Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

S he came to me .

The shock of that knowledge lingered several minutes after Jenna walked into Cillian's embrace. He sat with her curled into his arms on the chaise by the fire. She had trembled so fiercely that he had simply held her and rubbed soothing circles on her shoulders even as his heart grew more restless.

"Lord Peter" had been the only words she gasped.

Cillian did not need to hear any more. That blackguard would pay for hurting her. It was her brother's duty to defend her honor so Cillian would ensure he left enough of the lout for the Earl of Ralston. Cillian gently swept a wisp of hair from her cheek. Jenna had worn herself out with her tears. Her chest rose steadily, and her body no longer trembled. How long they stayed by the fire, he could not say, but somehow, she quieted. Her lashes fluttered open, and a startled sound left her. Then she seemed to realize where she was because she relaxed.

"I fell asleep?" she gasped, sounding dazed.

Unfathomable emotions turned over inside his chest. "Only for a few minutes. Will you tell me what happened?"

The soft hitch of her breath whispered through him. "You do not have to speak about it," he said gruffly. "I am sorry."

She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. "I do not know why I am so … out of sorts. Nothing happened. I stopped him and I fled."

"Something happened," he said, his voice firm. "He attacked and frightened you. That is enough, Jenna."

She took a deep breath and softly told him of all that had transpired since she entered the marchioness's home.

"I am so damn sorry," he said, his voice thick with anger and regret.

It must have been so damn frightening to struggle against the brute strength of a man who wanted to compromise her into marriage.

Am I any different, given I threatened to use her letters to force her hand? He slammed his eyes closed and gritted his teeth.

"What are you thinking about?" she murmured sleepily. "I can feel the racing of your heart."

"We need to get you home."

She stiffened against him, and he wondered if the lady realized she was clasped against his chest. Not that he would remind her. It felt too good.

"I cannot return home in this state. If I do, I will be forced to marry Lord Peter."

Cillian grew cold and denial burned inside his chest. That would only happen if he was dead. He took a deep breath to calm his savage, instinctive reaction. "Your brother would not try to—"

"He would."

Cillian scoffed. "The gentleman who married a lady as … untamed as Lady Charity would not push you into the arms of a bounder who tried to—"

"I am seven and twenty. By all accounts, I am a spinster without any good prospect of marriage. A wallflower, many in society call me. My mother is in despair and cannot understand why I have remained unwed. Lord Peter is the son of an earl who is quite influential. My mother will take this chance to join our family to his at all costs, even if she must start a particular rumor based on the state I return home in."

Bloody hell . There was unassailable logic in her argument.

"Please, escort me to 48 Berkeley Square."

"Would that help?"

"Yes. My brother and mother know of my … membership. Once I am there, my friends will take care of me."

"Based on what you told me, Lord Peter went for your mother. He might have told her what happened."

"I doubt it. Once that door opened and I was not there, what could he say? Even if he said something, that I will return home properly attired will negate anything he did," Jenna stubbornly insisted.

"Very well. I will arrange for the carriage to be readied."

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with gratitude and relief. "Thank you, Cillian."

By God, our lips are too close . A rush of emotions assailed him, far too complex for him to break apart and understand. He narrowed in on the lust and directed his attention to that, not wanting her to see the desperate longing on his face. Cillian almost snarled. That damn pride of his again. He tried to push it down, but it roared through him like flames set to dry kindling.

It had always been his shield and his curse. His pride allowed him to keep his head high when he endured poverty most lords never dreamed of facing. There were days when his estates were barely functional, and he had to make do with meager resources. The memory of those struggles, the humiliation of having to maintain appearances while barely scraping by, was burned into his soul. Pride had kept him going even when he was stomped upon, refusing to let himself bend or break under the weight of his burdens.

This same pride had prevented him from chasing Jenna five years ago. Cillian had convinced himself that she deserved better than a man with empty coffers and one who was cold and ruthless enough to blackmail her. He had told himself if she cared for him, she would not be so easily indifferent. Cillian had not chased her, thinking it was for the best, but the pain of that decision had never truly left him.

And now, as he looked at her, he felt the danger of allowing that pride to dictate his actions once more. He did not want her to see his need yet, not when she was so indifferent. The risk of exposing his deepest desires and only finding coldness was a terrifying prospect.

Jenna shifted in his arms and beneath the flap of his trousers, his skin stretched so tight over his throbbing length even the brush of cloth against his cock was torture. Cillian ruthlessly ignored his body's response. Now was not the time to be so damnably aware of her closeness.

As if she had only just realized their perilous and scandalous state, she gasped and twisted in his arms, sliding her rump against his cock. Sweet mercy.

"Be still," he snapped through a clenched jaw.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No."

"You sound hurt, Cillian."

"I am not."

She stilled, her eyes widening. " Oh! "

The soft wonder in her tone had him looking into her eyes. "Jenna?"

"Do not look at me so," she finally whispered. "You do not have the right."

Cillian flinched. "For me to stop wanting you would be like trying to make water flow backward. It is simply impossible, Jenna."

She was like a frozen marble in his arms, the only visible movement was the fluttering of her pulse at the soft hollow of her throat.

"I want—"

Cillian jerked as she pressed her mouth against his, silencing his words.

His lips were soft, his mouth hot, his taste sublime. Jenna did not understand why she kissed Cillian. She had acted without thought, an insensible part of her wanting to remove that raw look in his gaze—a look that she was unfamiliar with from this man, but it had hooked a response inside her.

"Thank you," she whispered against his mouth.

He inhaled, his chest expanding beneath her palms. "Is that what this is … a kiss of gratitude?"

Her throat ached, but she had the withal to teasingly say, "You poor man, your roguish sensibilities have failed you. This is a mere peck, not a kiss."

His low laugh whispered over her mouth, and then he licked the closed seam of Jenna's mouth, and her resistance trembled beneath the wave of pleasure. He had never been so provocative with his kisses before. A wicked response thrilled through her, and as irresistible as the tide, it felt like something inside her crumbled. The hands she had curved onto his shoulders earlier to shove from him now clenched fistfuls of his shirt.

His powerful hands hugged her to him, urging her even closer as he slanted her head to deepen the kiss, his tongue thrusting into her mouth. An unexpected longing slid hotly through Jenna's heart. For five years, Jenna felt nothing … and now she opened like a flower in desperate need of sunlight. The viscount felt like a dangerous fire that had the power to consume Jenna. She sobbed against his mouth, arching into him, kissing him with passionate greed. Temptation for more gnawed at her, sharp and insistent.

He broke the kiss and cupped her cheeks with hands that shook. "Give me sixty days," he said against her mouth.

She lifted one of her hands and gently traced a finger over his jaw. "Sixty days? To do what?"

"I want to show you I am the only man for you as you are the only woman for me."

Shock cascaded over her senses like a cold bucket of water. Jenna wrenched herself from his arms and stared at him. " What? "

Cillian stood. "You heard me," he said, his gaze cool and watchful.

"Have you taken leave of your senses?"

"I have never been more grounded."

Jenna laughed; the sound was raw and painful. "You … stir sensations within me that I have never experienced, my lord. I know enough of the world to understand it is mere desire and lust. You evoke these feelings in me, and I am not ashamed to admit it. But I would never marry you. You … you broke my trust and my heart once. I would never give you the chance to do so again."

He faltered into such stillness Jenna feared he did not breathe.

"Jenna—"

" Never ," she whispered. "That I have not spoken to you in years surely informs you of the truth of my convictions."

They stared at each other for long moments, and the tension between them felt perilous. Jenna fiercely prevented herself from crying, wondering how he still had the power to move emotions within her. She whirled around and started to walk away.

"I dare you to allow me close … I dare you to let me believe you no longer hold me in your dreams. I do not believe it, and I want you, Jenna. I want you. Do you no longer dream and yearn for marriage … for children … for happiness?"

Those rough words hooked inside her chest and prevented her from walking away.

"You have no notion of what would make me happy."

"Tell me and I will make them come true. I promise it."

Jenna whirled to face him, and the savage longing on his face almost wrenched a cry from her. She slammed her eyes closed, hating the tears that leaked from beneath her eyes. This man had no power to move her into accepting a dare. Only …

"Ah fuck, Jenna," he said, his voice cracking. Then, somehow, he was before her, and his hands were on her cheeks, cupping them and his thumbs wiping away the trail of tears. "I cannot bear your tears."

She did not speak. In truth, there were too many emotions storming through her body. He wanted to know if she still dreamed of him. Yes … she did. What woman, as they grew older, did not long for a babe to cradle in her arms, a husband to hold her close in the nights, protecting her from the cold, and loving her? She held those dreams. Only no one had ever moved her heart to believe in them again. Having dreams did not stop her from feeling lonely and cold. Except, since she walked into his arms again, there was no more lingering cold.

This is madness , Jenna dazedly thought, swallowing tightly. Yet, it was inescapable that for the first time in years, she felt painfully alive. It was as if meeting him again had opened new paths of possibilities she had never dared to think about—an affair, stolen moments that would belong to her, a chance to perhaps feel that visceral spark again before walking away. Jenna jerked away from him and walked over to the large oak desk by the fire, leaning against it, her palm pressed against the surface.

"Fourteen days," she said, shocking herself.

"Thirty," he said roughly.

"Twenty."

Something unknown flashed in his eyes. "Nonconsecutive days."

She bit her lower lip hard, feeling as if she was poised on the precipice of madness about to fall off. "They must all be used within a month."

"Agreed."

Agreed , she silently whispered.

In a bid to steady her nerves, Jenna grabbed the teacup, which thankfully still felt warm, from the desk and emptied it in one swift motion. She was shocked to find it liberally laced with brandy, but it was too late; she had already consumed it. A wonderful heat spread through her, lowering her inhibitions almost immediately.

"Oh dear," she cried, feeling the alcohol's effects rapidly taking hold. Jenna whirled to face him and lifted the empty cup. "This … this ! What … what is this?"

Cillian arched an eyebrow. "It is a teacup. An empty one."

"I know because I drank it!"

The brandy made her feel oddly light, her usual restraint slipping away. She felt a sudden, ravenous hunger and looked around the room as if expecting to find a feast laid out before her. "Do you have anything to eat?"

Jenna giggled, a light and airy sound that surprised even herself. Oh dear .

"Eat? You want to eat?" he asked dubiously.

She stumbled over to him, slipped a hand around his nape and, with the other, pinched his chin. "Yes, I am positively famished."