hungry sounds she’d made, and the way she’d surrendered kindled a primitive chant within him.
Mine . . . mine . . . mine . . .
He’d been tempted to throw her over his shoulder and carry her out into the night with him.

That was all his mind had been able to think of since then as well. He couldn’t sleep anymore. He had no appetite. His work was suffering. He had an unopened stack of letters from various men who farmed his many landholdings. He spent little time paying attention to negotiations in his investment endeavors. Earlier today, he’d handed over ten pounds to a wine merchant for a case of rotgut. And worse, he looked at the card in his pocket at least once every hour. He was turning into a buffoon.

“Yes, that’s it—Miss Appleton,” Thayne said, with a level of bitterness in his tone that made the hackles on the back of Jack’s neck rise. “The ingénue who will doubtless make me feel guilty for keeping my house and forcing Juliet out of town.”

Jack dropped the paper and stood, pressing his knuckles to the desk. “What makes you think that she won’t succeed? If there is already a measure of curiosity, then Miss Appleton may be on the path to becoming an
Original
.”

As far as he was concerned, she already was. It was an odd notion to him that the
haute ton
considered themselves experts on who was the most original. After all, the lot of them behaved in the
same
manner and followed the
same
rules.

Apparently, Thayne was too busy pacing in front of the desk to notice the note of warning in Jack’s tone. “She will not succeed because this is not the year for subtlety. Last year’s
Original
was all smiles and politeness. The
ton
quickly grew bored of her by the time her betrothal was announced. This year”—he pointed a finger to the ceiling—“is the year for audacity. The year for a man. Wolford is bold enough to cut a swath through the
ton
and leave them all gaping behind them.”

At the mention of the betrothal of last year’s
Original
, Jack automatically placed a protective hand over the card in his pocket. When he realized what he’d done, he felt the flesh around his eyes tighten and his brow furrow.

He should be glad, for Lilah’s sake. The marriage she needed was within her grasp. Yet he couldn’t help but wonder if there was a better solution. She shouldn’t have to marry to satisfy her father’s will. She should marry because it was her desire to do so.

Wasn’t Jack always railing against the
haute ton
’s inane rules? Then why was he helping her follow them? Instead, he should be finding another solution.

Yes! He sat down again, taking up a fresh page and jotting a note to his solicitor. He would have Mr. Quince conjure a way to study the will and see what could be done.

“Tonight is the Corbett Ball. According to my mother, every notable will be in attendance. Therefore, if Wolford is to have a shot at becoming the
Original
, he must attend as well. The problem is, I’ve asked him, but he absolutely refuses. He claims to have been invited to view a private collection of antiquities at Ruthersfield’s, along with Dovermere and a handful of other collectors.”

Again, Thayne managed to pique Jack’s interest. Dovermere was going to be absent from the Corbett Ball?
Hmm
. . . Jack had received an invitation to Corbett’s last week. He wondered if he could still find it.

“Perhaps there might be a way to entice Wolford. You could always forbid him to go.” After all, Vale had used that tactic on Jack on Christmas Eve, when he’d handed him the card with Lilah’s name on it.

“No, Marlowe, I absolutely forbid you to be intrigued.”

Suddenly, Jack realized that he’d been using the same tactic on Lilah. He grinned and then wondered if it would yield a similar result.