Chapter 15
Nicola had never sat on top of a kitchen table before. In fact, until she’d come to Puddling, she’d never spent much time in any kitchen. She knew how to manage domestic staff, of course, following her exacting mother’s instructions to the letter. Now that Nicola took care of her own evening meal—at least heating it up—she was becoming somewhat proficient in all a kitchen’s nooks and crannies, even if she murdered carrots in the peeling. She’d been very proud putting out today’s Christmas lunch.
She gazed down at Jack, whose hands had taken ownership of her knees. They were broad, capable-looking, with visible traces of the labor he’d exerted on the new cottage over the past few days.
The expression on his face was peculiar. He said he wasn’t going to hurt her. Perhaps he was about to massage her limbs. She’d tried all that in a fancy hydrotherapy spa in Scotland in one of her ill-fated efforts to reclaim her voice. There had been a terrifying Swedish masseuse who had pummeled her into oblivion but still silence. Nicola almost picked up her notebook to write that there wouldn’t be any point.
No. It might feel very pleasant having Jack touch her, much nicer than the scary woman who had been so rough. She sat still and waited.
Inch by inch, Jack lifted her skirt, bunching the fabric between his thumb and fingers. Nicola couldn’t object—she’d wanted to strip naked earlier. She kept her legs still as the material pooled into her lap. Her petticoats had come along with it, so now her white silk stockings and their ribboned garters were exposed.
“You have beautiful legs.”
They worked anyway, now that her ankle had more or less mended. She might even do a cancan, holding up her dress. But without speech, she couldn’t joke. Her notebook was quite far away, and anyway, her hands were keeping her upright, making writing impossible.
He slid over the silk, making Nicola want to wiggle out of her shoes. She shut her eyes, focusing on his touch. Back and forth. Up and down. She was simultaneously relaxing and getting rather perturbed. An odd sensation pooled in her belly, and she had an urge to…do something.
He spread her knees, and she felt a jolt of concern. He was talking very quietly, almost whispering. She couldn’t hear him over the sudden drumbeat in her ears, but could feel his bursts of breath against her bare skin.
She opened her eyes. The top of his head was still, his hair thick and dark, with plenty of natural curl. Nicola could touch it if only her hands would stop gripping the edge of the table. She was afraid if she let go, she’d tumble off in a puddle of sharp need and land on the stone floor. Something was just beyond her ken, but she wasn’t at all sure what it was.
He moved forward and kissed her inner thigh, almost causing her to loosen her hold. Oh my. He held her flesh between his teeth gently for a few tortuous seconds, then moved up.
And up.
Nicola’s mind went perfectly blank. Jack’s hot mouth, his tongue, his fingers, were performing an act she had no name for, right at her very core. Oh, one could call it a kind of kiss, she supposed, but it was more. She should be appalled at the wicked sensation and the oh-so-vulnerable position.
That would require organized thought, a skill she was presently lacking.
His tongue was sweeping inside her with both force and delicacy, his hands parting her folds to make her open to his ministrations. She felt herself thrusting, blooming toward him, wanting that elusive thing she had sensed that was approaching all too slowly.
Jack knew what she needed and where to seek it. The stuttering ripples made their way into her blood, causing even her scalp to tingle. He tugged and teased her inner flesh with his lips, using his gentle fingers to stroke a path to her rising pleasure.
And then he kissed and pressed a place that resulted in her sharp cry. It was too much. Hot bursts shot through her body, one after another, like a dazzling meteor shower.
He stopped at once.
No! But the word was trapped on her useless tongue and came out as a ragged moan.
“Nicola, my darling! Did you hear yourself?”
She nodded, frantic. She’d heard, but that was not the sense she cared about at present. Now was not the time to begin a conversation. She grabbed his face, trying to make him return to his earlier task. She wanted more. Wanted more of whatever this was.
Wanted it right now.
“So, I can assume you like this, yes?” He gave her a rakish grin.
Shut up and finish. She was shaking too much to write it down, but surely he could read her mind. He had read her body so well.
“All right, all right. Greedy puss.” He buried himself between her legs and continued his assault on her wits and womanhood. The meteor showers returned behind her eyelids, light and heat coursed through her limbs.
He was wrong—this was hurting. Her legs stiffened in exquisite pain, her spine arching. She was going to break apart and fall from a very high distance, too high for a spinster from Bath.
Just when she thought she couldn’t bear anymore of his touches, she was tossed to heaven. Jack caught her as she came back to earth, leaping up from his chair to hold her in a fierce embrace. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she wanted to laugh.
And did.
She was stunned to silence again by the sound.
Jack squeezed her tighter. “Listen to yourself, you beautiful girl. You’ve made the most glorious sound in the world.”
But that single short moment of laughter was all she could manage. No further noises spilled out as she clung to her lover. She had a lover! That went a long way in making up for the fact she was still mute.
But not half so miserable as she used to be. Her body was alive—on fire!—and her mind might eventually follow to some semblance of coherence.
Jack took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped her face with tenderness. “Are you all right?”
She rolled her eyes to the ceiling beam overhead. He must know the answer to that. She cuffed him on the shoulder.
“Yes, I know. It’s sad. I want compliments. Confirmation. One cannot help it if one is a man. We are very sensitive beneath all our bluff and bluster and need constant assurances of our proficiency.”
He’d been proficient all right. Nicola drew his face down for a kiss, then flushed at the memory of where those lips had been. She’d been so very ignorant, but Jack was an accomplished teacher of what she would have deemed to be impossible. Unthinkable.
Well, obviously someone had thought of it, but had never told her. This wanton activity certainly had not been included in all her mother’s subtle discussions about courtship and the eventual marriage bed when she was engaged to Richard.
Where had Jack learned to do such a thing? She decided she never wanted to know, discovering a possessive, jealous streak that had heretofore been absent. As far as she was concerned, she never wanted him to kiss another woman like that ever.
Nicola hadn’t the right to place such restrictions upon him. In a couple of weeks, he’d be gone from Puddling and out of her life. Her eyes filled again, and his handsome face blurred.
“What? No tears, sweetheart. I want to hear you laugh again. And kiss you.”
There was such comfort in his voice. In his presence. Nicola felt safe in his arms, treasured, despite the fact he posed a very real danger to her heart.
She was falling in love with him. Hell, she’d already fallen.
And was making a great mess, weeping into his jacket. She’d known Jack all of twelve days. She’d known Richard over twelve years and he’d never made her cry, not even when he broke their engagement.
Jack wasn’t making her cry—her own frustration and confusion was. Nicola needed to pull herself together, retain her senses. She was known for being level-headed.
And perhaps a little prim.
She didn’t feel at all prim now. Looking up into Jack’s concerned face, she kissed him with every pent-up emotion she had, every blocked word, every year of useless innocence. She tasted wickedness and want and hope.
The kiss lasted as long as she could make it do so. But eventually she realized she was sliding off the kitchen table to her doom. He caught her and settled her, his hands firm against her suddenly much-too-tight corset, stepping back, his lips reddened.
“I’ve got to go home. To Tulip, I mean. If I stay any longer, I’ll forget why I shouldn’t.”
Nicola didn’t want him to go, but knew he was right.
For now.