Chapter 3
Little in life surprised Jackson Cooper. In fact, more often than not, life’s predictability annoyed the hell out of him.
But not tonight.
Not as his gaze locked on the beauty interrupting his evening tryst with the widowed Lady Somerby.
Even before he’d spied the feminine intruder, he knew his amusement had come to an end. All it had taken was for her startled gasp to eclipse the moans of the willing woman in his arms. As he’d lifted his head from the tempting curve of pale flesh splayed before him and his gaze had instead met wide-eyed, gaping shock, he’d ascertained his cock was about to be denied gratification.
He had no objection of proceeding with an audience. That wasn’t what caused him to halt. The sudden feeling of wrongness rushing over him, as he considered the loveliness of the young woman before him, cooled his ardor. Suddenly, having his fingers splayed over Lady Somerby’s ample breast felt like a dire offense.
Before the intruder found her voice, Jackson removed his hand and righted the widow’s bodice, never breaking visual contact with the mystery woman. Definitely not one in approval of an audience, the moment her dress properly covered her breasts, Lady Somerby muttered a very indelicate oath and fled into the night, not once glancing at their uninvited guest. Or offering a word of farewell.
Leaving Jackson alone with the properly dressed lady lingering at the edge of the thicker foliage. Faced with her scrutiny, Jackson felt more exposed than if he wore nothing, rather than his hose and breeches.
Who is this miss? Drawn, as any man would be to her loveliness, he pushed away from the tree and approached. Apprehension, swarming with something far more enticing, gathered in her eyes with each step he took.
Through it all, she stood firm.
Again, he wondered what had led her to him . . . and silently gave thanks to whatever it was.
Given her finery, he suspected she’d traveled too far from the Mosley’s ballroom. Despite his family being invited to their neighbor’s soiree, he’d declined the offer. As he did with all invitations. Unlike his father, Viscount Middleton, and his older brother, Edward, Jackson had no desire to rub elbows with the snobs who viewed the title granted his father by King George as purchased and therefore, inferior. All of which discredited his father’s loyal service during the war with America.
Presented with an enchanting woman, he applauded his decision. Normally the private grove of trees positioned between his father’s house and the two adjoining properties offered discretion. Tonight, he was glad someone—more accurately, the vision before him—had invaded such privacy.
Her beauty was unmistakable, even in the muted light, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she’d be willing to continue where Lady Somerby had left off.
As soon as the thought entered his mind, something in his soul revolted at the idea. Even with him as the beneficiary, he didn’t care for the idea of such a pretty miss offering herself to a stranger in a copse of trees.
When she didn’t startle at his nearness, he spoke. “Are you a tree nymph or has God blessed me?”
Even knowing he wouldn’t be partaking in her exquisiteness, he couldn’t avoid teasing her. Not when his body had tautened with unfulfilled desire.
Instead of bolting, her brow lifted. Did she mock him? His excitement grew. He doubted boredom would be a factor with her.
“Are you generally this arrogant or did God decide to punish me?” Contrary to her demure appearance, nothing about her tone was sweet and docile.
A deep laugh rumbled from his chest. Yes, dullness would not be an issue.
“Or maybe the cold has addled your brain. Perhaps you should gather your clothing.” She nodded toward his chest.
He doubted she truly wanted him properly covered. The flash of interest in her eyes as they roamed his body suggested she didn’t.
He couldn’t resist encroaching further. “You forget, you interrupted my private celebration. As host, I decide the dress code, therefore you seem to be the one overdressed.”
“Considering your lady friend vanished without a word, I’m led to believe you are a dismal host.” Moonlight twinkled in her chocolate eyes, emphasizing her mirth.
“Should I hone my skills with you?” He eyed his mystery woman, confident she’d flee into the night at his bold overture.
She continued to surprise him. “In order to perfect an ability, you would first have to possess the skill. Nothing I’ve seen indicates you do.”
At her insult, he stepped into the space before her and traced his finger along the curve of her collarbone, thankful her modiste had foreseen the insightfulness of a low bodice. Not to mention she’d enough sense to forgo wearing a ridiculous fichu. “Shall we see about that?”
Her gasp filled his ears but she didn’t back away. Taking her stillness as encouragement, Jackson traced his fingertips across the soft skin of her bare arm, and over the smooth silk of her opera-length glove. His fingers danced with hers before retreating up her arm. Only to slide back down . . . removing her glove in the process.
Her breath hitched as he gave a gentle tug and freed the delicate fabric from her hand. Lost in her beauty, he tossed the glove onto a bush and tangled her warm fingers with his.
Keeping her gaze locked with his, he raised her hand until her soft palm was positioned before his mouth. Bending ever so slightly, he placed a kiss against the center. Her faint sigh encouraged him as he flicked his tongue against her sweet skin.
Her sigh became a shaky moan, causing his arousal to spike and his cock to strain against his breeches.
His mouth caressed along the sensitive mound beneath her thumb, and slowly drifted to her wrist while he slipped his free hand around her waist, molding her breasts to his naked chest. He lost the connection of her eyes as he raised her arm so he could feather more kisses along the inside of her elbow. Through it all he remained focused on his eventual destination—the moment when he could sink into the ultimate kiss.
“You taste like forbidden fruit.” He nuzzled against her skin.
As soon as the words spilled from him, she tugged her arm free and clamped her palm over her mouth.
She gaped at him for a few seconds, her hand slipping down her throat as she backed away, out of his reach. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing. Forgive me.”
Her apology was contritely executed and he mourned the sprite who’d verbally spared with him—and had become emboldened by his touch. The woman now facing him was not the same who’d been breathless in his arms. His tree nymph’s eyes had flashed with spirit . . . not remorse.
He preferred the spark.
“There is nothing to forgive.” His assurance was offered a moment too late as she spun, retrieved her discarded glove, and fled in the direction of the Mosley’s.
Familiar with the layout of the private grove, Jackson knew if he gave chase, he’d easily catch her.
What would I do with her then?
As bold as she’d appeared, he knew she was not a lady he could—or should—trifle with. An innocent, not a bit o’ muslin. Since he had no intention of being leg shackled, he needed to stay far from his wood nymph. Despite the lust flowing through his veins.
With a deep breath, Jackson attempted to settle his arousal. As his breeches became less constricting, the moonlight caught something shiny on the ground.
Looking for a distraction to melt the heat simmering in his blood, he bent and retrieved the item. A delicate band of gold with a small solitary gem flickered in the passing light. Not appearing to be of great value, he was about to toss the ring into the grass when he remembered the slight tug he’d given his anonymous lady’s glove to loosen the silk. The ring must have been on her hand and then fell to the ground as he removed her glove.
Without thinking on it overmuch, Jackson slipped the narrow band into his pocket. With his once promising evening destroyed, he retrieved his clothing, prepared to search out a new distraction. The night was far too young to return to his father’s house. He was three and twenty, for God’s sake, not a lad of twelve.
His perfectly tailored coat, shirt, and Hessian boots restored, Jackson ambled along the path that veered the furthest from the center of the grove . . . and the eerie tree he’d stumbled upon on his way to meet Lady Somerby. As foolish as it seemed, he had no desire to revisit the peculiar sight.
Renewed shivers crept through him at the mere thought of the gnarled trunk and twisted branches. Awareness broke over him, the same as when he’d brushed against the wide base.
Thankfully, Lady Somerby’s willing body entwined with his had managed to destroy his uneasiness over the mysterious tree. Especially since the vision had stirred the memory of an old legend his grandmother had told him as a child. A fairytale he had no wish to be part of.
Fortunately for him, his beautifully mysterious visitor had eradicated all thoughts of Lady Somerby. Some men are just blessed with good luck.
As Jackson approached the house, he pondered an unfortunate turn of events. While dismissing Lady Somerby had proven easy, the memory of his enchanting sprite wouldn’t leave his mind.
He feared the tree had committed unwanted damage.