Twenty-Five
Jeremy reveled in Yvette’s eager response to his kiss. She was his again. He might be half-drunk from lack of sleep and reeling from his wildly swinging emotions, but he still had the presence of mind to seduce Yvette.
Thank God. Because right now the need to be inside her was eating him alive.
Merely seeing her expression when he’d suggested doing this here had been enough to spur him on. Curiosity had warred with propriety in her face, and, as always with his Juno, curiosity had won. That was one of her most entrancing qualities.
Even as he ravaged her mouth, he undid the buttons of his long frock coat and drew it open so it could better shield them. Then he pushed up the layers of her frothy undergarments to get to the sweet flesh at her core. But before he could plunder that, too, he felt her fumbling to unfasten his trousers.
He couldn’t resist teasing her. “I see I’ve quelled all your fears about making love in the outdoors.”
“Not all of them.” Her eyes sparkled up at him as she flicked open the buttons of his trousers, causing his prick to strain against the fabric. “I’m still not sure I want to be found in my altogether by anyone wandering the woods.”
“You won’t. If I lift your skirts and lower my trousers and drawers, my frock coat and your gown will protect your modesty.”
“Will they?” Her fingers froze on the still-fastened buttons of his drawers as she looked up at him. Her eyes shone the deep green of the forest above and around them. “Are you sure?
“Sure enough.” Covering her hand with his, he urged her to continue her unbuttoning, and when she did, his blood thundered in his ears. “Here, I’ll show you.”
He hoisted her legs so he could press in between them and tuck her knees against his waist on either side, inside his frock coat.
She blinked. “My, that is rather . . . intriguing.”
To say the least. He fought to control his arousal as she finished undoing his drawers. “Lock your heels behind my thighs.”
With color suffusing her cheeks, she did so. That brought her so tight against him that his prick practically jumped out of his open clothing, like a compass needle seeking north.
When she felt the impudent devil swelling against her, her eyes widened. “Good Lord, I had no idea that people did this in this fashion.”
He choked back a laugh. “People are rather creative when it comes to doing ‘this’ in any fashion. You’d be surprised.”
Working his finger into her thatch of curls, he stroked her delicate pearl, then gloried in her moans and sighs. He was so intent on inciting her to madness that he almost missed her halting whisper, “This doesn’t mean . . . that I’ll marry you . . . you know.”
Oh, he did know. Only too well. He rubbed the full length of his erection up and down against her soft, damp flesh. “It doesn’t mean that you won’t, either.”
Her expression was a mix of vulnerability and a heartbreaking yearning that stole the breath from his lungs and spiked his need to be inside her to painful heights. Breathing hard, he felt for the entrance to her quim and drove himself deep.
Exhaling on a sigh, she squirmed against him. “Ohh, Jeremy . . . that’s so very . . . oh . . .”
“Yes, it is.” With his prick firmly seated inside her, he thought he’d died and gone to heaven. “You’re like hot velvet, my fierce Juno. My lovely wife-to-be.”
“Not your wife-to-be . . . yet . . .” she managed, though her eyes slid closed, and her face wore a look of such rapture that it made it impossible for him not to move.
“You will be.” Gripping her waist to anchor her against him, he began to thrust into her, first with easy plunges, then harder and deeper ones that dragged moans of pleasure up from her throat. And his, too, as she leapt to meet each stroke, her fingers digging into his waist.
With her head arched back he could see the pulse beat in her neck, and it fed his own frantic pulse. There was nothing lovelier than Yvette in the throes of passion. He would never tire of the sight.
Which was why he meant to make sure he got to see it again and again and again, to have her in his bed . . . in his life.
She slammed hard against him. “Oh . . . heavens . . . you . . . you . . .”
“Marry me, sweetheart.” He brushed kisses over her chin, her lips, her cheeks, whatever he could reach. “Don’t say no.”
“Jeremy . . . please . . . more . . .”
The word inflamed him. He drove into her, reveling in how she clung to him, undulated against him. Reveling in the hot flesh that enveloped him and welcomed him and made him feel something beyond mere desire. “Say yes . . . to me. To us.”
Somehow he would persuade her with this, their joining. He would make it good for her. He would make it so she never wanted to let him go, so they were as tightly bound together as man and woman could be.
Because he knew that was what he wanted. Her and him together. “Marry me. God, just marry me . . . and I swear I’ll make you happy.” It was a promise he’d always been terrified to make. Yet somehow it seemed right with her. And he’d do anything, promise anything, to keep her.
Within reason. But it wasn’t reason that drove him to please her, to drive hard against her where he knew it would most arouse her. To kiss her and pet her and make her his. His, damn it.
“Ohh . . . like that,” she whispered. “That is . . . It feels so . . .”
“I need you.” The urge to come rose in him, inflaming him, making him pound into her, making him say things he shouldn’t, things that showed just how strong a hold she had on him. “I need you, Yvette . . . God, I need you . . .”
Her body clamped tight about his prick as she neared her climax. “Yes,” she whispered. “I need you, too. Yes . . . oh, Lord, yes . . . Jeremy . . . Jeremy . . .”
And as she gave the keening cry that heralded her release, he drove into her and came . . . hard, violently, with all the force of his roiling, raw emotions.
The contractions of her body milked him dry, turning him weak-kneed as a green lad with his first woman. God, that was incredible. She was incredible.
As they drifted down into normalcy, their bodies still straining against each other, she pressed her lips to his ear and murmured, “Yes, Jeremy. Yes.”
And he had his answer at last.
When they emerged from the woods sometime later, Yvette was relieved to see that no one else was about. She was certain she looked exactly like she felt: as if she’d just been thoroughly—and most pleasurably—seduced.
I need you.
His sweet words rang in her ears. That was all she’d ever wanted. For Jeremy to need her. If he couldn’t love her, she could live with at least being needed. It was enough for now.
“So we’re agreed?” Jeremy entwined his fingers with hers, then lifted her hand to press a kiss against her bare skin. “You’ll marry me?”
The tenderness of the gesture sent a delightful shiver echoing down her spine. “I suppose. Though I did give my answer under duress.”
“That explains why you screamed at the end.”
“Jeremy!” she chided in mock outrage. “You’re the most wicked man I know.”
“I’m the most wicked man I know.” He grinned. “And you like that about me. Admit it.”
“Sometimes.” She shot him a coy look. “Under certain circumstances.”
“The ones where you scream?” he teased.
She merely arched an eyebrow, eliciting a laugh from him.
“Wait up!” a voice hailed them.
Yvette froze. Edwin. Heavenly day. She tried to pull her hand from Jeremy’s but he wouldn’t allow it, gripping it tightly as if it were his own personal treasure.
The moment Edwin reached them, his gaze arrowed in on their joined hands. “So the offer has been accepted, I take it.”
Jeremy’s whole body seemed to tense, as if he still wasn’t entirely sure of her.
She squeezed his hand. “Yes. It has been accepted.”
Edwin broke into a rare smile and clapped Jeremy on the back. “It’s about damned time.” He walked with them back to the house, chattering about wedding plans in a manner most uncharacteristic of her cynical brother.
After that, everything moved at a dizzying pace. Edwin wanted to celebrate, and the household had to be informed. Her maid went into raptures over the prospect of a wedding, but when Damber was told, he seemed remarkably unsurprised.
Had he guessed what she and his master had been doing behind his back? If so, he thankfully kept it to himself, merely offering them his heartiest good wishes for their future.
For her, the most encouraging reaction to the whirlwind of congratulations and teasing and winking suggestions was Jeremy’s. He didn’t act like a man trapped into wedding the woman he’d deflowered. He looked happier than she’d ever seen him. Perhaps he did care as deeply for her as his words had implied. Perhaps a marriage between them really could work.
But she had no more time to dwell on it once Jeremy pointed out that she might as well go with them to London in the morning. As he put it, since a wedding had to be planned, it made more sense for her to decamp to the Blakeborough town house than to try to manage it from Stoke Towers.
He was right, which sent her into a flurry of preparations for travel. There was no time to waste! There was packing to be done and arrangements to be made with the staff and a million and one things that had to be handled before she could leave.
By the next morning, when Jeremy handed her into Edwin’s traveling carriage, she was exhausted. Fortunately, the coach was roomy and comfortable, and the trip to London wouldn’t be long, especially with both her brother and her fiancé in good moods.
Fiancé. A secret smile crossed her lips as she took in Jeremy’s finely tailored coat of oxblood wool with gold buttons and satin-trimmed lapels. She had a fiancé, and quite a handsome, well-dressed one at that.
As the coach lumbered down the drive, with Jeremy’s rig taking up the rear, driven by Damber, Edwin glanced at Jeremy. “So what’s in that enormous box in your curricle? I know it wasn’t the portrait, since that’s still sitting in my drawing room. Though I don’t suppose there’s any need for that to be finished now, eh, Yvette?” He winked at her, startling her. Edwin never winked.
Jeremy cast her a knowing glance. “It’s something I worked on when I wasn’t painting the portrait. I fear it’s nothing that would interest you, but your sister might find it intriguing.”
“I doubt it,” Edwin said bluntly. “She doesn’t like your darker pictures.” He caught himself. “No offense, old chap.”
Her fiancé merely laughed. “None taken.”
When Jeremy then winked at her, she had to suppress a snort. Good Lord, who knew that getting married would start a veritable onslaught of winking among all in her sphere?
“So what’s the subject of this other painting?” Edwin asked.
Oh, dear. Time to get him off that topic. “Heavens, Edwin, do allow the man to have some secrets.” She smoothed her skirts. “And speaking of secrets, now that I’m engaged to be married, I see no reason why I can’t go with you and Jeremy to meet Miss Moreton.”
That did the trick. Edwin scowled. “You’re not going.”
“But Edwin—”
“She lives in Spitalfields with her new . . . paramour,” he said. “It won’t be a fit place for a lady.”
“You’ll tell me everything that happens, won’t you?”
“Of course,” Jeremy said with a tender smile. “I’ll give you a complete report.”
“Are you going there straightaway, as soon as we arrive in London?”
“I must stop in at my cousin’s to speak to my mother and sister,” Jeremy said. “I promised Amanda I would do so first thing. So Blakeborough and I will leave you at your town house, and then go on to Zoe’s.”
“Nonsense,” she said. “I should like to meet your mother. And it makes sense that I be there for the announcement of our engagement.”
Jeremy’s smile grew forced. “Of course.”
“Do you not want me to meet her?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Edwin cut in. “You have to meet his mother. I’m sure he’s just nervous about it, eh, Keane?”
“Yes.”
His short response told her that whatever had transpired between him and his sister had not been happy. More than ever, Yvette was determined to find out the circumstances of the rift, though she was also apprehensive. What if his mother was a harridan? What if she didn’t like her son’s new betrothed?
Yvette stared out the window and tried not to worry. The little he’d said about his mother didn’t give her much to go on. Her imagination conjured up all sorts of horrible possibilities—that his mother didn’t fancy English ladies, that his family were against the aristocracy in general. By the time they reached the Keane town house, Yvette was a bundle of nerves.
So she was caught entirely off guard when a tiny, birdlike woman with graying auburn hair came tripping down the steps to greet them, wreathed in smiles.
“Jeremy!” she cried. “My dear boy!”
As he caught her up in a hug, a strange mix of affection and worry suffused his features. “I’m so glad you’re here, Mother.”
The sentiment sounded genuine, which perplexed Yvette even more. Was he at odds with his family or not?
At the moment, she would say “not,” since his eyes misted over as he squeezed his mother tight. It was a very sweet scene. Even Mr. Bonnaud, who’d come out to join them, wore a smile, and Miss Keane, who stood up the steps a short distance, was wiping her eyes.
It dawned on Yvette how long eight months must have felt like to Jeremy’s family. She couldn’t imagine being away from Edwin for so long. It had been hard enough to cut Samuel from her life.
Unlike Jeremy’s sister yesterday, his mother didn’t chide him when he finally released her. She just patted his cheek fondly, then pulled back to look over Yvette and Edwin, who’d instinctively drawn nearer each other.
“And this must be Lord Blakeborough and his sister.” Mrs. Keane’s blue eyes were keen and quick as she stared at them. “Amanda told me all about you both, about how courteous you were to her yesterday. And it’s most kind of you, my lord, to hire my son to paint for you.”
The way she spoke of her son’s work as if he were some sort of housepainter made even Mr. Bonnaud blink. Yvette cast a furtive glance at Jeremy, but he merely rolled his eyes. Undoubtedly he was used to his mother’s remarks.
His sister came to her mother’s side. “Mama, he was commissioned to do a portrait of Lady Yvette. It’s rather more important than you make it sound.”
“Oh! A commission, is it? I suppose that is quite grand.” Her gaze narrowed on her son. “And he only had to travel to England to get it. Fancy that.”
Yvette choked down a laugh. Ah, now came the chiding.
“Mama, please,” Miss Keane murmured. “Don’t be rude.”
“Is it rude to ask why my only son is gadding about the world without a word to his mother for months at a time?”
“It isn’t rude,” Jeremy drawled, “but I would prefer that you wait to flay me with your tongue until after I introduce you to my new fiancée.” He reached back to take Yvette’s hand and draw her forward. “Mother, may I present Lady Yvette, the woman who just yesterday afternoon consented to be my wife.”
Though Mr. Bonnaud appeared to take the announcement in stride, Miss Keane and her mother looked utterly shocked. The reactions of the two women worried Yvette until his mother murmured, “Does she know about—”
“Hannah? Yes.”
Yvette released a pent-up breath. That explained their reactions. If even Jeremy’s London relations were unaware he was a widower, then his family would be justified in thinking he’d told no one else.
“Who’s Hannah?” Edwin hissed beside her.
Yvette groaned. She’d forgotten to tell her brother, and apparently it hadn’t come up in his discussion with Jeremy yesterday. “I’ll explain later,” she whispered as his mother came toward her.
The tiny creature fixed her with a steely gaze reminiscent of her son’s. “So you’re going to marry my rascal son, are you? Do you know what you’re getting into, my lady?”
“I think so, yes,” she said warily. “My other brother is a rascal, so I’ve had some experience in dealing with the breed. Indeed, I would venture to say that half the men in the ton are rascals, yet I manage to annoy them more than they annoy me.”
Mrs. Keane blinked, then burst into laughter. “I see. Then it appears my son has found a woman who can keep up with him for once.” She held out her hands. “Welcome to the family, my dear.”
Relief coursed through Yvette as she took the woman’s hands and squeezed them. “Thank you, Mrs. Keane. I hope we can be friends.”
“I have no doubt of that. I can use an ally in my fight to tame my son.”
“God, Mother, I’m not that bad,” he grumbled.
“You’re worse, usually.” Drawing Yvette from Jeremy’s side with surprising strength for one so small, Mrs. Keane tucked Yvette’s hand in the crook of her arm. “Now, come inside and let’s have some refreshments while you and Jeremy tell me all about how you came to be engaged.”
Oh, dear. That would be quite an interesting conversation. So much to say. So much to leave out.
But before they could go more than two steps up, Jeremy stalked ahead to block their path. “Yvette hasn’t had a moment to herself since yesterday, Mother, so we’re carrying her to the earl’s town house to rest while he and I and Bonnaud head off to attend to a business matter. But we’ll all join you for dinner. Assuming that Bonnaud doesn’t mind having two more guests thrust upon him.”
“Zoe is always delighted to show off her hostess skills, I assure you,” Mr. Bonnaud said with a smile.
“Actually,” Yvette put in, “I don’t mind just staying here while the three of you go take care of matters.” She patted Mrs. Keane’s arm. “I’d like to become better acquainted with my future relations.”
The look of alarm that crossed Jeremy’s face gave her pause, but it vanished quickly, making her wonder if she’d imagined it.
“Of course,” he said coolly. “I merely thought you might like to nap since you were run ragged yesterday.”
“I can nap later.” With a smile, Yvette teased, “Your mother and sister and I have to plot a wedding. That will require all three of us.”
“And several shopping trips to Bond Street, though we won’t tackle those today.” His mother made a shooing motion. “So go handle your business affairs. But don’t be too long, unless you want to have no voice in the plans. If you keep avoiding your family, you may find yourself with a wedding full of all the sentimental nonsense you’ve mocked for years.”
“Horrors,” Edwin mumbled. “Come, gentlemen, we’d better go. Knowing my sister, she’ll be plotting an extravagant affair in St. Paul’s Cathedral, which will cost me a pretty penny. The sooner we head that off, the better.”
Jeremy hesitated, but he clearly knew when he was outnumbered. Muttering something that sounded remarkably like “Shit and damn,” he marched down the steps and got into the carriage with Edwin and Mr. Bonnaud.
Yvette certainly hoped his mother’s ears weren’t as good as hers.
“I don’t know about you,” Mrs. Keane said, gesturing up the steps, “but I’m ready for a cup of tea. And Zoe is dying to question you about my son’s behavior when he’s a guest at others’ houses. Besides, she’ll want to be part of the wedding plans. Judging from what I’ve seen so far, she’ll know exactly how to host a breakfast that isn’t as insipid and dull as most English affairs.”
Yvette bit back a smile. She was beginning to see where Jeremy got his opinionated nature.
The next three hours flew by, with Lady Zoe and Mrs. Keane arguing amiably about when Jeremy and Yvette should wed, where they should wed, how Yvette should dress, and how many dishes should be served at the breakfast. Yvette tried to interject her opinions, but with two women as strong-minded as Lady Zoe and Mrs. Keane, it was pointless. Besides, she enjoyed watching the skirmishes.
The only thing that bothered her was how quiet Miss Keane was. The woman hadn’t appeared to be shy yesterday. What was making her reticent, even aloof, today?
When after a while Miss Keane said she needed to finish some unpacking and excused herself, Yvette told the other two ladies she needed to visit the necessary and hastened out after the woman.
She caught up to her near the staircase, relieved to see that no one was around. “Miss Keane, may I have a moment?”
With a nervous glance back at the drawing room they’d just left, Miss Keane said, rather sharply, “What is it, my lady?”
“Please, there’s no need to stand on ceremony with me. Call me Yvette. We’re soon to be sisters, after all.”
The words seemed to hit Miss Keane like a blow, for her face crumpled and her eyes filled with pain.
“Oh, dear, what’s wrong?” Yvette asked. “I do so want us to be friends, and I feel as if somehow I’ve insulted you. I assure you it was unintentional. Sometimes my tongue just runs away with me, and—”
“It’s not you, my la—Yvette. And please, do call me Amanda.” She hesitated, then drew Yvette down the hall to where it was a bit more private. “I don’t mean to be rude, but how much did my brother tell you about his marriage to Hannah Miller?”
Yvette suddenly found it hard to breathe. “I believe he told me everything. That his wife died in childbirth after they’d been married only six months.”
“Yes, but did he tell you how it devastated him? Especially given my father’s part in causing her death—”
“What do you mean?” A chill froze her spine. “If she died in childbirth, it was no one’s fault.”
“It was a bit more complicated than that. And Jeremy has never gotten over it.” Amanda searched Yvette’s face. “That’s the only thing that worries me about his sudden decision to marry you after you’ve only known each other, what, a month or two?”
“A little less than that.” The bottom dropped out of her stomach. “But I believe that he’s sincere in his wish to marry.”
“I’m sure he is. But—” The woman cast Yvette a pitying look. “Well, the thing is, you’re the very image of his late wife. She too was tall, dark-haired, green-eyed, and sweet-faced. I fear that—forgive me for being blunt—he’s marrying you simply because he can’t get past what happened. He’s trying to re-create his first marriage so he can do it right this time.”
Good Lord. Could that really be? Yvette couldn’t bear to believe it. “While I know that his wife’s death was difficult for him, I—”
“It’s why he won’t return home, why he hasn’t remarried. Why I have to fight to get him even to talk about the future of the mills. He hates them, you know. He blames them and their hold on Papa for Hannah’s death. I thought once Papa died he would get past it at last, but I don’t know if he can, given how she died.”
Yvette couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized just how much she’d been ignoring his secretiveness regarding his past. But now she realized it was even worse than she’d feared. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I like you, and I hate to see you head blindly into a marriage with a man who has been shattered—may always be shattered—by the past.” When Yvette made some inarticulate sound, remorse flooded Amanda’s face. “Oh, I shouldn’t have said anything. It was wrong of me to interfere. If the two of you are in love—”
“To use your words, it’s a bit more . . . complicated than that,” Yvette choked out.
Amanda looked alarmed, then guilty. Taking Yvette by the arm, she led her into the dining room nearby. “Here, sit down. I’ll go fetch you some wine.”
Before the woman could leave, Yvette caught her sleeve. “No, I’m fine.” Or she would be. In a couple of decades, perhaps. She fought for calm, fought to steady herself. “Please. I’ve asked your brother a number of times to tell me the source of his conflict with your parents, but he won’t answer. Will you tell me?”
Miss Keane turned ashen. “I’ve really gone and done it, haven’t I? He’ll never forgive me for saying anything in the first place.”
“I’m glad you did.” Though her heart was fracturing into little pieces, Yvette forced some steel into her spine and patted the chair beside her. “I have to know what I’m getting myself into, and he won’t tell me. So please, I beg you, will you?”
The woman stared at her bleakly a long moment.
Then at last she gave a terse nod and dropped into the chair. “What exactly is it you wish to know?”