Chapter Ten

W as there anything worse than a picnic? Whoever first initiated the idea of eating outside was a criminal of the highest order, Jacob concluded morosely. For starters, lazing on the ground—even with the aid of pillows and blankets—was terrible for the knees and disastrous in terms of optics. Respectability and manliness were impossible to maintain.

Then there was the case of the elements. True, it wasn't raining this afternoon, unlike most afternoons; nevertheless, the wind was a constant nuisance. One's hat or napkins were always blowing away. And one mustn't underestimate the ant situation. Their destructiveness was certainly not aligned with their size. Enjoyment was simply untenable with all these nonstop variables.

And lastly, but most importantly, there was a significant lack of tables. Tables were monstrously important to enjoying one's lunch. Without them, chaos ensued. Who wanted to hold their plate and their glass of champagne at the same time? How positively barbaric!

This was why Jacob would never understand the upper classes. Why would they applaud and encourage this type of rustic behavior when they had perfectly good castles, fortresses, and palaces to eat in? Did they know who ate outside? Street urchins! Homeless people! Miners and farmers gulping down Cornish pasties because they were too busy and back-bent to enjoy their homes.

And yet here Jacob sat—he refused to laze—on a thin, scraggly blanket that, for some reason, the servants had decided to place over a craggy patch of lawn that made him feel every bone splintering in his arse. Fewer ants here, they'd said. Since he'd already dusted two off his sandwich, he would beg to disagree.

But he would have to deal with the injustices of his life. He was getting rather good at it, since the recent days had been loaded with them.

The week hadn't started as a complete cesspool. Jacob's adventure to the circus with Anna had put him in high spirits. However, his mother and Sir John had shown singular devotion to ruining that with all their quaint activities. If Jacob had known how mild their phaeton trip to town was, he would have attempted to appreciate it more.

But that was only the tip of the iceberg. The next day his mother insisted on showing off Newton Place, guiding Sir John through every piece of artwork hanging on its illustrious walls. Strolling behind them, Jacob had been bored to tears. He had no interest in bland landscapes and didn't give one farthing about the austere ancient relatives scowling painfully down from their frames as if bloody piles ran in the family. Luckily, Anna spotted the trio and decided to tag along. She even conjured voices for each of his ancestors and invented conversations between the portraits.

Most of the back-and-forths involved their displeasure with him. Indeed, Jacob was in tears at the end of the mind-numbing tour, but from snickering so much. So, in the end, he had to admit, the impromptu tour wasn't a complete waste of an afternoon.

Next was the music night, which primarily consisted of Beatrice regaling the household with her piano-playing prowess. Jacob allowed that that portion was tolerable enough. However, when his mother and Sir John insisted on singing poorly advised duets of insipid songs from their youth, Jacob spent the remainder of the night taking breaks to his office, where he choked down enough brandy to sedate a small elephant. He couldn't remember what Anna had said to keep him calm during that particular episode, though he recalled that she'd sat next to him the entire time. Jacob wouldn't have stayed if she hadn't.

And then there were the god-awful daily walks on the grounds. Jacob didn't want to think about those ever again.

The real problem was that he was getting nowhere. Sir John and his family had been under his roof for over a week, and he had no real dirt on the man. The baronet was a shite singer—and a proponent of picnics—but those terrible characteristics weren't enough to sway his mother's heart. Even the investigator that Jacob had hired was coming up woefully short.

And it didn't help matters that Jacob's growing infatuation was distracting him to a worrying degree. Half the time when he trailed behind his mother and Sir John, he was more intent on Anna than the couple. He didn't even bother listening or butting into their monotonous tête-à-tête during the last walk. He'd been too wrapped up in whatever Anna was saying at that moment… and her succulent lips, which continued to be a source of limitless fascination.

It occurred to Jacob that maybe that was Anna's plan all along… flirt with him, occupy him, seduce him while Sir John slipped a ring on his mother's finger.

And damn the woman, because it was working.

Even now, uncomfortable as all hell on the flinty, unrelenting ground, balancing his plate in one hand and a fork and a champagne flute in the other, Jacob's entire being was focused on Anna with her simple bonnet and strawberry-colored gown. What had made her laugh (Aunt Iris's story about the time Jacob hid a dog under his bed for a full week after it had followed him home, and it had repaid him by eating the pages out of his Latin school books). What had made her smile (Sir John telling Jacob's mother that he loved the color of her dress). What made her clap her hands in delight (Aunt Violet asking Anna to teach her cricket). And, lastly, what made the perfect shade of red infuse the tops of her round cheeks (Jacob. Every time he glanced at her).

It was a wonder he could stand or walk without tripping over. His need for Anna was absurd and only getting worse. He simply had to find a way to get her to himself again. Kissing her neck the night of the circus had been damn near perfect. But that was the folly of man. One could never be satisfied. When one tasted the sublime, one always craved more.

*

Fortuitously, a situation presented itself to Jacob the day after the picnic, and he pounced. He left a note in Anna's room, instructing her to meet him at his carriage after dinner, insisting she "make the same arrangements she did for the circus."

With her sense of fun and natural curiosity, Jacob harbored no doubts that she would accept the summons. And that night, as he paced in the dark for her, nervously his feet tapping against the dirt path outside the stables, he was rewarded for his efforts.

Anna slipped along the long shadows of the house, wrapped in a deep purple cloak and matching turban. Jacob laughed. She looked ready to accept a position at Whitehall and spy against the French.

"We have to hurry," she whispered, taking his hand without hesitation and hopping into the carriage. "This is the second time I've cried off playing cards this week with the group. My father gets agitated whenever I tell him I'm feeling unwell."

Jacob followed her inside, eschewing his usual seat to settle beside her. He ignored the sigh, and the elbow she lodged in his ribs to create more room between them.

As before, he tucked his finger under Anna's chin. Jacob maneuvered her cloak out of the way and placed a single kiss against her creamy neck. "I'll just have to make it worth your while, then, won't I?" he said, enjoying the way she failed to hide the quiver his kiss created.

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips—another thing she was helpless to prevent. "Yes, you will."

*

Hours later, Anna granted Jacob an appraising look. "You've come a long way, my lord. I was positive you were going to ask the poor man if you could lift him over your head."

Jacob grinned sheepishly. They were back in the carriage again, returning to Newton Place. It had been a successful outing, just as Jacob had hoped it would be. Anna had been fascinated by the Curiosities Exhibition at the music hall in London. For nearly two hours they'd toured the displays, admiring them and speaking with the performers, who ranged from a young lad who was barely taller than Jacob's knee to a grizzled banshee of a woman who declared herself to be one hundred and thirty years old.

However, the figure who'd claimed to be the strongest woman in the world had naturally been the star attraction for Jacob. Agnes Worthington didn't disappoint. Born "somewhere in the wilds of America," the strongwoman wasn't as tall as Helga Bitterman but was just as bulky. In rapt fascination, Jacob and Anna marveled as Agnes picked up her husband and twirled him round and round above her head. She hadn't even broken a sweat. And Jacob had made sure to check.

"I learned my lesson with Helga, believe me," he said, laughing. "Agnes's husband barely reached her chin, but he was sizeable enough. I didn't want to break my back challenging her strength. I don't know if she is the strongest woman in the world, but she is stronger than me, no question."

"I was nervous by the way she was looking at you that she was going to pick you up next!" Anna giggled, wiping a tear away from her eye.

She saw that, did she? Jacob had wondered if Anna noticed how Agnes was batting her lashes at him despite her husband's proximity. "Believe me, I was nervous too. Why do you think I grabbed hold of your arm?"

"Oh, I don't know," Anna drawled, her laughter chirping out. "I just think you like touching me."

"Very astute of you, my dear," he said. Without thinking, he swung his arms around Anna and picked her off her seat. She landed firmly on his lap.

"Jacob!" She squirmed, fighting his hands at her waist. "This isn't… You shouldn't…"

"What?" He chuckled. "I was just proving your point. Besides, we'll both be more comfortable this way, trust me."

Anna's eyes narrowed, but once more the corner of her lips twitched up. "I am not more comfortable."

"But you could be."

"Is this the only reason you asked me here tonight?"

"No," he answered with a roguish grin. "Not the only reason."

Anna slapped his chest. "You know, sometimes I wonder if you're only giving me all this attention because you want to distract me from our parents. I was barely able to circumvent your nefarious plans all week."

Jacob huffed, juggling her on his lap. Lord, it was torture for his cock, but he wouldn't have moved her for the world. "It's funny you say that, because I was thinking the exact same thing about you."

She frowned and rearranged herself again. It was Jacob's fault, as he was rock-hard underneath her; however, it wouldn't be solved anytime soon, especially since she continued to stare at his mouth like she was starving for it. "I suppose we will just have to live with the uncertainty. After all, you were the one that said this wasn't love, but war."

"So true," he answered diplomatically. "But even in war, there are stalemates from time to time."

"Is that what this is? A stalemate?" Anna licked her lips, making Jacob want to scream. He tightened his hold on her hip. He wanted to make her scream too.

"It is the only civilized thing to do."

"Civilized?" Anna smiled sweetly. Was Jacob imagining things? Did she just flex her pelvis into mine? "I don't think I would ever use that word to describe you."

Jacob had to close his eyes. All the blood was rushing from his brain. It made making forming coherent sentences difficult. "How would you describe me, then? As a good and decent man?"

Anna laughed, though it came out more like a purr. She shook her head slowly. "Never."

"Dashing? Devilishly handsome?"

She bent toward him, folding her arms across his chest, her head just above his own. "You're getting closer."

There was no mistaking it this time. Anna began to rock her hips suggestively, causing sweat to break out on Jacob's forehead. Holy hell, how had she turned into the aggressor? Wasn't that supposed to be his job?

Jacob dashed that thought from his mind. If a woman could pick up her husband and spin him around over her head, then surely one could grind his cock to submission without a by your leave.

Suddenly, the lips Jacob so desperately wanted to suck between his teeth pouted adorably. "You know… I don't like that they call them freaks."

"What was that?"

"The performers at the exhibition," she said.

"Oh well, yes… I agree," Jacob replied, trying not to ruminate on how wonderful it would be to feel Anna's breasts in his hands. "But you know as well as I that anything considered different is usually considered wrong."

Absent-mindedly, Anna moved her hand to the back of his neck. She played with a piece of his hair with a far-off look in her eye. Jacob began to tap his foot on the floor; he couldn't seem to contain his nerves with the seductively innocent touch. "But most of them weren't even that different," she continued. "Take Agnes… She was just muscular and strong."

"But not ladylike. Not like Helga."

Anna's gaze made its way back to his. "I don't know. She looked like a lady to me. Did you see the way her husband looked at her?" She brushed Jacob's hair off his forehead. It was such a casual motion, effortless, but the familiarity it evoked threw him off balance.

His voice sounded completely foreign to him. Needy. "How did he look at her?" he rasped.

Anna's smile was secretive and sultry. "Like the way you're looking at me now."

Jacob couldn't stand it anymore. He leaned forward to take her lips, but just as before, Anna veered out of his path. He signed. "Still?"

"Still," she answered.

Then, like she was placing salve on a cut, she lowered her mouth to his ear. Her nearness, the cuddly softness, almost did him in. Jacob's entire body felt stretched thin, entirely too sensitive. "But isn't there still fun to be had?"

"Christ, yes." That was all the confirmation Jacob needed.

His fingers trembled as they pushed Anna's cloak off her shoulders. One simple kiss on her neck wouldn't be enough tonight—not for either of them. She giggled as he worked the buttons on the front of her gown, starting at her high neck. He took his time, wondering at which button she would stop him. But the lower he dared, no words came, only deeper, faster breaths.

Jacob reeled himself in as he ventured just below her breasts. There would be time to go further. Tonight, in his carriage, was not the night.

He paused on the edges of her gown, spreading the fabric like a curtain on a famous stage. Shakespeare's plays had nothing on what Jacob was about to experience.

He could feel Anna's eyes on him. "I'm not a… voluptuous woman," she said softly. The edge of embarrassment in her voice struck something inside him, something he never wanted to feel again.

Jacob wasn't an untried lad. He knew what to expect when excavating underneath a woman's dress; however, Anna, as ever, surprised him. There was no corset, only a thin chemise that hung low over the swell of her breasts, exposing more than they hid. Even with the paltry moonlight stretching in from the curtain, Jacob was given a lovely view of the nipples that pointed prominently through the gossamer fabric.

He had to tear his eyes away from the succulent view. The little points were like an oasis to a man dying of thirst. "You're perfect," Jacob said, his voice embarrassingly hoarse.

"No one is perfect," Anna said shyly. She attempted to cross her arms, but Jacob stopped her. Fuck! His hands wouldn't stop trembling. He held her breasts in his palms, slowly massaging them, letting the weight of them make everything inside him feel impossibly right.

"You are," he replied, rubbing his thumb around her nipples, tickling the sharpness of her skin against his fingernail. Anna arched her back and wrapped her arms around his neck; the motion had an air of desperation to it that Jacob loved.

Dipping his head, he captured a velvety nipple in his mouth, swirling the bud with his tongue. Kissing her in that spot wasn't the same as kissing her lips. It wasn't better or worse, just different. And as they'd ascertained this night, there was nothing wrong with different.

Jacob drenched the chemise with his mouth, sucking and rolling his tongue along Anna's breast, emboldened by the sweet, desperate noises she made. He traced the valley between her orbs with the tip of her tongue, all the way to the tendons of her neck, heating her skin with his breath, paying homage to the gift she was giving him.

But Jacob hadn't forgotten that he'd wanted to make Anna scream, and while the carriage wasn't conducive to some things, it was very helpful for that. As he found her ear, sucking on her lobe with a mindful intensity, he dipped his hand under her skirts, landing first on stockings and then rich, silky skin.

Anna clawed around his shoulder, where she simultaneously pushed and pulled. Jacob understood her perfectly. The feelings were overwhelming, almost too much to handle. Her sweet bottom on his cock rocked him gently in a motion that felt utterly natural and yet out of this world. The friction of his trousers rubbing along his shaft was hell, and yet bliss.

"I… I think we're almost home," Anna stammered, craning her neck to the side to give Jacob more room to nuzzle.

He smiled against her dewy skin. "We have all the time in the world." He kissed a slow, meandering path back down to the breast he hadn't loved yet.

She released a blustery sigh. "Time for what?" There was indecision in her voice, a lilt of fear. It was contradictory to the way her pelvis continued to encourage him, searching, foraging for appeasement.

Jacob would give it to her. He would stay in the carriage all night until he did.

"Time to give you want you want. What you need." Anna shivered as he ran his hands up her thighs, swirling along the skin, marveling at the beauty he knew was there but couldn't see. She tensed as he reached the hollow between her legs, but since she was spread over him, there was little she could do to halt his invasion.

Anna hugged his head against her chest now, her bottom rising and falling over his cock in tiny movements that would drive a weaker man crazy. "Are they the same?" she panted, canting her pelvis toward his roaming fingers.

Jacob's laughter was shaky—just like the rest of him. He palmed Anna's sex like it was his and only his, swiping his fingers along the folds, grinding the hood at the top with an insistent rhythm. "For you they are," he said before taking her breast into his mouth again, more aggressively this time. A man had only so much willpower, and a wildfire that was becoming more and more difficult to control had emerged inside him.

Nothing was safe. Nothing wasn't at play. From their heads to their toes, their bodies undulated against one another as Jacob petted her velvety core. Anna's sounds became louder and wilder as their intensity climbed. His cock was at the precipice. He would release in his trousers like the untried lad he prided himself on not being, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered except hearing this luscious woman scream in his arms while he sucked her nipple and fingered her cunny.

He gave her a moment to accept him. Dipping one finger inside her sheath, Jacob felt her inner muscles resist. "Let me in," he said. "Don't fight me. Let me give you this."

He felt Anna nod her head and release a steadying breath. Instantly, her walls relaxed, and he could fit another finger inside. Her spine arched abruptly as he stroked her, working her passage along with the little ball of nerves along the top of her entrance.

"Oh God," she said through her teeth, bouncing on Jacob with single-minded determination. "Oh God, please!"

How much Jacob wanted to hear those words in his mouth, suck the pleas off her lips. Instead, he continued to pull and tug on her nipple, the last little bite leading to a sharp, decisive keen that would echo in his ears for years to come. He answered with a howl of his own as he let himself release, all the tension and strain instantly evaporating into an erotic cloud of euphoria.

Seconds passed as they panted against one another. Jacob didn't withdraw his fingers. The way the walls of her core pulsed against him was another gift, a sign that he had done his job and done it well.

Eventually, Anna peeled herself off his chest, her hair delightfully messed and sticking to the sheen on her forehead. There was a glorious, self-satisfied vibrancy to her skin. "Well, that was different."

Jacob chuckled, pulling her back for a hug. "Different good or different bad?"

The vibration of her words murmuring against his chest made his heart skip a beat. "What do you think?"