Chapter Twelve

A lady should never deport themselves in a vulgar fashion.

December 23, 1817

Two hours before dawn

A dull thud from somewhere outside the cottage woke Jackson from a fitful dose. Ever since that dance with Lydia the evening before it had turned quite sensual, he’d been thinking about her in various degrees of undress. And that hadn’t translated well to restorative slumber.

So when he heard a sound that shouldn’t have been there, he was out of bed in a flash. As soon as she pulled on a pair of breeches and a loose shirt, he shoved his feet into his boots, and once they were pulled up, he left his bedchamber as quietly as he could. The two doors across the narrow corridor from his remained closed, and he didn’t hear movement behind them. Hopefully, that meant the ladies still slept.

The stairs were more challenging, for some of the treads squeaked and squealed, but he managed well enough without making a huge racket. Though the interior of the cottage was still dark and filled with murky shadows, he investigated the few rooms on the lower level. The fire in the common room hearth had burned to embers and didn’t give off much illumination.

Then the thud and thump came again, as if someone were trying to gain access through the door in the kitchen and dining room.

He crept into that area then was obliged to tamp on an exhalation when the door latch rattled, and slowly, so damned slowly, the locking mechanism turned—the bloody intruder had a key! The second the door was pushed inward, Jackson pounced. The momentum as he plowed into the other man knocked them both backward into the garden, and he hoped to hell the commotion didn’t wake the others.

“Why the devil are you here?” he demanded of the intruder while trying to straddle the man’s middle so he could land him a facer.

“Nothing you need to know about, mate.” A heavy Scottish burr wove through his voice. He shoved Jackson off his body then scrambled to his feet. “I want the woman.”

Ah, then he’d go ahead and tell me his intentions anyway. Nodcock.

Scrambling upright, Jackson continued to poke and prod him away from the house. It was bracingly cold in the darkness, but he put that to the back of his mind, for his first thought was to defend the cottage against the threat. At least they were in the rear of the garden and well away from the side where the ladies still slept.

“Too damned bad. She isn’t yours.” When he threw out a punch, which connected with the man’s jaw and shoved him further into the garden. “You aren’t wanted here.”

“This isn’t your property. It’s mine.” The man came barreling back and threw a punch of his own.

Pain exploded through Jackson’s midsection as the breath whooshed from him. With a hand to his stomach, he continued advancing on his opponent. “I beg to differ. It belongs to the lady, left to her from her bounder of a husband.” This time when he swung out a fist, it connected with the other man’s beefy shoulder, spinning him about.

The man stumbled back toward where he stood. “Blackguard!” He rushed, then, and when he plowed into Jackson, they both once more went flying and landed hard on the snow-covered ground. “My arse of a brother gave Bess to me, and I won her in a card game, besides.”

What the devil was this man on about? And who the deuce was Bess? “Gammon. I’ve heard her story.”

“Then she’s a liar, friend. Clever in the head, but I have always lusted after her. She’s got an air about her, manners and attitude that make her better than other women around. Too good for me brother, for sure, but I’ll beat that out of her.” He scrambled into an upright position once more then aimed a kick at Jackson’s ribcage.

Luckily, he rolled away and to his feet. “Touch her and die.”

“She don’t want a nob like you, and there ain’t no room for haughtiness ‘round here. Scots don’t take kindly to their womenfolk wanting to be English, to act like English. She’ll learn soon enough.”

“Absolutely not. She is under my protection.” Without warning, Jackson punched him in the face hard enough to break the bloke’s nose. “I’m half Scottish, you lout, and there is nothing wrong with her.”

His opponent spat blood from his mouth then wiped his streaming nose on the sleeve of his greatcoat. “Ah she’s whored herself out to you, hmm?”

Heat went up the back of his neck. What they had between them was far more special than such a derogatory term. “No, I—”

“Then I’ll beat you too for trying to steal my soon-to-be wife.”

“Like hell you will.” With a low growl, Jackson threw himself at the intruder. Though the other man delivered a powerful punch to his gut, he came back with a return right hook to the man’s jaw that had him stumbling backward. “If you ever come around here again, I will shoot you. In the event you don’t understand, I will aimbetween your eyes, and it will be a kill shot.” He shoved at the man’s chest even as pain throbbed through his own body. “Now go. I’m not of a mind for murder this night.”

“Bess is mine by rights. I won her. Not you.” He retreated further into the shadows. “I’ll be back, and next time I’ll bring my pistol.”

“If you do, I’ll meet you with mine.” Not that he had one in the sparse luggage he’d brought with him to the cottage, but he would borrow one from Robert. “This will be the last time you’ll walk away from this property. I promise you that.” He waited until the intruder limped away before going back inside the cottage.

One thing was abundantly certain: Lydia could not stay here alone. He wouldn’t allow it, not as a gentleman, not as a man who was coming to have feelings for her, and it all confused the hell out of him.

After he’d closed the door behind him, he made certain to lock it and remove the key from the mechanism. If the buggar wished to return, he would need to break in again, but hopefully they would all be gone before that happened.

As he stood listening in the quiet darkness, he breathed a sigh of relief, for there was no movement in the cottage. The contretemps in the garden didn’t wake the ladies.

“Jackson.”

He frowned at the whisper, for he had come from the stillroom where he’d been forced to board up the broken window glass from the last time the bounder had called. Slowly, he moved into that room, his gaze fell upon Lydia’s form that was much like a ghost in the gloom. Clad in her thin nightdress, she resembled that sort of wraith, especially with her dark hair down and wild about her back.

“What are you doing here?”

“I heard noises and came to investigate.” She paced back and forth well away from the window where cool air seeped in, her bare feet making no sound on the hardwood.

“There was an intruder, your brother-in-law. I gave him a beating and ran him off with a warning.” His shrug reminded him of everywhere he hurt. “Where is Elsbeth?”

“Still sleeping. I checked on her before I came down.”

He nodded. “Thank goodness she is a heavy sleeper and won’t rise until a few hours after sunrise.” Then he stared at her again through the darkness and shadows, grateful for another living body with him after what had just happened. “God, you’re beautiful, an angel in the dark.” It didn’t matter it was a nodcock thing to say, especially now; he couldn’t help it. And he was all the more grateful he’d run the intruder off. There was no way he would allow her to return to this life. “Lydia, I…”

With a muffled cry, she closed the distance between them. “Are you hurt?”

Selfishly, he enjoyed her worry, but he shrugged, wincing. “I’ve gone through worse. And recently, for you.”

Soft laughter echoed in his ears. “You poor thing.” Those whispered words, coupled with the glance of her fingertips along the side of his face sent shivers of arousal along his shaft. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“What, defend your honor? The louse thinks he has the right to marry you because his brother said he could.” He kept his own counsel about the name the man used to refer to her. That could come later.

“I would rather die.” A shiver racked her body, which gave him a glimpse of her hardened nipples against the fabric of her nightdress.

“Which is why I cleaned his clock.” Needing to touch her, assure himself he’d done the right thing, Jackson tugged on a lock of her hair, briefly encouraged it to curl around his forefinger. “At least I didn’t lose a jacket to the fight. Just the shirt and breeches, and in the event you wondered, the blood is his. I broke his nose.” He couldn’t keep the smug pride from his voice.

“You are a good man.” Gently, she embraced him, chuckling when he groaned, and she kissed him everywhere in an apparent bid to search out all his injuries. Then she retrieved a wet rag and cleaned his bloody cuts.

“Careful. I fought off an intruder for you.” Would she eventually confess to the rest of whatever she hid from him? Did it matter?

“I apologize, but I’m trying to catalogue your injuries,” she said while nipping at the underside of his jaw. Somehow, he wasn’t certain how, she relieved him of his shirt, and as her fingertips glanced over his skin, he gasped, and his muscles went taut. “You are going to be full of bruises by evening.”

“A small price to pay, surely.” Jackson couldn’t help it. He tugged her into his arms, kissed her soundly because she was there, and she clearly required his protection. Need pulsed through his shaft, and the arousal pressed painfully against the front of his breeches. “Whatever your husband was, he apparently was rubbish at gambling. He lost you in a game of cards to his brother.”

“I want no part of his family nor his property,” she said between kisses as she caressed her hands over his chest and shoulders. “It needs to be sold so that whole sordid time can be consigned to the past.”

“If you wish it, I can help you, engage my man-of-affairs on your behalf if you don’t have your own.” He cleared his throat in an effort to dislodge the ball of emotion stuck there. “I’m happy to help.”

“I would appreciate that. It grows tiresome taking care of everything by myself,” she said in a soft voice as she laid a palm on his chest. “You truly delight in rescuing me. Why is that?”

“Elsbeth says I like helping broken people, enjoy collecting broken things.” Her lips were so soft, so welcoming. “But I have never met a woman who needs rescuing as much as you do.” If he were honest, he would continue to do that for as long as she would let him.

“I hope you find what you are looking for soon; I believe you are hiding in your causes.” She raised her gaze to his. “But then, we are all hiding to some degree.”

“Perhaps.” The longer he was with her, the more that elusive thing was coming into focus. The heat from that innocent touch sent a wave of awareness over him that wrenched him from the musings.

“All of that to say, I’m glad you weren’t hurt worse than you were.” She smoothed her hand over the expanse of his chest, and when she came to one of his nipples, Lydia teased it into a hard bud by flicking it with a fingernail.

Immediate reaction streaked through his veins for that deliberate exploration had caught him unawares. Tiny fires erupted in his blood. Interest shivered through his shaft as he remembered how her lush curves had felt nestled against his body when they’d come together a couple of nights prior.

“Lydia, I want…”

“So do I,” she said in a barely there whisper as she walked her fingers down his torso and then after a slight pause and a trace of confusion in her eyes, she proceeded to brush those fingers over his hard member. “Let me do something for you.” Seconds later, she dropped to her knees in front of him.

“But the glass from the other night…”

“Hush, Greystone, I swept up the worst of it, and I will be careful.” With fingers that trembled, she slowly worked each button from its hole of his frontfalls and then encouraged the placket down. When his engorged shaft sprang out, she gasped. “You are so lovely and large. I wasn’t able to see you like this the other night but I felt it.”

Amused but curious, Jackson remained as still as he could. If she wished to explore, he would let her, for how else would she learn or become comfortable with him? “Does that mean you were pleased?”

“Oh, yes.” She frowned at his shaft, and the intense scrutiny only made him harder. Tentatively, cautiously, she traced a fingertip along the side of his member. “Shall I proceed?”

The light touch paired with her tart mouth and inquisitive nature made her irresistible. “Only if you wish it.” For a few seconds, he watched her through the dark and shadows. There was something oddly sacred even if the pending act was directly the opposite.

“Apologies if I’m rubbish at this. I have only done it once.” She wrapped her hand about his stiffening length, but it was her words that made him more randy than he’d been in a while. “Because my husband… demanded it of me.”

God, he wanted to kill that buggar all over it. “You don’t need to service me like this. I’d rather we—”

“I need to, to banish him and reclaim more of myself.” Then she held him more firmly and drew her curled fingers up and down his shaft.

Bloody hell. He sucked in a sharp breath, for her fumbling strokes and caresses had awareness and need shivering down his spine faster than the touch of a more experienced woman. “Let me show you.” Gently, so she wouldn’t think he tried to take control, he settled his hand over hers, guided her in how to hold his length to maximum advantage. “Go slowly. These things don’t respond well to rough handling.”

After a few minutes of experimentation, a faint smile curved her lips. “It helps that you are firmer and thicker than Duncan was. He drank far too much for all of that.” Soon she was stroking his flesh as if she’d been doing it all her life. Up and down her fingers went, and at the tip, she gently twisted her wrist and flexed her fingers that had heated reaction streaking through his member and into his stones.

Need tingled in his stones, but just when he suggested she stop, the cheeky woman cupped them in her other hand, squeezed them with a firm insistence that had his eyes ready to cross.

“Should I go further?” she breathed as she glanced up at him with shining eyes in the shadows.

“Only if you are enjoying this as well,” he managed to say through a tight throat.

“Good.” With a husky chuckle, she leaned forward and closed her kiss-swollen lips around the head of his shaft.

Damnation!

Jackson’s whole body jerked as if it had come awake from a shock. She giggled, and the vibrations buzzed around his length, enhancing the exquisite torture she’d already given him. Still holding his stones in her hand, Lydia moved closer to him and slowly, so damn slowly he thought he might die, she took his member into her mouth as far as he could go until his tip hit the back of her throat.

Then, she swallowed, and the contracting muscles gently squeezed his prick. He nearly shot his wad right there but tried to center his thoughts on something else.

Anything else.

Unfortunately, nothing worked.

“Lydia…”

She drew off his shaft with a slight pop and another giggle. “Hmm?” When she released his stones, and he knew a moment’s relief, but it was short-lived, for she slipped that hand around the back of his thigh and took him once more into the warm cavern of her mouth.

“I…” His thoughts scattered. In seconds, he was lost in the wonder that was this woman who apparently reveled in her inexperience, this woman who pulled secrets around herself like a cloak, as she proceeded to suck him off.

It took her a bit to find a rhythm, but once she did, he was doomed. As he remained helpless in her hold, she worked him over with both her hand and her mouth. Where the devil had she learned that thing with her tongue? How she swirled it beneath the head of his shaft, how she tickled his length with said tongue and teeth? Yet she was clever enough to think it up all on her own.

There was no more thinking after that. With a groan, he buried his hands in her soft hair, tangled his fingers in those tresses and because he couldn’t help it, needed relief, Jackson thrust gently into her mouth.

For one fleeting moment, she paused and confusion once more flashed in her eyes. Had her husband never done that either? Then she accepted the new addition, and her fingers delved tighter into the flesh of his thigh. The faster and deeper he stroked, the more frantic she worked him over, and the sight of her dark head bobbing on his shaft was enough to hurtle him toward the point of no return.

“Bloody hell. Lydia, stop.” Warning tingled through his stones. His muscles bunched and stiffened.

She pulled off him with a frown. “At least let me finish you with my hands. I want to give you the same pleasure you did to me that night you put your mouth on me.”

How could he forget? It was seared into his brain. With a quick shake of his head, he tugged up into a standing position rather more roughly than he’d anticipated. “I’d rather we come together, but remember not to scream. Elsbeth shouldn’t know what her depraved father is doing.”

“You are hardly depraved, Jackson. Healthy male with a carnal appetite, more truthfully.”

Was it any wonder he was coming to adore her? Beyond that, he wanted her to know that she was his. That he would do anything for her, despite her continued secrets.

Or lies.

Once more, he took her into his embrace, and he kissed her so forcefully they crashed against the wall with her snugly trapped between him and it. Damn if she didn't feel good—right—in his arms, as if she alone could prove the balm he’d needed for quite some time since he lost his wife. As if he’d finally found the missing part of himself.

He couldn’t have enough.

Jackson kissed her, drank from her again and again, dragged his lips along the silky side of her throat while she clung to his shoulders. Too far gone and nearly at that edge, he yanked down the bodice of her nightdress, and when the perfect globes of her breasts were bared, he took one in hand while urging the nipple of the other into his mouth.

“Oh.” A shuddering sigh escaped her. She arched her back, putting herself more securely into his care. “Jackson, I…” Her words were lost to a moan as he pleasured those pebbled tips with tongue and teeth and fingers.

“I need more of you,” he whispered against the crook of her shoulder as he slid a hand down her side and then gathered handfuls of her skirting.

“Please. I have wanted another round with you since the first one,” she responded in an equally soft and throaty voice. “I can’t seem to evict you from my mind.”

“Dear God how I understand that sentiment.” He growled and kissed her again, shared breath with her, wanted to show his possession so she would be more receptive to traveling to Scotland with him and Elsbeth. Perhaps more. When he’d bunched the fabric of her skirting between them, he eased his hands beneath the cotton lawn to clutch the rounded curves of her buttocks. A surprised squeal came from her, and the sound made him grin. Tempting, indeed, even if he’d already claimed her a couple of times in different ways.

He still desperately craved her. “Tell me you want me, Lydia. I need to hear the words.” Already, his prick pulsed with pain-tipped pleasure. He’d explode soon and embarrass himself if she declined.

But the damned woman looked up at him with passion-drugged eyes and kiss-swollen lips, and he knew . Beyond everything that made sense, she held a place in his future, but he didn’t know how just now. The same need etched upon her features fired through his blood. “I do want you. Right now, in this moment, because you can’t help it. Because you’re out of your mind with desire for me.”

“I won’t deny it.” Urgency pulsed through his erect shaft. “What are you doing to me?” The whisper was barely audible. He encouraged one of her legs up, and as she hooked it around his hip, the tip of his hardened shaft brushed against her center. “Not even in the beginnings of my marriage was I as full of need and lust as I am with you right now.”

It was a puzzle to be sure.

“People are different; women are different.” She looped her arms around his shoulders and her lips glanced along the underside of his jaw. Her fingers at his nape encouraged him with slight pressure, and she sought his lips, lightly nipping the bottom one.

Oh, God.

That little gesture nearly sent him over. With one flex of his hips, he penetrated her body, buried his shaft deep in her warmth, and the breath they shared turned into a blended moan. “You feel so good, tight.” And damn if she wasn’t already so wet. “Better than the last time, I think.”

Never had anything been so wonderfully right or refreshing. She was beautiful in that moment, when she had the world at her feet—him at her bidding—with pleasure mirrored in her eyes, and her lips slightly parted.

“I adore this moment.” She wriggled her hips to better accommodate his girth, and that movement nearly became his ruination. “Let me feel you moving inside me, Jackson. Oddly enough, I’ve wanted nothing else since I met you.”

Then she’d felt that inexplicable pull as well.

“How do you always know what to say and have it mirror my thoughts?”

Then there were no more words, for he couldn’t spare the energy. He dug his fingers into the soft flesh of her thigh, and as need raced down his spine and tingled through his stones, he pulled out of her lush body merely for the heady rush that thrusting into her honeyed heat brought.

Over and over, he stroked into her, taking, claiming, fusing… possibly loving. There was no doubt that he was lost in the glory that was Lydia, the woman he’d rescued from certain death on that muddied road, the woman who remained a mystery to him, the woman he desperately wanted inside and out if only she would trust him with her truth. The deeper he went, the more frantic and intense his thrusts became.

Her eyes shuttered. Twin spots of high color stained her cheeks. She met his movements as best she could as they danced in a frantic, fevered rhythm. A few tendrils of hair tumbled from their pins. She burrowed her fingernails into his shoulders, and he welcomed the prick of pain, for it kept him as focused as he could be while losing himself in her bliss. When she encouraged him closer to her with her heel at the small of his back, his hold on control snapped.

He pushed with more fervor. The need to claim her, to show her she was his, became greater than everything else. “Tell me you’re close.” His words were raw, ragged, propelled into being by emotions he refused to acknowledge.

“Yes, nearly there.” She restlessly tossed her head while her inner muscles fluttered around his shaft, ushering in the beginning of the end. “Touch me.”

“Gladly.” Nearly gone, Jackson clenched his jaw, held back the urge to finish in order to slide a hand between their bodies. When he found the slippery, swollen button at her center, he rubbed his fingers over it with varying degrees of friction.

“Yes…” Lydia’s eyes rolled back in her head. The movement of her hips crashing into his left him breathless and buried him ever deeper. He hissed out a warning. “I… I… Oh, Jackson!” The half-stifled cry startled them both, but there was nothing for it. If his daughter came to investigate, they would surely be embarrassed and found out.

As she fell into that release, he renewed his hold on her and gave himself over to finishing in spectacular fashion. His strokes were frantic and hard, so damned deep, and all too soon hot sensation raced through his stones and shaft. He pumped for all he was worth, hoping she’d reach bliss, and when her body stiffened and she clutched at him with pleasure in her eyes, he grinned and claimed her mouth, taking her cry of completion into himself.

Release crashed over him, through him, roaring along every nerve ending like a voracious beast—changing him. Again and again, he pumped into her contracting passage even as his prick pulsed and jumped. For long seconds, he lost himself to the act of spending. Once his body had ceased the mad torment, he held her close, keeping her safe between himself and the wall, willing her to realize he would always protect her.

No matter what.

As his heartbeat returned to a normal pace and his breathing evened, he pulled slightly back from her to peer into her face. A pink flush had overtaken her chest and cheeks, and when he would have spoken, she smiled, and he swore that gesture could light darkness.

“What?”

She shrugged and slowly let her leg fall back into place. “This, you and I… What we enjoy together?” Her huff of breath warmed his chin. “It’s almost magical, unexplainable. I’m not sure it can possibly be real after the horror of my marriage.”

Was there ever a more endearing woman? “Perhaps that is the power of Christmastide. Or perhaps it is fate taking a hand?”

“How could we know? Fate hasn’t exactly worked in my favor or yours in our previous lives.”

“Don’t overthink it, sweeting.” Bloody hell. Would she notice his slip? He hadn’t planned to use the endearment so soon, not until he was very certain. “Whatever it is, we are in the midst of its grip. Do we ride out the wave or ignore what might happen?” At the back of his mind, she knew she would be the perfect countess. Her status and his would blend perfectly.

“I’ll admit, part of me is curious.”

“Good.” He kissed her, slowly and deeply, then set her away from him a bit. “Does this mean you will travel to Scotland with Elsbeth and me?”

“Jackson, I don’t…” She frowned as she put her nightdress to rights.

“Think it over. We will talk again at breakfast.” When she nodded, he stuffed his flaccid length into his breeches and then did up the buttons. “Go upstairs and try to get back to sleep. I’m going to go outside and check the immediate area one last time before I do the same.”

Tears welled in her eyes, making them overly bright. “I don’t know what I did in the whole of my sordid past to warrant finding you—a hero I never could imagine existing outside of a story book—but I’m glad for it.” With an awkward wave, she hurried from the room.

When the sound of her bare feet on the stair treads reached his ears, Jackson pressed a hand to his chest where his heart squeezed, for another piece of it flew into her keeping.

There was no sense in denying it to himself… he was falling, tumbling, sliding down that slope into love with her, and he didn’t mind at all.