Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Five years later …

C illian Stanhope, Viscount Sallis, stood high on the balcony of Countess Ellington's midnight ball, hidden in the shadows of the upper bowers. He watched the one woman he'd been unable to push from his thoughts and dreams these last few years—a lady he was certain thought of him with disdain if she at all wondered about him. A mocking chuckle escaped Cillian, and he lifted the pilfered decanter of brandy to his lips and took a healthy swallow, the fiery liquid doing little to warm the cold knot in his stomach.

Of course, it did not thaw the sensation. He always felt cold and empty. Cillian took another drink, hating that he tortured himself by staring at her. Lady Jenna was ravishing in a dark golden gown with a lowered neckline, hinting at her sensual décolletage. Her midnight black hair was caught up in a chignon, accentuating the elegant curve of her neck. She danced with Lord Peter Cavendish, the heir to an earldom and a man considered one of society's most eligible bachelors.

"Ah, you got my letter," a voice murmured to his left.

Cillian did not reply as his good friend, Daniel, Lord Berrisford, came to stand by his side.

"Lady Jenna is a rather beautiful woman; to some, she might even be more radiant than the roses of the season," Daniel murmured. "However, I cannot understand your obsession—"

"I am not obsessed."

"Are you not?" his friend demanded caustically. "You have been away from society for almost three years, only returning to town for your duties in the House of Lords. You wanted her years ago, and you lost her. Your estates need you to marry an heiress, and you have refused, living like a damn—"

The earl broke off sharply, raking his fingers through his hair. Cillian understood his friend's concern and frustration. However, he would not be moved to marry another because the only woman he had ever wanted and envisioned by his side was Jenna.

"You do not need to agree with my choices. You only need to respect them," he murmured, tipping the decanter to his mouth.

"I did my duty as your friend and wrote to you of Lord Peter's intention," Daniel said irritably, "but I implore you, my friend, to let the idea of her go. There are many women here who would marry you. You are disgustingly handsome and reputed to me a good enough lover."

Cillian's mouth quirked in a small smile, but he made no response to his friend. Daniel clapped him on the shoulder and walked away, joining the revelry in the ballroom. Cillian watched him go, his thoughts lingering on the conversation.

How do I even begin to carve her out of my thoughts?

His gaze inevitably drifted back to the dance floor, where Lady Jenna and Lord Peter moved gracefully in time with the music. They made a striking pair, their differences complementing each other beautifully. Lord Peter's blond elegance and polished demeanor were a stark contrast to Jenna's dark-haired beauty, which held a hint of wildness. One only had to look into her eyes to see it—a spark of untamed spirit that set her apart from the other ladies of the ton .

I am perhaps indeed a damn fool. How does one mend what was broken?

It was indeed news about Lord Peter's intention that pushed Cillian from the shadows of his principal estate in Derbyshire to travel to London posthaste. The rumors and the betting books at White's said he would make an offer for Lady Jenna this week.

An offer of marriage .

That cold feeling once again whispered through Cillian, a haunting reminder of the night Jenna fled from him with tears and pain in her eyes. A desperate need had opened inside of him, and in a bid to prevent her from slipping away before she could comprehend his feelings, he had used ruthless force to bind her to him. He smiled, recalling his surprise to find the compromising letters stolen from his home without a trace of the thief. It was not the lady herself, for she would have surely remembered that her most intimate letter had not been in the stolen stack, and his home would have been more thoroughly searched.

" Oh, I regret writing such … such wanton things to you. Please return —"

He had cupped her cheek, feathering his thumb over the delicate softness of her skin. " Do not worry. It is … destroyed ."

Wide eyes had searched his face, and then she had whispered, " You tease me; you would never get rid of a letter I wrote you ."

At the time, he foolishly thought those soft, sweet words were the faith she had in the connection they were building and the understanding of who he was. Cillian did not allow many people close, for he had carried too much disappointment and dark resentment bred from the piercing indifference and oftentimes hatred from his parents. Yet something about Jenna pierced his guard, and he allowed himself to want.

Foolish then and still foolish now , he mockingly reminded himself.

Once Cillian realized the placket of poems and letters was missing, he rushed to his bedchamber and found the letter he'd been unable to burn. His worry that someone might try to ruin Jenna had pushed him to silently and ruthlessly investigate, and he discovered 48 Berkeley Square. A secret ladies' club born from the creative ingenuity of the Duchess of Hartford. A place where like-minded ladies would gather and partake in wicked dares and shenanigans. His man of affairs told him the ladies of the club celebrated Lady Charity stealing back the letters … because of a dare.

It seemed the ladies of the club found dares a wicked thrill and something important, for it allowed them to be free and bold in a world that tried to clip their wings mercilessly. Cillian had retreated, accepting that Jenna no longer held any affection for him. In truth, he doubted she held anything in her heart genuine for him. The stars in her eyes were merely the foolish fancy many young ladies quietly owned for a good match.

If not, how else would she so easily walk away without allowing him an explanation? How else could she so easily accept that he only wanted her for her dowry and connections? Lady Jenna had run away and never once looked behind at him.

Another mocking laugh left him as he watched the smile of desire on Lord Peter's face. Cillian bolstered himself before he glanced at Jenna, some of the knot loosening in his gut when he saw the indifference in her answering smile.

Why are you not married, Jenna? Why are you not flirting with Lord Peter, who is so evidently besotted?

She was a ravishing beauty with charm and wit, her dark blue eyes bright and mischievous. Her wealth was also a beacon before her, and many suitors should have flocked to her side. Cillian had waited in the shadows of his ruined hope for news that she was affianced. A year passed, then two, then three and now five years have gone by.

She hadn't married. She was still alone. Why?

Have you changed and no longer wish to marry, Jenna?

The question gnawed at him as he took another sip of brandy, his eyes never leaving her figure. Were her dark blue eyes still so deep that a man could drown in them without care? Did she still tip her head to the side in that charming manner when she laughed, her eyes sparkling with mischief? Did she still possess that captivating blend of grace, wit, and kindness that had always set her apart?

Are you the same Jenna?

The ball continued around him, the music, the laughter, and the clinking of glasses all fading into the background as his focus narrowed solely on Jenna. He watched as she gracefully navigated the dance floor, her movements fluid and enchanting, drawing the admiration of everyone around her. But there was a guardedness to her, a wall that seemed to keep everyone at a distance, including Lord Peter.

Cillian's thoughts drifted back to their last encounter, the night she had fled from him. He had been brash, desperate to make her understand his feelings, but instead, he had driven her away with his dark threat of blackmail. The memory of her tear-streaked face haunted him, and he spent years regretting that night, knowing he had lost her forever.

He traveled to London tonight not just to watch but to act. The rumors of Lord Peter's impending proposal had stirred something deep within Cillian. He could not stand idly by and let another man claim her without a fight.

Foolish , that small voice inside his heart mocked. She is not yours to fight for .

As the dance ended, Jenna excused herself from Lord Peter with a polite curtsy. She made her way toward the terrace, her steps purposeful as if seeking a moment of solitude. Cillian saw his opportunity and, setting the decanter aside, moved swiftly down the stairs and through the shadows to intercept her. He noticed Lord Peter also chasing after her.

With dark humor flashing through him, Cillian acted quickly. Lord Peter considered himself a man of high fashion, seemingly going to great lengths with his attire. Cillian snatched a glass of champagne from a passing footman and moved to intercept Lord Peter. With a slight twist of his wrist, Cillian deliberately spilled the champagne on the other man's jacket. The liquid splashed onto the fine fabric, causing Lord Peter to halt abruptly, his expression shifting from determination to shock and irritation.

"Be careful, you clumsy—" Lord Peter's words broke off sharply when he saw who had bumped into him. He tugged at his cravat. "Sallis."

"Ah," Cillian drawled. "It seems I have bumped into you and created a mess. What was this about clumsiness?"

The younger man parted his lips as if he would upbraid Cillian and seemed to think better of it. "I can see this was a simple accident, Sallis. An apology is not necessary."

"Of course not, Cavendish," Cillian said coolly.

Lord Peter lowered his head in a brief nod of respect, whirled about, and melted into the crowd. A man like Cavendish, who gave much importance to fashion, would leave the ball, feeling it would be a disgrace to be seen in ruined clothes.

"Ridiculous," Cillian murmured before he deftly stepped into the shadows and outside.

The cool night air greeted him as he stepped onto the terrace, the sounds of the ball muted by the heavy drapes. Jenna was not there, and a quick glance revealed she had walked down the stairs to the small gardens. She stood alone, gazing up at the stars, her shoulders tense.

Cillian approached her slowly, his heart pounding in his chest. Her soft scent of lavender teased his senses, and a hot knot of need drew tight low in his body. Even with years and distance between them, Cillian wanted to put his arms around her, feel the softness of her against him again. His lips quirked as irritation pulsed through him at his uncontrolled response. He ruthlessly shuttered the feelings as he drifted closer.

"Lady Jenna," he murmured. "How … interesting to see you out here."

She turned, her eyes widening in surprise, her gloved hand lifting to her throat. How delicate and ethereal she appeared.

"Lord Sallis?"

"In the flesh," he said mockingly, lowering himself into an elegant bow.

Lady Jenna stared at him, her eyes usually so luminous with pleasure to see him, now appeared shocked and watchful.

"What do you want, my lord?" she asked, her tone guarded.

Silence stretched between them, heavy and fraught with unspoken words. Finally, Cillian murmured, "To enjoy the gardens in the presence of a lovely lady."

He stepped forward until he could almost touch her. At his closeness, a tremor went through her body, but she did not dance away from him.

How unflappable you have become , he silently mused, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

" My lord, you must not stand so close to me! "

" Why not? "

" It is scandalous ."

" I am a scandalous gentleman ."

" Are you admitting to being a libertine? That … that means I should not be out here with you alone ," she gasped, her eyes stricken even as a pretty blush dusted her cheeks.

" I have a need to enjoy the fresh air, and I can see that you do too, Lady Jenna. I promise there is no need to run away inside. You will always be safe with me ."

Cillian closed his eyes, shutting out the memory of the first time they were alone.

"Why … why did you follow me, Lord Sallis?"

The icy question anchored him to the present. "Are you so certain that I did, Lady Jenna?"

"Yes." She glanced away from him. "I always know when your gaze is on me, and you have been staring for at least an hour."

"Ah … so by coming out here, you were inviting me to follow."

"Still arrogant," she said tartly.

"Always confident," he said smoothly, subtly inhaling her scent into his lungs. The delicate fragrance of lavender teased his senses and stirred memories he had tried to bury. The feel of her eyes skipped over his flesh and Cillian smiled. "It is now you who are staring, Jenna. Do I detect longing?"

She inhaled sharply, and he knew it was the intimate use of her name. A few beats passed, and she said, "There is nothing but indifference in my heart."

Surprised, he glanced down to find her peering at him with amused—and chillingly insouciant—blue eyes. He kept his expression relaxed despite the tension screaming through him. If she was indeed this indifferent to him, all was lost.

Cillian reached up, and though her eyes widened, Jenna did not jerk away. He touched the soft hollow at her throat where her pulse beat. Instantly, her pulse sped up, fluttering like a trapped bird beneath her flesh, even as her expression grew more inscrutable. Her breathing hitched, and Cillian couldn't help but notice the slight tremor in her composure.

"Your pulse races at my touch. Indifference, you say. I think not," he murmured.

Her eyes flashed with a mixture of defiance and something else—something that gave him a flicker of hope.

Yet she kept her voice steady as she replied, "You mistake curiosity for something deeper, my lord. Do reassert your good senses and realize the truth of my words."

"Curiosity can be a dangerous, interesting thing," he said, his fingers lingering on her skin for a moment longer before he let his hand drop.

"I have always flirted a bit with danger," she said drolly, her eyes glittering with a warning. "It is not your place to wonder about the reason behind curiosity."

Her fingers, soft and cool, dismissively flicked a spot on his chin. Cillian's damn breathing fractured at the simple touch. He wanted to haul her against him, bear her down to the lush grass, and tear her clothes off. He wanted her naked and open for him, reaching for him, sobbing with her need for him. Then Cillian wanted to crawl over Jenna, push inside her, and watch her face as he took her over and over until she screamed his name. He wanted Jenna to be addicted to him, craving his touch the way he'd craved hers for five long years.

As if she knew his wicked thoughts, a cool smile touched her lips. "It will never happen, my lord."

"Oh, are you so certain?"

"Yes, I am."

The soft pads of her fingers brushed his lips, and wanting to rattle her composure, he caught one of her fingers in his mouth, sucking it gently.

She gasped, quickly retrieving her finger.

"Did you feel a spark of temptation?"

"Nay."

"Pretty liar. I can see the curl of want in your eyes."

"Are you not a man like all others in the ton ? There is nothing about you that inspires want in me, Lord Sallis."

He arched a brow, and she smiled sweetly before continuing, "You are charming, there is no doubt. Handsome? Devastatingly so … but you are also a scoundrel and a man without …"

"Honor?" he asked, keeping his gaze cool and watchful even as sharp pain pierced his chest. "You insulted my honor once, Lady Jenna, and I allowed it. Do so again, and I will challenge you to a duel."

Her eyes widened, and then delighted laughter spilled from her. "Truly?"

Bloody hell, he had missed that wonderful sound. "Hmm."

She took a step back from him. "Given the provocative gleam in your eyes, my lord, you know I am a skilled fencer."

"Yes." Cillian smiled, liking the brief flash of wonder in her eyes before her lashes lowered and all traces of animation vanished.

"I bid you a good evening, my lord—"

"I dare you, Lady Jenna. Are you brave enough to accept, I wonder?" he asked, searching for the daringly mischievous young lady he had known.

Her lashes fluttered, her throat worked to swallow, and then her gaze collided with his. "A dare ?"

She was no longer a naive, trusting lady, but Jenna had yet to master the art of fully concealing her thoughts and emotions. Her alarm and disbelief were palpable. "Yes, a dare."

"You … you know about us?" she asked softly.

"By us, do you mean 48 Berkeley Square?"

"Oh," she gasped, stumbling away a few more paces. "How … when …"

"I found out when you had Lady Charity steal the poems and letters you wrote me."

Something unknown turned over in Jenna's gaze. "You knew it was us who broke into your home?"

"Yes."

Silence fell and lingered as they stared at each other. Cillian knew it was curiosity that moved her to tilt her head and ask, "What is your dare?"

He moved closer once again, slipped his hand around her waist and flushed her against his body as he started his gamble of a lifetime. "To kiss me, Jenna. I dare you to kiss me."