Читать книгу The Regency Redgraves: What an Earl Wants / What a Lady Needs / What a Gentleman Desires / What a Hero Dares - Kasey Michaels, Кейси Майклс, Kasey Michaels - Страница 12

JESSICA STOOD IN HER USUAL place, the one she’d long before decided provided the best vantage point from which to observe the gaming room. She smiled and nodded absently to the gentlemen from time to time, although never encouragingly, as it didn’t take much for some of them to believe she’d offered a more intimate acquaintance.

They were rather thin of company this evening, and unless more guests arrived in the next hour she might consider eliminating the second supper and close the doors to newcomers at two. It had been a long time since they’d made an early night of it, and she was looking forward to her bed.

Doreen had already left her post at the door to help with the first supper, but Jessica didn’t have to sit in at Richard’s chair at the faro table so that he could take the maid’s place. Not now that Seth was being taught by Doreen and Richard as to how to go on. His imposing size seemed to be enough to “go on” with so far. His open smile and boyish face, when put in contrast with his enormous frame, sent a clear signal: we’re delighted to see you, but if you don’t belong here or don’t behave, I will cheerfully hold you up by your heels while I carry you outside to bounce your head on the cobblestones.

Richard had somehow procured a decent suit of clothes for the boy, although the jacket did seem to strain at the shoulder seams, and Doreen had explained—undoubtedly in her usual excruciating detail—about the need to be careful as to who was admitted to the house. It would take him some time to become familiar with the usual faces, but he’d learn. Doreen, bless her wise Irish eye, could spot a constable at thirty paces.

Being hauled off to the guardhouse for operating an illegal gaming house was to be avoided at all costs! As far as her neighbors and most of the world was concerned, Jessica and her “Uncle Richard” held nightly soirees for those of an intellectual nature—the reading of self-composed bits of poetry and literary criticism, etc.

Richard had actually penned an “Ode to Dame Fortune;” he then had ordered the thing framed, personally hanging it in the ground-floor foyer. He thought it a fine joke.

After glancing at the mantel clock to see it lacked only fifteen minutes until eleven, Jessica surreptitiously rubbed at her right temple, hoping to ease the headache that had followed her back to Jermyn Street and still stubbornly refused to vacate the premises.

Her brother was a twit. A fool. An uncanny reflection of his brainless, flighty mother. Worried for his soul, Jessica had thought to rescue a nearly grown version of the sweet, shy, delightful Adam she remembered, only to come face-to-face with a simpering, posturing jackanapes rigged out like some Tatony pig, and displaying a similar intelligence.

Her only solace was the look of aggrieved pain on the earl’s face when Adam had presented himself in the drawing room. She had thought her sweet brother was in imminent peril of being corrupted by those scandalous Redgraves. Instead, if anyone was in any danger in that new association, she would have to lay odds Gideon Redgrave would be the first to run screaming into the night, begging rescue.

Jessica covered her smile with her hand. Poor Gideon. She’d handed him an easy escape, and he’d gotten his back up about her demand and refused. By rights, when he showed up here tonight—if he dared—she’d have to ask him if he symbolically carried his nose with him in a small velvet bag…having sliced it off to spite his face.

Still, she felt dreadful at having so quickly deserted the sinking ship that was Adam. It had been the shock of it; that had to be the reason. It wasn’t as if the boy was mean or evil. He had simply left the nursery and become a nincompoop. If there could be any pleasure in that knowledge, it had to be that their father must have been yanking his hair out by the roots each time he contemplated his fribble of a son.

But that’s what happens when you wed a nincompoop nearly thirty years your junior for her looks and her fertile womb. You had then set yourself up for fifty-fifty odds of her giving birth to a nincompoop. Really, you’d think more men would consider this.

Of course, that also meant he’d gone into the union with fifty-fifty odds she would have produced a likeness and disposition that mirrored his own.

Either way, Jessica realized now, too late, whatever way Adam was to go, he’d already gone there in the five important, formative years she had been separated from him, and there was no going back.

And there really wasn’t anything anyone could do to undo those five years. She’d be overweeningly ambitious to believe otherwise. Which would likewise mean there could be nothing the Earl of Saltwood could do to corrupt or correct Adam, she thought, and then mentally added to that thought: something else that might have occurred to you considerably sooner.

In short, if she’d been less of a sentimental goose and more hardheaded earlier, she would not have just passed through the most excruciatingly embarrassing twenty-four hours of her existence, or be standing here now in her same black hostess gown, attempting to look unconcerned that the clock had just begun chiming out the hour of eleven, and the exasperating man was nowhere to be seen.

And still she hadn’t told him what he needed to know about Adam. What he must know, why she had been so willing to sacrifice herself…and ended making a total fool of herself.

She would have thought, if nothing else, the earl was a man of his word. But perhaps not. Dangling a word like murder and coupling that word with your father should not be done lightly, not if the person doing the dangling didn’t mean to follow through with some explanation, for pity’s sake. Had the man no notion of what was correct?

Jessica rolled her eyes. Of course he did. He was the earl. She was the one operating an illegal gaming house. Then again, being an earl only proved he knew what was correct. It didn’t naturally follow that he’d do the correct thing.

Not that she cared. Except for the murder and the your father portions of the business. It wasn’t as if she ever wanted to see Gideon Redgrave again. Because he was an annoying man. Extremely annoying. Unsettling. So cocksure of himself. Why, it put her teeth on edge, just thinking about him.

But he had apologized about the rose. Why had he done that? Why had he worn it in the first place? Who was this man?

If only she could stop thinking about him… .

“Jess, he’s here.”

“Hmm?” she said as Richard’s roughly whispered words penetrated the introspective fog that was now her mind. She mentally shook herself back to the moment and turned her gaze to the landing in time to see Gideon once more looking perfectly put together, as if he’d just stepped out of a bandbox. He really was remarkable—a dazzling mix of precision and nonchalance, his dark handsomeness vying with his studied reserve.

She wondered if all women felt as she did when she saw him: how delightful it would be to see him discommoded, disheveled, vulnerable.

At her mercy.

Oh, dear, where had that thought come from?

Jessica lifted a hand to her high-necked bodice, perhaps to still her rapidly beating heart, and pasted a welcoming smile on her face as she crossed the room to where Gideon still stood, clearly playing Master of the Domain. Her domain.

“I warned you not to wear armor,” was his greeting, spoken quietly, yet reverberating inside her as if she’d suddenly grown harp strings inside her chest and he’d just plucked them.

The arrogance of the man! “And I did not, not this morning. Your ridiculous state of near undress to one side, I was nothing but presentable when I dared cross your threshold. Tonight, however, you are the guest, and what I wear is of my concern, not yours.”

His smile, so unexpected, nearly had her rocking back on her heels. “Perhaps we should give your brother the dressing of both of us. He’s convinced he’s in the very first stare of sartorial perfection.”

Jessica couldn’t help herself; she returned his smile. “I fear even your immense consequence could but crumble beneath the addition of a puce waistcoat, my lord. As for me, I’d rather go na—”

Gideon leaned in as if to hear her better. “Pardon me, I didn’t quite catch that? You’d rather what?”

“Could we possibly be serious, sir?” she asked, drawing herself up to her full height, which still made her feel small and insignificant in his presence. She wasn’t used to that. Her stature had always been a blessing, she’d thought. Why, she was taller than at least a quarter of the men in this room, including Richard.

“I rather thought I was being serious. You do know it’s inevitable, don’t you? You and I, that is. I won’t even point out it was you who began this intriguing dance of ours.”

“I apologize for that,” Jessica said quietly, shooting her eyes from side to side, praying no one could overhear them and this damning discussion. “Profoundly.”

“Ah, but not profusely. Profusely would be nice.”

“In that case, Gideon, I most profusely apologize for apparently goading you into the ridiculous display of ungentlemanly behavior I was so unfortunate as to witness this morning. You must feel so ashamed.”

He tilted his head to one side as he contemplated her, seemed to be measuring her in some way. “You’re not lacking in intelligence, are you? Or brass. There are few who would dare to speak to me so.”

“Perhaps if more did, you wouldn’t be so insufferably smug. I’m not afraid of you, Gideon. As to this absurd idea of anything between us being inevitable, I should point out that I have absolutely no interest in—Let go of me.”

“Don’t cause a scene,” he said, his grip on her arm looking to the casual observer to be one of easy familiarity, when in fact she swore his fingertips were crushing her bones as they walked straight cross the room to the doorway leading to her apartments. “We don’t want to rouse Richard’s suspicions. He’s got thirty years on me—it wouldn’t be a fair fight. And I’ll remind you, Seth is mine, not yours. Smile, Jessica. Let everyone know you’re just fine.”

“This is absurd. You…you’re kidnapping me in my own house,” Jessica whispered angrily, even as she saw the sense in not alarming Richard.

Richard paused in the act of drawing in the cards for a reshuffle. “You’re going upstairs?” he asked worriedly.

“We’ve some business to discuss, yes. I shan’t be long.”

“Very good,” Gideon complimented as she concentrated on inserting the key in the lock she’d earlier made sure was engaged this evening, which wasn’t a simple matter considering he had hold of her right arm and her left hand was shaking with nerves.

Once the door was open and he was forced to release her arm in the narrow hallway, she lifted her skirts and ran up the stairs, thinking to slam the upper door in his face.

Which he appeared to realize, as he stayed so close behind her it was impossible to implement her admittedly less than hopeful plan.

Once inside the small sitting room he took hold of her arm again, swinging her about so that her body was fairly slammed against his, his face not two inches from hers.

“Now, you were saying?” he asked her smoothly.

She was? She’d been saying something? What had she been saying? Dear Lord, she couldn’t remember! He was so close. His smile was so…intimate. Mocking. Inviting. Infuriating. Intriguing…

“Can’t remember?” he asked her, his arms somehow having slid around to her back, holding her in place, one hand high, between her shoulders, the other lower…provocatively lower. “Let me refresh your memory. I had been saying what will happen between us is inevitable, and you were protesting that you disagree, you harbor absolutely no interest—in what, Jessica? In this?”

He swooped in like a bird of prey, capturing her mouth just as she opened it to say—what? What could she possibly say?

Oh, my. She could say that. If his tongue wasn’t in her mouth, she could say that. If his right hand wasn’t so skillfully cupping her bottom, bringing her into intimate contact with the evidence of his arousal. If her eyes hadn’t closed on all remnants of sanity left to her, if her heart weren’t beating so wildly, if her arms hadn’t entwined themselves about his neck…if the world hadn’t suddenly gone mad.

She was left gasping for breath when his mouth left hers to traverse new ground, exploring her ear, the sensitive skin behind that ear, the length of her throat as she tilted her head to allow these further inroads on her sanity, let alone her common sense.

Never. She’d never experienced anything like this sudden fierce onset of desire, this curious tightening between her legs that had nothing to do with hoping to hold off an inevitable cruel invasion.

Gideon was cupping her breast now, rubbing his thumb across the stiff material of her gown. She gritted her teeth, wishing away the fabric, feeling her nipple straining for a more intimate touch. Perhaps his touch would be different. Perhaps his mouth more knowing, less harsh, taking this budding physical arousal her body seemed to understand and nurturing it, not turning it to pain and humiliation and tears.

There has to be something more, her mind promised her, or else women like Mildred wouldn’t be so eager to partake in it, time and time again. Perhaps it wasn’t me but James who was the sad failure.

Jessica felt herself being lifted off the floor and high against Gideon’s chest. She buried her head in his shoulder as his long strides took them across the room. He turned to his left.

“That’s…that’s the stairs to the kitchens,” she managed, and his short, pithy curse brought a tremulous smile to her lips as he turned abruptly and headed, this time, toward her small, spinsterish bedchamber. Now she noticed his breathing had become nearly as ragged as her own, and the first stirrings of fear dragged at her arousal, slowing it to a near stop.

She’d been selfishly thinking of herself, only herself. She’d forgotten the effect of passion on a man.

Hers had been a virginal bed for more than four years, since James’s death, and she’d been glad of the respite, the sanctuary it held for her. How could she be doing this? Willingly doing this? What on earth did she think it could possibly prove? She was unnatural, James had told her so, time and time again. She wasn’t a real woman.

Gideon would know, and he’d either turn away in disgust, or he’d slake himself, anyway, pounding hurtfully inside her until he was done.

Either way, she lost.

“I don’t…I can’t…” she said as he stood her on her feet beside the bed, turned her around and began expertly working open the line of buttons from her neck to her waist, as he had done the previous evening. Only tonight his mouth followed after his hands, his tongue licking at her skin, sending shivers of what had to be pleasure rippling through her.

It was as if he hadn’t heard her. He took hold of her shoulders and turned her back to him. In the light of the small candelabra burning at her bedside, he locked his eyes with hers as he touched his hands to her long, unbound hair, smoothing it back over her shoulders.

She was naked to the waist now, her gown snagging at her hips. He lowered his head, taking her in his mouth, teasing her with his fingers, destroying her now silent warnings of his imminent disappointment, her ultimate disgrace. No matter how hopeful the beginning, when her own body tried to believe this time it might somehow be different, there was always that same bad ending.

Somehow, the coverlet had been stripped back, and she was on the cool sheet. Somehow, her gown was gone, her only undergarment was gone; she was lying there, eyes closed to reality, listening to the whisper of fabric as Gideon rid himself of his evening clothes.

She’d been here before, in this position, brought low by the mere fact of being female.

She had no maidenly shame about her naked body, experienced no wild urge to try to cover herself. James had stripped her of that years ago. She knew what her body was for—a man’s pleasure. The man wanted what the man wanted, and now was as good a time as any to get it over with, so that they could move on. Resistance only brought pain. She’d simply have to pretend, go along. He’d soon learn the truth about her.

She didn’t dare look at him. She’d seen a fully aroused male before and knew what that arousal meant. Jessica believed herself to be a strong woman in most things, even an independent woman—a hard-earned independence. But this had always defeated her; she couldn’t physically best a man, and she couldn’t shoot him. Struggle was useless, embarrassing and often countered with violence. She knew herself to be the weaker vessel. It wasn’t rape if she let him take what he believed he wanted. It was simply easier.

The bed sagged slightly as he joined her, as he leaned over her, as he brought his head close to hers once more. Good. At least it would soon be over.

“You’re even more perfect than I imagined,” he told her as he slowly drew his hand down her body. “No flaw, anywhere. Perfect seduction. Last night was an uncomfortably long night for me. Was it for you?”

Was what uncomfortable for her? She couldn’t think, couldn’t concentrate on anything but the travels of his hand, knowing where he was heading, to the juncture of her thighs.

Would he please just finish it, this inevitable he spoke of, the inevitable she’d stupidly goaded him to. That would tell him more than she could ever hope to say. Then they could put all of this behind them and move on to the subject of her father’s supposed murder, the golden rose he’d worn in his cravat.

His hand slid over her lower belly, and she sighed, opened her silk stocking-clad legs to him. Let him take what he believed he needed. This meant nothing to her. It was only her body. A few more minutes, that’s all. Just, please, quickly.

His kiss surprised her; she hadn’t expected any more coaxing now that he had her where he wanted her. Not that James hadn’t tried this sort of arousal in the beginning, until he’d realized he was only wasting his time, delaying his pleasure. But, Lord, he had tried, each thing he’d attempted worse than the last. The bites, the pinching fingers, the supposedly arousing slaps, believing perhaps pain would turn to pleasure. And it had…for him.

Jessica felt tears burning behind her eyes and forced her mind to stop thinking about James. He was dead, he didn’t control her any longer. She owed him nothing she hadn’t paid back tenfold in the nearly eight long months of their bizarre marriage.

Now another man was touching her, taking what he wanted. What would he do if he knew what she’d been thinking? No, he couldn’t know.

She raised her hips slightly, as she’d been taught.

Gideon’s response was to continue his travels across the landscape of her lower body. His fingertips drew a route from her navel to within a heartbeat of her center, then moved on to skim the inside of her thighs. And still he kissed her, his tongue teasing, tasting, coaxing a response that surprised her; that curl of desire returned, deep inside her.

She moved her hips again, this time without first thinking about the action. Was he avoiding her? Did he have to be pointed in the correct direction?

Hardly. The man kept four mistresses.

Jessica swallowed hard, barely given time to draw in a fresh breath between kisses, barely wanting to waste time in doing so. Because Gideon’s mouth was so provocatively enticing, she actually heard herself moan in loss when he broke the last kiss and began moving his head lower, beginning a new journey that led to her left breast and ended when he took the nipple into his mouth.

She braced herself for the pain, but it didn’t come. He didn’t take, he…worshipped. Yes, that was the word. He tasted, he suckled, he drew the tip of his tongue around her, he coaxed rather than commanded.

She opened her eyes, raised her head as best she could and watched. Her arm seemed to rise, unbidden, so that she could run her fingers through his dark thatch of hair. She felt a closeness, a communion with the man, a feeling unexplainable yet perfectly understood. It was like nothing she’d ever felt before.

When he finally slid his fingers between her legs, curiosity overcame her fear, even though she held her breath, until the slow, nearly circular strokes set off a curious sort of pleasure that showed every sign of turning her limbs to water.

Oh, yes. The words came unbidden to her mind and repeated themselves. Oh, yes. Yes. Yes, yes, yes… “Do that,” she moaned, not realizing she’d spoken. “Please…there. Do that…”

She drew up her feet, bending her knees, allowing them to fall open for him, lifting her hips as he seemed to somehow spread her and stroke her at the same time, finding some previous hidden center of her that had to be acknowledged, demanded some sort of satisfaction.

I’m real, she rejoiced inside her head. This is real, this is happening, this is… And then she didn’t think at all. her body simply reacted to Gideon’s touch, flowering, quivering, pulsating, flinging her out over some abyss as pleasure held her aloft, in its thrall.

He filled her then, levering himself up and over her and then plunging into her in one swift movement.

From some distant place, out over the abyss, she saw herself wrap her limbs around him as if fearful he would leave her. She saw herself kissing his heated skin, biting into the straining muscles of his strong neck and shoulders, rocking with him, urging him on, almost grimly determined to give pleasure for pleasure.

Gideon pushed himself up and looked down at her, as if to gauge her response. “Now?” he asked, watching her closely. “Please God, woman, say now.”

“Now,” she responded, not quite certain what she’d just agreed to, because nothing could be better than what she’d already felt. That was impossible.

But it wasn’t. Gideon didn’t just move inside her now. He plunged, he took, he pumped. Ground himself against her and then took up the rhythmic movements again, each time faster, each time deeper, each time giving more, demanding more, and all while watching her, watching her, watching her.

“No,” she said at last, fear finally finding its way back through the haze of passion. A new fear, one she’d never before had to face. This felt too good, she might shatter with it, disappear inside the pleasure. Her heart might burst, her mind explode. Too good. This was too dangerously good. “Oh, God…no.”

“On the contrary. Oh, God…yes,” Gideon said, and then buried himself inside her one last time, their bodies fitting so tightly together they may have merged into one. She felt her own body clench and unclench again and again, even as his did the same, on and on, until at last he collapsed against her, chest to chest, and they both lay still, perhaps he as well as she in order to assess whether or not they’d just died.

A single tear escaped Jessica’s eye and ran down the side of her head, into her ear. It tickled. All right, she was still alive.

Gideon finally stirred, and she moved her hands over his sweat-slick back, reluctant to let him go as he made to leave her.

“Insatiable, are you, madam? I’m devastated to admit I’m of no further use to you for at least an hour,” he said in a joking voice as he turned onto his back, his forearm over his eyes. “I should have taken you up on your offer last night, although it’s possible the anticipation increased the pleasure. Clearly you were born for this, Jessica Linden. And at least I know now how your late husband died. Undoubtedly in bed, and with a smile on his face.”

As more tears threatened, Jessica quickly turned her head and surreptitiously wiped at her eyes with a corner of the sheet. “He wasn’t smiling, no,” she said, and then quickly shut her mouth so she could say no more. She wanted to rest her head on Gideon’s shoulder, to curl her arm about his waist and simply…cuddle. “Could…would you please gather your clothing and give me my privacy? I’ll join you in the sitting room. There’s wine in the decanter.”

“Suddenly I feel this strong urge toward leaving a purse on your bedside table,” Gideon said, his tone having returned to the careless sarcasm he seemed so adept with most times. He left the bed, most probably to gather his clothing from the floor. “Very well. But ten minutes, no more. I’ll help you with those bloody buttons, as it wouldn’t do to return to the gaming floor in another ensemble.”

“And not before you tell me more of what you hinted at earlier. You do remember that, don’t you?”

If he noticed she was speaking to him with her back turned to avoid seeing his nakedness, he didn’t call her on it. “I’ve rethought the matter. I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s none of your concern.”

Now Jessica did turn toward him, making certain the coverlet she’d reached for earlier covered her breasts. He’d already donned his breeches, thank the Lord. She didn’t think she could continue this conversation if they both were naked. “None of my concern? You all but guaranteed me my father and stepmother were murdered. I have a right to know why you think that.”

“Why would that be? You hated your father, fled from hearth and home many years ago. That was the way of it, you said.”

“Oh, and that means I shouldn’t care if he and his wife were murdered? Perhaps you think I should be doing a jig? No, don’t answer that! Besides, you wanted to talk to me about the Society, remember? Your father’s Society?”

“My mistresses don’t plague me with talk. I prefer my pleasure without prattle.”

“I’m not one of your mistresses and I’ll speak when I wish,” Jessica countered, at last far enough removed from the revelations of the past half hour that her mind had begun to function once more. “Must I add, Gideon, that you’re not my lover? You said the word inevitable. Perhaps it was. But now we move on.”

He looked at her blandly, as if what she’d said meant nothing. “Just get dressed,” he said, and then—finally—quit the room.

Leaving Jessica to wonder what on earth had happened, why it had happened so easily with this infuriating, totally exasperating man, if it was the man or something else that had changed inside her to make what had happened possible.

And, having happened once, was it possible for it to happen again? Surely not with the insufferable Gideon Redgrave, but he wasn’t the only man in the world. It very well could have been James who had been the aberration. Not that she was now about to go the route of Mildred or her ilk in order to satisfy her curiosity. She simply couldn’t allow what had happened with Gideon to happen with Gideon again. He was an earl and thoroughly unlikable, and she was a widow running a gaming house. He was not for her, and she definitely was not for him.

Although she could, being at heart an honest person, feel some gratitude toward the man.

“Not that he can ever know what he did, or else he’d be more than insufferable. Much better to allow him to continue to think of me as nothing more than one of a probably endless list of casual liaisons. Yes, this all is going to take some concentrated thinking,” she told herself as she held up her gown and frowned at the wrinkles, her hard-won practical nature finally coming to her aid. “And perhaps a pressing iron…”