Chapter Fifteen
“You didn’t frighten me, Alex.” Jane smiled a bit too brightly. “It was only a kiss.”
He liked hearing her say his name. He liked it far too much.
Hmm. Her glass was empty already. She’d probably drunk her wine too quickly. And when was the last time she’d eaten? They’d had brandy, but no food, when they’d been in the Spinster House kitchen.
“I’m glad.” He took her arm to urge her toward the table. “We should eat before the food gets any colder.”
She leaned into him—she’d definitely had too much wine.
“I’m not used to being kissed, you see. I was just st-startled.”
He sat her down, gave her a sizeable slice of shepherd’s pie, and then took his own seat and cut a piece for himself.
“I liked it, though. I’d like to do it again.”
He almost dumped his pie onto the table.
“Ah.” How was he to respond to that?
“It made me feel quite . . .” She put a forkful of pie in her mouth and appeared to savor it. “Tingly. It made me feel tingly in all sorts of odd places.”
Good Lord! He immediately started thinking of all the places she must mean. “The pie is very good, isn’t it?”
She nodded and reached for her wineglass—and seemed surprised it was empty. “More, please.”
“Er, don’t you think you’ve had enough?”
She scowled at him. “I am not a child. I think I know if I wish more wine or not.”
Right. That was the problem here. She wouldn’t be drinking wine at all if she were a child—and he wouldn’t be having salacious thoughts about her.
She lifted her chin. “I shall have more wine, if you please, Lord Evans. Or if you’ll pass the decanter, I can pour it myself.”
So, I’m back to Lord Evans.
He shrugged off his disappointment and reached for the decanter. As she said, she was an adult.
It might be that she was just now reacting to having witnessed Cat give birth. It must have been a stressful, intense time. She’d clearly been on edge when they’d arrived at the castle.
Perhaps that was also why she’d taken to the corridors to avoid him.
He poured her a moderate amount of wine—and then filled her glass when she gave him a stern look. Then he poured the rest of the decanter—it was almost empty—into his own glass to save her from herself.
He might be a bit bosky soon.
He took a mouthful of pie.
“I imagine you’ve done a lot of kissing,” Jane said.
He was in the middle of swallowing. Part of the shepherd’s pie went where it was supposed to, part returned to his mouth, and a rogue bit decided to explore his nose.
He tried to sort matters out with a large swallow of wine.
“And other things,” she added. “Haven’t you?”
How to answer that? He certainly didn’t want to ask what she meant by “other things.”
“I’m a man, Jane. I have some experience, yes, but I don’t believe I have any more than most men.”
She frowned. “Randolph visits the Widow Conklin weekly, you know—or did before he married.”
He grunted, hoping—weakly, but optimistically—that this was just a bizarre non sequitur and the widow ran a book club or some such thing.
Jane leaned forward to clarify. “Mrs. Conklin—well, we’re rather sure there was never a Mr. Conklin. In any event, Mrs. Conklin is a perfectly pleasant, ordinary-looking woman in her middle age who earns her living by welcoming the village men into her bed.”
Blast it, the woman was exactly what he’d thought she was.
“She’s very particular, though, that if the man’s married, his wife give permission for the visit. She doesn’t want to offend any other women. The wives are her neighbors after all, and Loves Bridge is a small village.”
He drank more wine and nodded. He knew that very well.
She frowned down at her shepherd’s pie—or what was left of it. Fortunately, she’d eaten quite a bit.
“I suppose I understand why she does it—it’s her trade, just as Mrs. Greeley is a dressmaker and Mrs. Bates runs a shop. But”—she looked back at him as if he were an exotic beast, not unlike Mr. Wertigger’s kangaroo, before its demise—“why do men do it?”
He took another swallow of wine, hoping that was a rhetorical question.
It wasn’t.
“Why would you visit a, well, light skirt, Lord Evans?”
“Er, well . . .” It wasn’t a subject he cared to explain to a well-bred, strong-minded, inquisitive virgin. “I don’t believe we were speaking of me.”
Miss Wilkinson dismissed his observation with a wave of her hand. “Do you have a Mrs. Conklin?”
“No.” He wasn’t a virgin, but he’d also never wanted a mistress or even to single out a particular woman at any of the brothels. That seemed too much like a marriage without the love or commitment.
“But you’ve”—she finally seemed to realize she was deep in inappropriate territory, but she pressed on anyway, face flushed—“done it before.”
At least Jane’s wineglass was almost empty.
Perhaps it was safest to divert the conversation into slightly less personal territory. “Jane, do you know what ‘it’ is?” She should. Yes, her mother had died when she was young, but she had two close friends who were now married—and increasing—so they clearly understood the mechanics of the deed.
But one could never be certain of anything with Miss Wilkinson.
She looked away. “Not really.” And then she smiled, drank the last of her wine, and said the most shocking of all the things she had said yet. “Why don’t you tell me?” Her gaze dropped to the table. “Why don’t you show me?” And then she popped the last bite of pie in her mouth.
Alex picked his jaw up off the table and sent his cock a stern warning to behave.
He would pretend she hadn’t said anything. That was the only way to deal with the situation. And in a way, she hadn’t said it—it had been the wine talking. She’d be grateful for his discretion in the morning.
He drew breath to tell her it was time they went up to bed—to their separate beds in their separate bedchambers—but the words that came out were, “You’ve got a crumb on your mouth.”
The tip of Jane’s tongue ventured out in search of the errant bit of pastry, and his temperature shot up about ten degrees.
“It’s on the right.”
So of course her tongue moved to the left.
“Your other right. Here.” He should have handed her a napkin, of course. Instead he reached over and used his finger to push the crumb over so her tongue could capture it.
Her tongue captured his finger as well. The sensation of the warm, wet stroke shot directly to his eager cock with predictable results.
He finished his wine in one large gulp—it went straight to his head. He felt very . . . happy and quite, er, eager.
Surely he could keep his impulses under control until he deposited Jane—Miss Wilkinson—safely in her—
Good God, her hand was going to her neckline. She loosed a few buttons. “Is it hot in here?”
It is now. “No, I don’t think so. Perhaps you should go up to your room.”
She frowned at him. “Alone?”
“Yes.” Be strong.
She looked very disappointed. “So you aren’t going to explain things to me?”
Very strong. “No.”
“But how will I ever find out?”
“I’m sure you can discuss the matter with your friends.”
“But they’re women.”
Has any man in the world ever had to endure this sort of trial?
“Miss Wilkinson, surely you see how inappropriate this conversation is.”
“I thought we were friends.”
Oh, Lord. “We are friends, but—” No, it was impossible to explain. They were both too bosky—particularly Jane. If she were sober, they’d be discussing literature or something else unexceptional.
She nodded, looking crestfallen. He wanted to wrap his arms around—
No. That would be a mistake. A big mistake. Bigger even than his cock in its current swollen condition.
“Very well. If you’ll excuse me?” She stood—and started to list to one side.
He was on his feet at once, his arm going round her waist to support her.
She had a lovely, small waist.
Judgment! Where is my judgment?
Slipping under waves of alcohol and desire.
“Oh.” She blinked up at him. Her lips were so close to his. “I seem to be a bit unsteady on my feet.”
He exerted Herculean control and straightened, putting more space between his mouth and hers. “I think you’ve had a little too much wine.”
She nodded—and wrapped her arm around his waist. At least it was on top of his coat.
“I’m sorry, but I think I’ll need your help getting to my room, Lo-lor”—she let out a small growl of annoyance that she couldn’t seem to manage his title—“Alex.”
His foolish cock was singing. And he had no choice. She was leaning heavily against him. If he let go of her, she’d fall flat on her face.
“Come along.” Perhaps he could pretend she was his sister or his niece or, or some poor stranger he’d come upon.
He took a step and she stumbled against him, giggling.
Jane was not one to giggle.
“Do I need to carry you?” Though that would not be the best idea. He thought he was steady enough to manage the stairs with her, but he wasn’t entirely certain. It would be wiser not to put it to the test.
She shook her head—and snaked her arm under his coat. “No. I’m f-fine.”
She wasn’t fine, but she did appear to be ambulatory.
They made their way out of the study, up the stairs, and down the corridor to Jane’s bedchamber without seeing another living soul. Er, another living person. They found Poppy sitting outside Jane’s door, tail twitching as if they’d kept her waiting.
“Oh, P-Poppy,” Jane said, “did you have f-fun in the kitchen?”
Poppy blinked at Jane and then turned to give Alex a look of disgust.
Well, he was surprised at Jane’s overly sweet tone too.
Jane opened the door and Poppy dashed inside.
“Do you think you can manage on your own now?” Alex asked. If he stepped over the threshold, he was very much afraid he would lose his struggle with his baser instincts.
They both looked at the vast distance from the door to her bed. Zeus, Emmett must have put her in the largest guest bedroom in the entire castle.
“I—I can try,” she said doubtfully, but her arm tightened around his waist.
He sighed inwardly. She had about as much chance of safely navigating the path to that bed as Poppy did of flying to the moon.
Actually, he’d put his money on Poppy over Jane at the moment. He would just have to find some heretofore unexplored reserves of self-control. “I’d better help you.”
He got her through the door and then closed it carefully behind them. Given the celebrations belowstairs, it was highly unlikely anyone would come this way, but there was no point in tempting fate. Then he guided her over to the bed.
“There you go,” he said with false heartiness.
Her hold on him tightened.
“Could you.” She cleared her throat, staring at the bed instead of him. “That is, I doubt I can manage the buttons down the back of this dress at the moment. Could you undo them for me?”
That shouldn’t be so difficult. A woman’s back was relatively safe territory. Even if her dress drooped once he’d got it unbuttoned, there would still be her stays and shift between his fingers and her soft skin.
Don’t think about skin.
Women’s buttons were designed by the devil. They were so blasted small, and his fingers felt unnaturally fat and clumsy—and yes, the alcohol he’d consumed didn’t help. It took what seemed like forever, but he finally managed to wrestle all the buttons out of their buttonholes.
“There you go,” he said, stepping back and forcing his hands to clasp behind him. Perhaps that would keep them out of trouble. “I’ll just be . . .”
Jane pulled her dress down and stepped out of it, leaving her in just her shift and stays.
Correction—just her shift. Her stays quickly followed her dress to the floor.
“Ah, that’s better.”
Zeus! The sigh of pleasure she gave with those words went straight to his cock. It was pleading with him to touch her.
His fingers tightened their clasp behind his back.
No. No touching.
And then she turned toward him, and he could see the shadow of her nipples through her shift.
His blasted cock started shouting. It was hard to remember, over its desperate exhortations, that he was an honorable gentleman and Jane—Miss Wilkinson—was a gently bred virgin. Honorable gentlemen did not tup gently bred virgins.
Unfortunately.
She raised her arms to pluck the pins from her hair. The thin fabric of her shift drew tight across her chest. Not only could he see her nipples clearly now, but he could also admire the soft, full shape of her breasts.
He forced his eyes up to her face, a face that was much, much too close to his. He wouldn’t have to take a single step to reach her—he could just lean forward slightly and put his mouth on hers.
A mouth that was now smiling.
Dear God, he was in trouble. Her lovely, feminine body called to his cock, but the warmth and intimacy of her smile melted his heart.
He could not let it melt his resolve. His honor. He knew what he should do, much as he didn’t want to do it. He needed to move his feet right now and walk out of this bedroom.
“Thank you, Alex. I—”
And then disaster by the name of Poppy struck. The cat ran toward them, chasing a mouse—though Alex wouldn’t put it past the animal to be intentionally herding the rodent their way—and Jane screamed, leaping the inch that separated them and throwing her arms around him. Her soft, unbound breasts flattened against his damned waistcoat and her lower parts rubbed against his eager cock as she twisted to avoid the scurrying little creature and the larger furry she-devil in pursuit.
And of course he’d put his arms around her to catch her when she’d jumped toward him. His traitorous hands, recognizing a prize, wasted no time. One pulled her closer, while the other set off to explore the lovely curve of her back, the firm roundness of her buttocks.
I should leave. If I don’t leave now I’ll end up in bed with Jane. I’ll end up in Jane.
Honor tried vainly to break through the alcohol-fueled lust surging through him, but it was like throwing up a sheet of paper to stop a raging river.
He buried his face in her lovely, silky hair.
It’s not just lust. Surely this time what I’m feeling is love.
No matter. He couldn’t take advantage of Jane. Neither of them were precisely sober.
He might still have been able to save her virginity and his soul, but just at that moment Poppy and the mouse ran by again.
“Oh! Eek!” Jane scrambled to get her feet off the floor by wrapping her legs around his waist, thus bringing his cock’s favorite feminine body part hard up against it.
Hard. Yes. Hard. Very hard. Achingly hard.
He tried valiantly to stay upright and hold her without thrusting his hips against her soft, wiggling, warm, inviting self.
He won the thrusting battle, but lost the one with gravity. The cat and rodent came by again, and Jane tried to scramble higher as if he were a tree she was climbing. Over they went onto the bed.
At least he’d landed on the bottom so he wasn’t crushing her. However, if he didn’t stop her desperate thrashing to get completely off the floor—he would not point out that mice could climb if that truth had not yet presented itself to her—his cock was going to get a very painful introduction to her knee.
He held her hips tightly against him. “Careful, Jane. Please.”
That got her to stop. She raised her chest so she could look at him, causing her lovely breasts to dangle, barely covered, just inches from his mouth. The silky length of her hair slid down to curtain him.
He was lost.
* * *
“What?” Jane blinked. Oh, how embarrassing. She wasn’t a skittish person except when things that darted or crawled were involved. Spiders and mice—and, well, she wasn’t hugely fond of snakes, either. She should apologize. Poor Alex. Here she was on top of him in bed....
And he was staring at her breasts. Rather hungrily, she’d say. His palms were flat on her bottom—she could feel the pressure and heat of them through the thin fabric of her shift—holding her against a hard bulge that felt as if it was getting larger and larger.
She pressed her hips a little toward him and was rewarded by his sharp intake of breath and the small, moaning exhale that followed it.
So. It was time to decide. Was she going to throw caution to the wind?
She felt certain a proper English virgin would swoon or cry or demand in no uncertain terms to be released. Her conscience told her she should do exactly that, though she knew just a polite request would get the job done.
On the other hand, a slightly inebriated spinster bent on seduction would take full advantage of the situation.
She pressed against the bulge again. This was what she wanted. He was what she wanted.
Alex closed his eyes and pressed back. Now he was panting a little.
She felt quite powerful. And . . . tingly. His male bit wasn’t the only body part in the room that was swelling.
But her conscience wasn’t giving up yet. What about your virginity?
That was easy. Virginity was for young maidens in search of a husband. She was neither young nor husband-hunting.
And she trusted Alex. She might even love him. She certainly felt things for him that she’d never felt for another man. He was kind and strong and responsible and gentle. If virginity was a gift and not just a mark of inexperience, then she wanted to give hers to him.
She rubbed gently against him and felt need shoot to her breasts, causing her nipples to tighten.
But what about pregnancy?
That thought did give her pause. She didn’t want to follow in Isabelle Dorring’s footsteps.
But not every marital act results in a child. She’d been around female conversation enough to have learned that.
No, she wasn’t about to let the fear of something that might happen keep her from her one chance to satisfy this need growing in her. She wanted to discover what it was like between a man and a woman.
That’s what a brave, independent spinster would do.
As well as one who was slightly tipsy and very, very aroused.
One of Alex’s hands left her bottom to touch her hair. “It’s so silky.”
She’d always thought her hair was one of her best features, but having Alex’s fingers combing through it made her want to purr just like Poppy.
She did purr when his hand moved from her hair to her breast. Or maybe she moaned.
“You should stop me, Jane,” he whispered as his finger touched her nipple.
“N-no.” She pressed her hips against his again.
A small frown formed between his brows. “I shouldn’t—”
“You should.” She also wasn’t going to let his male honor keep her from this. She bent her head to kiss him. His cheek, his mouth. She remembered how she’d felt when his tongue had touched hers in the garden, so she traced the seam of his lips—
He made an odd little sound, something like a growl, and rolled them over so he was now on top. Then his tongue plunged into her, touching, stroking, exploring.
Oh! She welcomed it. She welcomed it all—the invasion of his tongue, the weight of his body pushing her into the mattress, his scent, his heat. Somewhat to her surprise, she didn’t feel at all subjugated or powerless. On the contrary, she felt quite powerful.
No, she felt desperate. She wanted—needed—more. She needed to feel his skin against hers and his hands—his lips—everywhere.
His mouth finally left hers to trail kisses over her cheek and down her jaw to a spot under her ear.
“Alex.”
“Hmm?”
“Aren’t you hot?”
He lifted his head. “Hot?”
“Yes.” He didn’t seem to be getting her point. “You have too many clothes on.”
“Oh. Yes. You’re right.” He gave her a slightly lopsided grin and lifted himself off her, making short work of shedding his clothes. By the time she’d removed her shift, shoes, and stockings, he’d got out of his coat and waistcoat and was unwinding his cravat.
Mmm. She wanted to help—
No! Help him get dressed. That’s what you should do. Push him out the door and lock it behind him!
That was her conscience again, reduced to a tiny shocked voice leaping about deep in the back of her mind.
Well, she knew it must be shocked, but the wine had nicely muffled the priggish old biddy so the words came more as an annoying whine, easily swatted away.
She was fearless, independent, a spinster with very demanding needs.
She put her hands on his, stopping him before he could pull off his shirt. “Let me.”
He smiled, heat flaring in his eyes. “Just don’t take too long, Jane. I can’t wait.”
She couldn’t wait, either. Perhaps now she understood Randolph’s visits to Mrs. Conklin.
It’s not the same at all, her conscience shouted, trying to be heard through the lovely wine-glow and hot desire befogging her brain. You’re risking something Randolph never did.
She’d already looked at the odds of pregnancy and decided to roll the dice.
That’s not all. You’re risking your reputation.
She didn’t care about her reputation.
And perhaps your heart.
That made her pause, but for only a moment before need silenced her annoying conscience for good.
It was too late to turn back. Her fingers had pulled Alex’s shirttail from his pantaloons. All she could hear now was his sharp intake of breath—or perhaps that was hers—as she slid her hands up over his hard, muscled belly.
“I saw you at the lake, you know.” She’d wanted to touch him then.
“D-did you?” His hands gripped her hips as if he needed to hold on to something or he’d collapse.
She smiled, loving the surge of desire and power she felt. She leaned forward to plant a kiss on his chest.
He growled and jerked his shirt from her, pulling it over his head and tossing it off to the side.
Perhaps quick was better.
Lud, he was beautiful. She wrapped her arms around him, hugging him, pressing her naked breasts against his naked chest and her naked hips against his—pantaloons.
That would never do.
His hands had slid down her back to her bottom. It felt so good not to have her annoying shift in the way.
She should return the favor. She leaned back to reach his fall’s buttons. Ah. His male bit was making quite a bulge in the fabric. It must be very eager to be freed. She cupped her hand over it—and felt it twitch into her palm.
Alex shuddered. “Jane, you’re killing me.”
She giggled. “Oh, I don’t want to do that. I’m expecting you to show me any manner of carnal delights, my lord.”
“I’ll do my best, my lady.” He kissed her again, his tongue stroking hers while his hands slid up her sides to her breasts, turning her nipples—and another nub lower on her person—into hard, aching points. She was quite breathless when his mouth moved on to explore her jaw. She wanted to melt into him and have him melt into her.
Which brought her back to his pantaloons. She dodged his kisses to free his buttons and—
“Oh.” His male bit sprang out to greet her.
She’d thought it had looked sizeable when she’d seen it at the lake, but then it had been dangly and relaxed. Now it was hard and straight, eager to be about its business.
She giggled.
Alex sounded slightly offended. “Why are you giggl—oh!”
He moaned as she wrapped her hands around the warm, thick, ungainly organ. Poor thing. It was rather ugly. But apparently very sensitive. She stroked it, and Alex moaned again, gripping her waist and then pushing her away so she had to let go of him.
“Bed,” he panted. “We have to go to bed now, or I’m going to pick you up and have you against the bedpost.”
That sounded surprisingly appealing, but probably not a good idea for a first time.
He scooped her up and deposited her on the mattress. She sprawled there, quite naked and feeling very wanton as she watched him pull off the rest of his clothing.
He was beautiful. She’d seen his body at the lake, but that had been at a distance. Up close . . . He was so different from her—all hard planes and muscles—
And enormous male bit.
A proper virgin might be alarmed, but this tipsy spinster was entranced. Eager. Her feminine bit ached—throbbed—to welcome him inside.
“Should you snuff the candles?” she asked, pulling back the coverlet as he joined her on the bed.
He stretched out beside her and leaned up on one elbow. “No. I want to see you, Jane, every lovely inch of you. I want to watch your skin flush, watch you open for me, hear you moan and beg me to come into you.”
“Ha! I don’t beg.” And I’m already flushed and damp and needy.
His grin was extremely cocky. “We shall see, won’t we?” And then he grazed her lips with his before turning his attention elsewhere.
He stroked the side of one breast. “Remember when you tried to hide under that ridiculous shawl at Chanton Manor?”
“Um.” Remember? She couldn’t think of anything but the exquisite sensations his fingers were evoking. Her nipples tightened even more, and, as if connected by an invisible string, the nub between her legs throbbed. She wanted him there. Her feminine bit was wet, almost crying for him to visit, to slide deep—
“I’ve dreamed of you in that dress. And every time I do, I wake up hot and hard. It’s very uncomfortable, Jane.”
“Uh.” She was uncomfortable. She arched up to encourage him to use his mouth and tongue for something other than talking. “Please, Alex.”
He chuckled—and she felt the small stir of air on her aching nipple. “Are you begging already, then?”
She suddenly had no interest in making this a struggle for dominance. “Yes, I’m begging. I need you, Alex. Now.”
His gaze sharpened and his face suddenly looked very stark and hungry. “I need you, too, Jane.”
And then his mouth moved back to her breast, but this time close to her nipple. His tongue traced a wet circle round it.
“Alex!”
“Trust me.”
She did trust him, but she still laced her fingers through his hair and tried to tug him—
Oh! The tip of his tongue flicked over one hard nub while his fingers tweaked the other.
Her hips lurched up off the bed. “Oh, Alex. Oh, Alex.” It was a moan.
Or a prayer.
“Shh.” His clever mouth played first with one nipple and then the other as his hand slid down over her belly, down to rest on the thatch of hair above her legs. The pressure was a relief, grounding her, keeping her from flying apart—
And then one long finger slipped down to lie, warm and still, above the aching, throbbing nub hidden in her folds.
So close—but not close enough.
If he wouldn’t come to her, she’d come to him.
She tried to tilt her hips, but his hand kept her still.
She was panting and, well, mewling. “Alex.”
“So demanding.” He laughed, but the sound was short and breathless, so she forgave him. “Impatient.”
“Alex!”
“If you insist.” His finger brushed the sensitive nub, starting a promise of intense pleasure vibrating, and then slipped just inside her. “Zeus, Jane.” He was panting too. “You are so wet. So ready.”
Yes, she was ready. She was wildly, desperately, completely ready.
His finger stroked lightly over her, teasing little brushes that drew her tighter and tighter and tighter until she felt she would break.
And then she did break. She moaned and whimpered as waves of exquisite pleasure rolled through her.
But she needed something else, something to anchor her—
Alex lifted himself over her, supporting his body on his arms so he only touched her at one point—her entrance. If she hadn’t still been so drugged by her release, she might have tilted her hips to take him in.
She was glad she hadn’t. He finally moved, causing new ripples of delight as he slowly pushed into her. She closed her eyes to concentrate on the sensation of being stretched, filled—
“Oh!” She tensed, feeling a dull pain as something deep inside her gave way.
He stopped and waited until she relaxed. Then he slid farther in, closer to her womb. A second wave of pleasure built as he moved in and out and in, but this was different from the first. It was calmer. Deeper.
I love him.
He pushed all the way to her heart and held there, his body heavy on hers as he spilled his seed in her.
Stunned, she wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder.
Oh God, I love him.