Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

T he impact of Jenna's sudden presence was as powerful as if Cillian had been punched in the gut. He had escaped from town due to a fire in his stables and had planned to return as soon as possible. Cillian had wanted to stay in town, but he no longer had a stable master or estate steward to entrust this task to, and he had never been able to place personal desires over duty. Then Jenna appeared at his home. It was incredible, and he would not dismiss the gift of her presence. The feel of her body beneath him roused his senses, but most importantly, she did not push him away but slipped her hands up to his shoulders and lightly held him.

Her eyes were wide, her gaze searching. "Why did you not marry, Cillian?"

"You know why."

"I do not," she insisted, her fingers tightening imperceptibly on his shoulders. "It would have solved many things for you."

He lowered his head, lightly grazed her cheek with his lips and pressed a light kiss down to her neck. Regrets gnawed at him without mercy. "The one woman I wanted I lost because of my idiocy. Why should I then marry someone else?"

Her body jerked, and he lifted his head to peer down at Jenna. Her eyes glittered with tears and an emotion he did not know.

"So you toiled for five years … trying to bring your estates back from the brink? How … how did you manage …"

"With difficulty," he said softly, refusing to burden her with the nights he sat by the fire pouring over the ledgers, or when he walked through his home deciding what to sell to pay the servants, or that he reduced the rent for many of his tenants for they also endured hardship, or that he hardly ate supper so that the larder remained stocked for the year.

He recalled trudging through muddy fields, inspecting crops and livestock, and ensuring that every possible resource was utilized efficiently. The cold, sleepless nights spent repairing roofs and mending fences with his own hands flashed through his mind. There were times when despair threatened to consume him, but he pressed on, driven by a sense of duty and a stubborn hope for a better future. He could still feel the weight of the countless sacrifices he made, the exhaustion that became his constant companion, and the relentless determination to restore his family's legacy.

He kissed the corner of her mouth, and she briefly closed her eyes as if savoring the touch of his lips to her skin.

A breath shuddered from her. "I want to kiss you so very badly …"

"But you will not give in to temptation." Cillian pressed a soft kiss to the tiny pulse flickering wildly above her collarbone, then nipped that tender bit of flesh.

Jenna gasped, the sound at once alarmed yet so aroused. "Aye, I am a lady of good sense."

"I have always enjoyed corrupting presumably good senses."

She drew in a deep, slow breath that made him acutely aware of her breasts.

"I do not understand what is happening. What do you want from me, Cillian? There is a look in your eyes that frightens me."

"You know what I want, Jenna. Let me ask you … why have you not married?"

She touched his mouth with trembling fingers. "My heart only had a small space for love, and you took up all of it," Jenna whispered. "That space is closed, and I will not open it again. When love is lost, the agony is unbearable. I will not go through that again in this lifetime."

Those words slammed into him like a fist. Her pain and uncertainty were etched on her face. Cillian's heart ached painfully at the sight. How had he not realized how much pain and damage he had caused? Her burgeoning love for him had been like a gentle flicker that needed to be lovingly stoked for it to flame brightly. Was it a misunderstanding? What if not sharing the depth of his fears and the burden on his shoulders had kept them apart? Had he trusted her with his pride and worries and confided the state of his estate to her, would all of this have been avoided?

"Jenna—"

Her eyes glittered with unshed tears. "I do not wish to speak of the past. I am exhausted from looking behind and wondering what could have happened differently. I have looked into the past many times these last five years, and I have wept many times despite promising myself I would not. I do not wish to speak of the future. Only the present matters."

For a split second, he felt as if he had been stabbed through the chest with a serrated dagger. Jenna curled her hands around his nape and dragged him down. Cillian met her halfway, their lips coming together in frenzied passion. The kiss was deep, rough, and hungry; he felt as if he could never get enough of her mouth or the feel of her in his arms. He restrained himself and gentled his mouth, kissing her with tender bites and nips, coaxing a response, and she slowly relaxed and gave him everything he asked for.

Cillian groaned. She tasted so damn sweet, and he had longed for her for so damn long. Ravenous greed rose inside, and he ruthlessly tried to temper himself. A nameless hunger ate at him, and he stroked his tongue into her mouth, swallowing her moan. He wanted her, spread wantonly beneath him, making those hot, aroused sounds as he drove deep into her. He rocked against her, and she parted her legs, cradling his weight perfectly.

He groaned and surged against her, his cock dragging perfectly over the heat between her thighs. She sobbed into his mouth, arching her hips to him, her fingers sliding from his shoulders up to thrust through his hair. Jenna whimpered when he rocked his aching cock against her once more and sucked her tongue into his mouth with ravenous delight.

Cillian felt as if he wanted to devour her. He could damn well kiss her for a lifetime and not have enough of her.

She ripped her mouth from his, taking erratic breaths into her lungs.

"You have never kissed me like this before, Cillian."

He brushed his mouth over hers with infinite tenderness. "I kept parts of myself hidden from you before—never again."

Her eyes widened, but she made no reply. Still, he noted the chilling reserve that crept into her eyes, and given what he knew about Jenna, her reaction shook her. She pressed her hands against his shoulders and pushed. Cillian rolled from her body onto the grass, placing his hands behind his head.

Memories of the sensuality she showed when she was tippled ran through his mind. He couldn't help smiling, "I have a flask of brandy. Would you like a drink?" he drawled.

She assessed him with squinting eyes, and then she gasped and scrambled to sit up. "What … what did I do?"

"Hmm, if you cannot recall the evening, it is best—"

Jenna attempted to pinch him, and he smiled. "You said you wanted to sit your pussy on my face and tongue. I am willing. My damn mouth is watering for a taste of you."

Jenna shrieked as if someone was trying to murder her, scooted away from him to stand and then ran away. Cillian was so astonished that he started to laugh. He was tempted to follow her, but there was much work to be done. His tenants needed him, for Cillian no longer had a man of all works to undertake the necessary repairs.

He rose and stretched the ache from his muscles. Cillian went to his horse that had been tethered nearby, mounted, and rode away. In the distance, he saw Jenna walking and grinned, for she had his baby goat in her arms. Turning his horse toward the village, he headed to the tenants Williamson had told him were having issues.

The woodland path was a narrow, winding dirt road bordered by lush green fields and wildflowers swaying gently in the breeze. The trees lining the road formed a canopy overhead, their leaves glistening from the recent rain. Birds flitted between branches, their songs filling the air with a sense of calm and serenity. He rode for almost a mile before he drew on the reins. Cillian dismounted at Mrs. Murphy's cottage, which had received much-needed renovations last month. The charming, four-room cottage had a freshly thatched roof and newly painted shutters. The door opened, and a plump lady waved and then bobbed her head in greeting.

"Mi lord, you came in time. I just finished baking your favorite bread. I added a few raisins for you."

He grinned. "Ah, Mrs. Murphy, your beauty radiates every time I see you."

"Remind that silver-tongued devil you are still married, Mary," a voice grumbled from inside.

Chuckling, Cillian went inside and nodded to her husband, George, who was the village and his estate's blacksmith. The interior of the cottage was cozy, with a roaring fire in the hearth and the scent of freshly baked bread filling the air.

"Williamson came over and told me to make my presence scarce because a young lady needed my service, but it seems she must suffer your rakish wiles before departing, my lord," George said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Is it this afternoon I am to come by the estates or tomorrow?"

Cillian scowled. How much had his damn butler told, and to whom?

"The entire village knows of it, milord," Mrs. Murphy said, her brown eyes twinkling. "The vicar says he will hold a special prayer for your wanton heart."

He laughed and scrubbed a hand over his face. Cillian ought to return home and wring his butler's damn neck. "How is your daughter doing?"

Mrs. Murphy's face softened. "Alice safely delivered last night, milord, and she is resting with the babe."

"I am relieved to hear of it," he said gruffly, a sense of genuine relief washing over him.

"Thank ye for riding through the rain for the midwife," she replied, her eyes smarting with tears. "None of us expected Alice to go into labor last night. I tell ye it was her fright of the thunder that brought it on."

He had nothing to say to that bit of superstition, so Cillian smiled, arching a brow when she handed him a basket of fresh vegetables and fruits.

"Thank you," he said.

The blacksmith cleared his throat. "I have picked up some work from Squire Headley. I should be able to pay the back rent and make current—"

"Productively direct your attention to your daughter and grandchildren," Cillian said, lifting the basket. "Rent has been received this month."

Mrs. Murphy's eyes filled with gratitude, and George nodded. The warmth and appreciation in their expressions made the difficult path he had walked to restore his estates worthwhile. Cillian also saw the fierce pride in the blacksmith's eyes and understood the struggle he faced to provide for his family. His daughter, son-in-law, and three grandchildren had lost their home in Hampshire because they could no longer afford the rent their lord charged. With no other options, Alice moved to Derbyshire, unaware that her parents were still barely making ends meet. It was for this reason that Cillian opened his lands to those who hunted, allowing them to catch game for food without charging a fee and abolishing poaching penalties for his lakes and lands, which spanned over two hundred acres.

He spent a few more minutes at the Murphys' cottage before visiting other tenants. Almost three hours later, Cillian had far too many baskets to carry home. Whenever the tenants saw him, they always had baskets of fresh fruits, vegetables, and baked goods waiting for him. Despite his assurances that it was unnecessary, they insisted, expressing their gratitude for all he had done to improve their lives. Their appreciation was not needed; it was his duty to care for them. Yet he also understood their hearts, for he was the opposite of his father, who had bled them dry to feed his drinking and gambling habits.

When Cillian inherited the debt-riddled estates, he had reluctantly visited the gambling hells, despising that he had turned to the very place that had destroyed his father. He recalled the bitter days he would spill from those dens in the dark underbelly of London with his winnings, only to cast up his accounts in the alleyway. Cillian had taken those early winnings and invested them in a few ventures, hoping they would provide a steady stream of income.

When he inherited the estates, the economy had yet to recover from the war despite a few years passing. Many of his tenants could not afford an increase in rent. Numerous families had lost sons and husbands in the conflict, leaving more widows and children than able-bodied men. Cillian had reduced the rent for those greatly disadvantaged and had never increased it over the years. The memory of those grim times lingered in his mind as he rode back home, his horse laden with the tokens of his tenants' gratitude.

Once he reached his manor, the stable lad took his horse for a rub down, and two servants went toward the kitchen with the baskets. Cillian hastened inside and made his way to the bedchamber he knew his butler and a few other staff had spent the day preparing.

Most of the rooms in his seventy-room palatial manor were empty, and the others were not in use, with the furniture covered in sheets. He retained only nine servants, their numbers too few to efficiently run the estate. Cillian took a bath, dressed casually in dark blue trousers, a white undershirt, and a waistcoat. He went without a cravat and only raked his fingers through his hair before heading downstairs. In the hallway, he paused before his bedchamber and lifted his hand to knock. Expelling a breath, Cillian lowered his hand and went downstairs.

"Inform Williamson that Murphy should fix the carriage wheel this evening," he told a footman he passed in the lower floor hallway. "Then he should inform Lady Jenna."

"Yes, my lord."

Cillian opened the door to his study and faltered. Jenna was seated atop his desk, wearing a peach gown that clung to her curves, accentuating her graceful figure. Her feet were bare of stockings and shoes, and her hair tumbled over her shoulders and back in beautiful waves, shimmering in the light from the lamps and fireplace. Her bare feet added a touch of innocence to her otherwise provocative appearance. Jenna had one of his ledgers in her hand, reading intently, while the other hand was braced atop his desk. She peeked over the ledger, and shock slammed into his system.

Her eyes glittered brightly with deviltry, and her cheeks were flushed a delightful rosy red. Jenna looked utterly captivating, a vision of sensuality and mischief. The combination of her radiant smile, the sparkle in her eyes, and the flush on her cheeks made it impossible for him to look away and informed him the hellion had consumed liquor.

Bloody hell .