Chapter Seven

L ucien led her past two other couples and toward the far end of the terrace, where the shadows were the darkest. A small space was tucked away between the wall of the house and the stone balustrade where they couldn’t be seen from the ballroom. It was exactly the kind of place a true rakehell would seek out where he could dally with an unmarried miss, bored wife, or merry widow—private and hidden with no possibility of being overheard, yet exposed just enough that nothing truly ruinous could occur. Tonight, with Jessamyn, this spot would serve his purposes well.

She quickly turned her back to the balustrade, keeping herself fully facing him. Just like a mouse who knew better than to turn away from the cat.

He bit back a grin of amusement. What, exactly, did the damnable gel think he planned on doing with her? Although, if he were the cat and she the mouse, he would certainly have enjoyed toying with her. In every way.

Yet tonight, he had more serious matters to address.

“I warned you in the carriage not to persist in rehabilitating my reputation,” he reminded her, “only to see my name plastered on bills up and down the Strand in gratitude for sponsoring the exhibition.”

“And I warned you that I wouldn’t stop until you did right by my sister. This exhibition won’t be the last one you sponsor if you don’t.” She forced a bright smile. “But just think how happy you’ll make all those artists and bookmakers.”

He would have laughed at that peculiar threat if his situation wasn’t so serious. People were finding out about his connection to Ealing, which meant it was only a matter of time until they learned about Phillip and how their father had cast him from the Grenier family. He couldn’t let that continue. He had to protect his brother and the dukedom, and he certainly wasn’t going to let her put it all at risk.

Fighting in the wars had taught him that when the enemy failed to take warnings, the only alternative was a frontal attack. So he cut right to the crux of what she wanted from him. “Are you that desperate to snag a duke for a brother-in-law?”

His bold question stunned her, and her mouth fell open. “Pardon?”

“You think you and your sister are the first females to attempt to snare me into marriage? Many others have come before you. After all, who wouldn’t want to turn herself into a duchess, even if the dukedom of Crewe is far less than a stellar one? At the end of the day, a dukedom is still a dukedom, and having a duchess in the family is quite a social coup, however she became one.”

“I don’t care about any of that.”

He searched her face. Even with the shadows darkening her features, he could see confusion in her, not guilt. “Then why are you doing this?”

“To protect my sister. That’s all that matters to me.”

He believed her, which made his situation even more dangerous. “I won’t marry her, and if you don’t stop,” he warned, “I’ll have no choice but to counterattack.”

“I’m not cowed by your threats.” Yet he would have sworn he heard uneasiness in her voice. “I’m turning the wolf into a harmless puppy.”

“Oh, I’m very much still a wolf.” He couldn’t resist the dark urge to add, “And if you’re not careful, I’ll devour you.”

The foolish gel lifted her chin. “I’d like to see you try.”

His cock jumped. Thank God he was standing too close for her to see the effect her innocent challenge had on him. Devour her … Sweet Lucifer, he wanted to do exactly that. Would she be the same delicious contradiction on his lips that she was in their confrontations—innocent yet bold, sweet yet unexpectedly spicy?

He would never act upon that curiosity. He preferred his women experienced, world-weary, and uncomplicated. Jessamyn St Claire was none of those things. Yet he would let himself enjoy toying with her. No harm could come of that, especially on an exposed terrace only a few feet from the ballroom and her chaperone.

Better yet, maybe toying with her would keep her away.

When the orchestra struck up the next song, the two couples on the terrace with them went back inside to dance. He seized his opportunity and took a step forward.

“You’re a puzzle,” he murmured.

She moved back, just as he’d hoped. “I am not.”

He gave a low chuckle. If he had sworn she was the most interesting woman in the world, the chit would have sworn she was dull as dust, just to be contrary. “You pretend to be all gruff and tough,” he said, taking another step that closed the distance between them, “but I know better.”

“You don’t know me.” Her last step back bumped her against the stone balustrade behind her.

“So much more than you realize.” He leaned over to place his palms flat on the balustrade on either side of her and lowered his head until their eyes were level. “I know you live in a small townhouse that you and your aunt are renting from friends rather than leasing, and that you’re an artist who has hired her talents out to Mathias Meade’s print shop.”

Her soft intake of air was unmistakable. “How do you know that?”

“You’re not the only one devious enough to do reconnaissance on the enemy. When a man’s under attack, he should find out all he can about his opponents and use it to his advantage. For example, I know you clench your hands in your skirts when what you really want to do is slap me.”

“You’re wrong.” She punctuated that with a crocodile smile. “What I want to do is scratch your eyes out.”

The breathless tone of her voice belied her fierce words, and his lips curled with amusement. “Which means I should know well enough to stay out of striking range if you clench your fists.” He pointedly glanced down at her hands which were holding tight to the balustrade on both sides of her hips as if she were afraid she might sink to the ground. “Just as I know you have a cutting wit, a sharp mind, and are well-educated enough to give every bluestocking in London a run for her money when it comes to drawing room discussions.”

“My!” she said impertinently. “Who knew rakes had so much time on their hands to spend it learning about someone so inconsequential?”

“Not inconsequential at all.” More truth lay behind that quiet answer than he wanted to admit. She’d found a chink in his armor, and he had to send her running before she struck a fatal blow. “You’re very important to me right now. No other chit has ever had the courage to take me on the way you have, certainly never one so intriguing.”

“I’m not intriguing. You don’t know me at all if you think that.”

An urge rose inside him to prove her wrong. “I know you well enough to notice how your eyes change colors from blue to green depending upon the light and what you’re wearing, although I can’t figure out the exact shade of your hair. Blonde, of course, but not strawberry although tints of copper appear when the sunlight hits it just right. Not golden like straw but far richer than that.” He reached up to touch one of her curls, and the soft intake of her breath shot through him like an electric jolt. “You also bite your lip when you’re nervous.” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “Like now.”

He caressed his thumb across her bottom lip until she released it. The desire to take more than that fleeting touch captured him, and he forced himself to place his hand back on the balustrade before her fists clenched and a slap came his way.

“Just as I know exactly how those lips taste,” he murmured, unable to tear his attention away from her mouth. “How sweet and soft, with just a hint of spiciness beneath. How they moved delicately against mine. And when you sighed…delicious.” He lowered his head to bring his mouth to her ear. “You made me tremble, Jessamyn, and no one does that.”

He waited for her denial, but none came.

So he dared to press further. “Which made me wonder…” He trailed off and waited.

“Wonder what?” she asked, impatiently succumbing to her curiosity and taking the bait, just as he knew she would.

“What else you might do that makes me tremble.” He smiled against the soft skin of her earlobe. “What else I can do to make you tremble, too.”

The devil inside him made him take her earlobe between his lips and gently suck.

She gasped, and he froze as her hands clenched into fists. He waited for her to slap him. Instead, she placed her palms against his chest. But no shove came to push him away.

He was playing with fire, he knew. He should have stepped back, laughed at her for her innocence, and strode back inside to leave her here, aroused and disappointed.

But he couldn’t help himself. So he slowly moved his mouth to the tender flesh behind her ear and placed a languid kiss there. Beneath his lips, he felt her quake. He should have been disappointed to discover she was so untouched as to respond to such an innocuous kiss, but oddly, he wasn’t. Her reaction only made him want more of her.

“You like having my mouth on you,” he murmured against her neck and was rewarded by the spike of her pulse beneath his lips.

“I don’t.” But her protest was undercut by her fingertips curling into his waistcoat.

“Liar.” He gave a gentle nip against her throat in punishment.

His heart thudded against his ribs when she tilted back her head to give him access to her neck, an invitation he gladly accepted by scraping his teeth across her throat. Her fingers dug deeper into his chest, and instead of shrinking away, she leaned closer.

For that, he rewarded her with a hot, open-mouthed kiss against her neck. A soft sigh escaped her, and he took that as permission to keep tempting her.

“You like having my mouth on you here,” he repeated. “Which makes me wonder how much you’d like having it on you in other places.” He lowered his lips to the gentle slope of bare flesh where her neck curved into her shoulder. “All those wonderfully warm and soft places you keep hidden from the world.”

He nudged at the capped shoulder of her gown with his cheek when what he wanted to do was rip it away with his teeth. Frustratingly, he had to satisfy himself only with nuzzling the bare stretch of flesh above her modest neckline. But he let his lips wander as low as they could to kiss the soft flesh just beneath her single string of pearls.

“Your breasts in my hands, massaging your hard nipples against my palms,” he murmured in a low voice against her skin. If he couldn’t touch her there, at least he could take pleasure in the image conjuring in his mind. His tightening gut certainly thought so. “Your hard nipples sucked between my lips until they ache.” Then true blackness flared inside him, and he couldn’t resist whispering heatedly, “I’d place a kiss right there at the ache between your legs, too, as wicked and wet as can be.”

“And that would make me tremble?” she breathlessly asked, her eyes closed and her head bowed slightly.

No, it would make you scream… “Very much, because you would enjoy it a great deal.” He placed a tender kiss to her temple. If their first kiss in the carriage was a warning, this one was a promise. “And I would enjoy watching that pleasure reflected on your beautiful face.”

Her eyes opened, and she straightened as she stared up at him. “A well-trained rake like you? I’m sure I would enjoy it.”

Yet her voice didn’t sound at all certain. Instead, it sounded… wounded ? That wasn’t at all what he expected. He frowned. “Jessamyn, are you—”

“Is this how you seduced my sister?” Her words were suddenly harsh, but her voice, with its breathy rasp, told a different story. “With endless charms, empty flirtations, and tempting thoughts?”

The heat she’d stirred inside him died instantly. He took a step back and dropped his hands to his sides, noting that hers had once again clenched into fists. He replayed the last few minutes between them in his mind, searching for the moment when she’d tightened them, and he knew—

When he’d called her beautiful. Mistake.

He tilted his head as he studied her face. “You’re right. You’re not beautiful, not in the classical sense anyway. Your mouth is too pouty, your eyes too big, your nose too pert with a slight upturn at the end…and if we weren’t in the shadows, I’d say you also had freckles.” All true. Yet the combination was strangely appealing and sent tingles aching through him at the thought of holding her against him. “But all together not uninteresting.”

To say the least. Lucien couldn’t remember the last time any woman had intrigued him as much as she did. Devil take him, he had no idea why.

Her mouth had fallen open during his description, and she snapped it shut, then angrily crossed her arms. “So not endless charms, then.” She narrowed her eyes. “You’re not very good at being a rake. I have no idea why my sister was attracted to you.”

His frustration boiled to the surface. “You are the most exasperating, contrary woman I have ever met.” He mirrored her stance by crossing his own arms. “No. I did not employ endless charms, flirtations, and temptations to seduce your sister. I didn’t have to. Your sister was the one who suggested we steal away into the dark garden together. I simply went along.” Confusion darkened her face, yet he didn’t let that stop him from explaining. “Yes, Jessamyn, I had a very scandalous moment with your sister and took far more liberties than I should have. But she instigated it, not me.”

“You’re lying. You took advantage of an innocent miss.” Her eyes glistened in the faint lamplight. “And you got her with child.”

Lucien’s head snapped back as if she had finally slapped him. With child—with his child—

Impossible .

He stared down at her, bewildered and stunned, and desperately searching her face for any sign she was bamming him… Nothing .

“Don’t try to manipulate me by looking surprised,” she chastised. “You knew that already. She told you when she wrote to you three months ago, when she wanted you to marry her and make her baby legitimate. You rejected her.”

That wasn’t at all what the letter had said. Amanda St Claire had mentioned marriage as a way to save her reputation over the incident in the garden, but there was no mention of a baby. Because there couldn’t have been.

“You’re wrong,” he protested. Very wrong. He reached up to touch her cheek in a plea to believe him. “I don’t know what your sister told you, but I—”

Laughter spilled out onto the terrace and interrupted them, followed by Mrs. Peterson and her husband. They both stopped just beyond the doorway. Their laughter died sharply with a gasp from the round matron that he was daring to touch Jess so familiarly.

Damnation . He dropped his hand away and ordered, “Slap me.”

Jess blinked. “Pardon?”

“Slap me, damn it! Hard. Then run back inside.”

He saw the moment she realized what he wanted her to do and why. With a slight nod, she pulled back her arm and slapped him, hard enough that the sound echoed against the house’s stone wall and sent his head flinging back a second time.

Then she shoved past him and strode down the terrace toward the Petersons and the open French doors, slipping by the couple without a word to reach the safety of the ballroom. But the stubborn chit couldn’t bring herself to run.

And Lucien couldn’t bring himself not to watch her go.