Chapter 18

He could feel her hesitation, knew what she wanted, what she desired. He had probably lost half his wits by stopping her, but deep inside he did know that she was not ready—and besides, a little anticipation would heighten things the next time—and he was definitely already planning the next time. The shepherd’s cottage was not the only vacant spot on the estate. Granted, they’d have to find a way to escape Aunt Prudence, but…

Sin shifted before him. She stared up into his eyes one last time, questioning, and then turned in the chair, shifting about, clearly unsure exactly what he wanted.

“Lift your hips. Put your hands on the arms. Arch your back. Ah, perfect.” And she was. That ass really was a peach.

“You’re not going to…?”

“What? No.” At least not now. Feeling her lips about him was not the only thing he looked forward to in the future.

Her body relaxed almost imperceptibly.

He stroked a hand down her long back, enjoying the curves. When he reached her behind, he paused. Again his mind was filled with the image of a ripe peach, so ready for a bite.

He kneaded her cheeks with his hands, enjoying her shiver. He let his fingers drift lower, more central, dipping into her slick honey.

A far greater shiver.

He traced one finger up, over the pucker. His cock jerked with desire, but he would not allow himself that, not now.

He slicked his fingers back and forth, feeling her body begin to stiffen, both with tension and desire. Every time his fingers worked their way up he could feel her nerves, that slight edge of fear. He pressed slightly against the opening, heard her suck in a great gasp of air. “Do you remember what I did with your breasts, how I used them to pleasure myself, how I came between them?”

A breathy “Yes.”

“I am going to do the same here. I promise to not do more. For now it is enough for me to feel your skin, to press against you, to see my flushed cock touching your white ass. I may dream of more, but for now this is enough. Do you believe me?”

She hesitated, unsure. Did she not trust him?

And then another breathy “Yes.”

He leaned forward, let himself slide into the crevasse, moist with her juices, slicked and ready. He pulled her cheeks apart, let himself enjoy the full visual. God, it was even better than he’d imagined, his powerful flesh against her softness.

His fingers gripped tight, pushed her cheeks together so they pressed against him, surrounded himself with her. He began to move and her hips moved with him, matching his rhythm.

He closed his eyes, and then opened them again, unwilling to miss a single second.

Slipping one of his hands around her hips, he worked it between her legs and found her clit. Her body jerked and then the pace began to speed. Faster. Faster.

He kept his eyes open. The movement of her hips. The arch of her back. Her head turned to the side and he caught the look on her face, intense, straining, almost there.

Faster. Faster.

His head fell back. He felt the scream rise to his lips, felt his body make that final surge, felt her tense beneath him, the ripples moving through her body—and he let it all go.

His yell filled the room.

Colors swirled and danced. That moment of absolute intensity. A fading wave—and then another.

She went limp beneath him, her body folding into the chair, her thighs sliding down until she knelt on the floor.

He slipped down behind her, wrapping his arms about her, pulling the shawl with them as a cover, and lay upon the carpet, damp, sticky, and happier than he could ever remember being.

She pulled away from James. It might have been ten minutes they’d lain there; it might have been two hours. Time had ceased to matter as the quiet glow had taken her, the absolute comfort of being in his arms, the feeling that the world was as it was meant to be.

He mumbled a complaint and then rolled over, pulling her shawl about himself.

Giving one last long look at his sleep-softened face, she rose, gathering her nightdress from the floor, where it still lay puddled. She pulled it on with a shiver, the cloth cold against her hot skin, and with a quiet but determined step turned and strode from the room.

Temptation must not win now. She’d already gambled too much with this night. Now she must be away, must return to home and safety.

Walking the length of the long gallery quickly, she entered the main hall and with a few turns and twists found the stairway that led up to the attics. It was probably the part of the house she knew best after the nurseries. She’d played with Jasmine for hours and hours in the hot rooms, opening trunks and trying on all manners of old dress.

And that was just what she was after now, old clothes. She’d probably end up looking a little strange, but somewhere up there would be something better for riding than Aunt Prudence’s gown.

So, first, clothes, preferably an old habit or even possibly some gentleman’s breeches.

Second, borrow a horse. It would be easy enough to have someone return it to Scarlett’s house once she arrived in London. Sneaking into the stables worried her a little, but it wouldn’t be the first time she snuck out of the house for a midnight ride—although in the past it had always been at her own home.

Third, the ride. She had to admit she wasn’t looking forward to that. She knew the basic route back to London, and had peeked at several maps in the library, but it would be the first time she traveled on her own.

Fourth, destination? It was perhaps the most troubling bit of the whole thing. Her original plan had been to flee for her father’s house, but the more she thought of it the more nervous she became. If she left now, and all went well, she would arrive in London before the sun rose. She could hardly pound on the door at that hour dressed in strange clothes, but she certainly did not wish to walk the streets alone until a proper hour. It was unlikely that any place would be open at such a time—anyplace except…

“What on earth are you doing here at this hour? And why did you come through the kitchen?” Jasmine’s eyes raked Cynthia up and down, taking in the strange Cavalier breeches and long embroidered shirt underneath the huge velvet cape. “Well, perhaps I can understand why you chose the kitchen door, although I am surprised you managed to find it in the dark. The alley is not a friendly place.”

“Are you ever going to give me a chance to talk and answer your questions?” Cynthia burst in with some exasperation. It had been a long, cold ride. No matter her riding skills, she’d been afraid to go fast when she didn’t know the roads and couldn’t be sure how rough they were. There’d been a couple of crossroads when she’d had to mentally cross her fingers and toes and hope she was heading in the right direction.

And then she’d reached London. If anything, that had been worse. She’d been terrified the whole time that she was going to encounter ruffians or brigands. Gillian was always speaking of the lowlifes who inhabited the streets after dark. Cynthia had almost expected that the streets would be lined with them.

“I am waiting,” Jasmine said, with some exasperation.

“For what?” Cynthia blinked, drawn from her thoughts.

“You just said you would answer my questions.”

“James does say that I keep getting lost in my thoughts. Perhaps he is right, although given how tired I am, it’s not surprising.”

“James? What does James have to do with anything?”

It had probably not been the best way to start. “James has to do with everything.”

“You are not making sense, not any at all. And you still have not even begun to tell me why you are here before sunup on such a dismal day.”

Cynthia looked about the cozy parlor. The maid had hurried in soon after her arrival to light the fire, and the room was warming rapidly, but the chill that held her ran deep. “Could I sit and perhaps have a cup of tea? And then I will tell you all. I am afraid I’ve not got all my wits about me and I don’t want to say the wrong thing.”

“You could never say the wrong thing. We will always be friends. And of course you should sit. You do not even need to ask.” Jasmine waved toward the settee. “You make me feel like a bad hostess. I will call for the tea. Is there anything else you need?”

A bath. A change of clothing. Several hours of sleep. And a good story to tell her father, better than the one running through her mind. And as long she was dreaming—not to be with child. “I am fine for the moment. Perhaps after my tale you can ask again. I cannot go home like this.”

“You certainly cannot, but first I do want your story.” Jasmine went to the door, leaned out asking for tea and nourishment, and then returned to sit across from Cynthia, curling her legs under her, bare feet hiding beneath her long skirt. She must have hurried down from bed when Cynthia had arrived.

Cynthia pulled in a huge gulp of air. She could put this off no longer. “I never made it home when I left here in the middle of the storm. I barely made it to the street.”

“Oh dear.” Jasmine grew pale. “I knew I should have had you accompanied, but I was worried somebody would recognize one of my men. I knew you would not wish that. And then when I heard nothing I was convinced that everything was fine. Even when you did not reappear to visit Hope, as promised, I was sure that you had simply come to your senses and decided not to risk all by returning.”

“Risk all by returning.” Cynthia repeated the phrase and could not hold back a laugh. “If only you knew—although it was not the returning, it was the leaving, leaving in your cloak.”

Jasmine glanced at the door. “I do hope that tea arrives soon.”

Clearly her friend was realizing just how off-kilter Cynthia was. “I will try to explain. I was abducted almost as soon as I was away from the house.”

“Abducted?” Jasmine rose from her seat and almost screeched the word.

“What did you think I meant when I said I didn’t make it home?”

“I was imagining you’d run into some acquaintance or at worst had some type of accident. Why ever would somebody abduct you?” Jasmine lowered her voice. “Was it a white slaver? Did you have a daring escape?”

“My thoughts were just as fanciful when I found myself with a bag over my head—a rather smelly one, I might add—and tossed on the floor of a carriage that was racing away. I had no idea what was happening. I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared. I worked hard to stay calm. I tried to form all sorts of plans to occupy my mind, but the truth is, I was terrified. I thought they would kill me, if not worse. It was not at all the adventure I had always dreamed of.”

Jasmine had turned pale. “I still do not understand why they would take you.”

“I didn’t either. Even when they deposited me in a small cottage in the middle of nowhere and left me alone, I was convinced I would die. I didn’t know why or how, but I knew some dreadful fate awaited me.”

“However did you escape?”

“That comes later in my tale. First, I was rescued. Only it wasn’t me who was being rescued, but you.”

Jasmine shook her head. “I do not understand.”

Now was the moment. How much of the truth did she tell her friend? She did not want to ruin the relationship between Jasmine and her brother, but neither did she wish to leave her friend vulnerable. James might very well try the same thing again. She knew he was still determined to save his sister from the fate she had chosen for herself.

But, if she told Jasmine any of it, she might have to tell her all of it. Was she prepared for that? Would Jasmine also advise marriage? It seemed unlikely given that she had not chosen it for herself.

Thrusting her chin out, she let the words spring out. “It was James who rescued me—or at least became trapped with me.”

“James? Why would James be rescuing you?”

A great gulp of air. “He wasn’t rescuing me. He was rescuing you.”

“Why…?” And then Jasmine grew so pale she was whiter than a sheet of parchment. “He did it, didn’t he? He could not be content to let me make my own choices and so he decided to make them for me. He was going to whisk me away and keep me until I came to my senses.” She stood suddenly and began to pace back and forth. “And he didn’t even think about Hope, did he? I am feeding her myself and yet he was so prepared to just abandon her, his own niece.” Jasmine’s ire rose with every word she spoke. “That dratted brother of mine has no brains at all. And then he grabbed you by mistake. However could he mistake the two of us? You’re not even blond.”

“To be fair it was his men, not James himself—and I was wearing your cloak with the hood up, standing outside your house.”

Jasmine stopped pacing and turned. “I suppose I understand the mistake, although clearly that does not excuse his actions in any way. I do hope he was properly apologetic when he realized his mistake. I am surprised he didn’t have you back home within a couple of hours once he knew.”

If she was going to lie any further this was the time. But she was not. She needed Jasmine’s help and advice. “He didn’t recognize me.”

“That’s just preposterous. Of course he recognized you. He’s known you forever.”

“It’s actually been forever since he’d seen me and I have changed a bit during that time. He thought that I was one of your girls, that I worked for Madame Blanche.”

Jasmine’s eyes narrowed. “And I assume you explained who you were immediately.”

“I didn’t realize he didn’t recognize me at first. I found it as surprising as you. And then when I did realize—I thought I would have a bit of fun. How often does one get to be a woman of mystery? I didn’t see what the harm would be—and I thought I’d have a bit of a laugh when he finally did realize, only…” Her voice trailed off.

Jasmine drew her shoulders back. “Being a mystery woman loses its appeal very quickly. If you ever want to try it again I’ll let you take my place for an evening. And you still have not explained why James didn’t bring you home immediately.”

“Well, he started out to rescue me, or rather you, but then he was trapped as well. He’d had me hidden away in the—I think they called it the old shepherd’s cottage. You would probably have recognized it instantly.”

“I know exactly where you mean and if he thinks I would have waited for him, he lost more wits than he ever had—although, given his actions, I think that goes without saying. I would have hiked across the fields if I had to. I know all the neighbors and somebody would have helped me.”

Sin was not sure that anyone would have helped the duke’s runaway daughter, but she held her tongue on that subject. “I thought the same at first, and maybe if I’d known where I was I would have actually tried, but the rain was still pouring down and it was so black and cold. And even if I had tried to get out, the creek was flooded and the bridge washed out. That’s why James became trapped as well. We were stuck together in the cabin. He hadn’t even managed to get his horse across the creek.”

Narrowing her eyes, Jasmine sat again. “You were trapped with my brother for how long?”

“A little over two days.”

“And I suppose you’ve run off because he’s too stubborn to offer marriage even though he knows your reputation is likely ruined.”

How could Jasmine be so wrong? “I would never force him to marry me in such circumstances.”

“I know you wouldn’t force him, but he should offer and you should say yes. You always did like him. Don’t think I didn’t notice. And although he’s my brother, and I’d like to kill him at the moment, I do realize that he is incredibly eligible and not painful to the eye.”

“He did ask me to marry him.”

“Oh.”

“Or at least he told me we should wed. I said no.”

“I do hope it was not out of loyalty to me. It will be a long, long time before I forgive his actions, but I would not put your reputation at risk.”

Cynthia leaned back and stared at the ceiling. “No, it was not because of you.”

“Then why?”

“How can you ask me that, given the actions you have taken with your life? Surely you must understand not being forced to marriage.”

It took a long moment for Jasmine to answer. “I was never asked to marry.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. And you’ve said your father wanted to find you a husband.”

“But that is not the same. He would not have found Hope’s father and—”

“Then you would have married Hope’s father?”

Jasmine blew out a long breath. “We are not going to have that discussion again. It was simply not possible. Now tell me why you won’t marry my brother.”

Cynthia sat up. “No. I think all I should have to say is that I am not marrying him and that should be enough. I have my reasons.”

“Well, I suppose I can understand not being willing to let society make that decision for you. It’s not like you shared a bed with him. I mean, you were forced to spend a night or two in a cabin, but that doesn’t mean you had sex.”