Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

H onor was in the Duke of Windermere's arms, and he was kissing her with a breathtaking sensuality. His teeth scraped her lower lip, teasing and enticing. She parted her lips, and his tongue glided in to stroke against hers. She moaned, the sound one of surprise and pleasure.

His answering groan vibrated against her lips, and a thrill burst inside her heart. The duke's fingers twisted in her hair, and he slanted her head, kissing her with deeper possession. Honor's heart somersaulted, and heat rushed low in her belly, pooling into a distinct ache. All her awareness was concentrated on his mouth, claiming hers, whirling her into a place she hadn't known existed. A world of want and hunger.

She dragged her mouth from his, a tremor working through her body that had nothing to do with coldness or heartbreak.

"Now, I am mortified," she whispered, touching the corner of his mouth with trembling fingers.

His dark blue gaze darkened, and his fingers tightened in her hair before he inhaled deeply and slowly released her. Involuntarily, she touched her fingers to her lower lip, which felt swollen.

Good heavens, what madness claimed me?

Honor had no notion of what to say and could only stare at him in mute astonishment. One of the reasons she had joined 48 Berkeley Square was because many of the ladies there had found true happiness by boldly and fearlessly pursuing their desires, refusing to accept anything less than the life they wanted.

Honor had never been daring or bold. She was often silent at social events, letting conversations flow around her and not drawing attention to herself. It had been a painful realization to accept that no one would court her because she was too much of an observer and not a participant.

The duke stared at her as if she were a rare creature, and a wistful ache pierced her chest like a well-aimed arrow, and she briefly closed her eyes as it swept through her. Honor had been so shatteringly aware of him for the last three years, and he had looked through her like everyone else. Only now ... there was something different in his eyes.

"I wept over you and acted improperly," Honor said softly, unable to meet that unwavering stare. "I apologize I was not able to compose myself. It was badly done of me, Your Grace."

"Miss Shelton."

She glanced up, and her heart stuttered inside her chest.

He watched her with his disconcertingly steady gaze. "It takes a special kind of strength to endure. There is no shame in your tears. Please do not apologize for it."

Oh! "Your Grace …"

"Jasper," he said, his mouth quirking. "As we no longer mortify each other, please allow me to call you Honor."

Her response caught in her throat as the door flew open, and Grace hurtled into the parlor, her eyes wide with concern.

"Honor!" she cried, rushing over to her. She enveloped her friend in a tight embrace. "You look absolutely miserable and quite a fright."

"Thank you for the observation," she said wryly.

Grace pulled back, her hands still gripping Honor's shoulders. "Come, let's get you out of those wet clothes. You'll catch a cold at this rate. Brother, forgive us, but we are leaving."

She glanced over her shoulder as Grace bustled her from the parlor. Jasper watched them with an unreadable expression. Quickly looking away, she allowed Grace to escort her into her bedchamber. With the help of a maid, Honor's damp hair was soon fully dried, and she changed into one of Grace's lovely day dresses. The gown, a soft, rose-colored muslin, was undeniably beautiful but was also too long, dragging on the floor.

"Agnes will have your clothes laundered and dried in a couple of hours," Grace said with a laugh. "In the meantime, try not to trip over the hem. It is a bit large on you, but you still look wonderful! Well, except for the snug fit of the bodice."

Grace's expression turned serious, and she looked at Honor apologetically. "I am sorry I did not speak with you at the ball last night. I wanted to, but ... well, my mother made it impossible. She practically dragged me away. I have felt wretched since."

Honor waved it off, offering her friend a small smile. "I understand, Grace. Truly. There's no need to apologize."

"Please, tell me what has happened?"

Honor hesitated momentarily, then recounted Lord Whitby's advances and her family's expectations. As Honor spoke, Grace's expression shifted from concern to fury.

"That wretched blackguard!" Grace exclaimed, practically pacing the room. "It's absurd that you're the one suffering for his behavior!"

Honor tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. "I fear I will eventually marry him. I will never find contentment in such a union. Every time I try to imagine it, I feel only dread."

Grace paused, her brow furrowed in deep thought. "We'll think of something. Maybe ... we could run away together!" Her eyes gleamed with mischief. "Or you could challenge the earl to a duel. You're quite good at trouncing him, after all."

Despite the grimness of their situation, Honor chuckled. "As satisfying as that sounds, more scandal is the last thing we need."

Grace threw herself onto the bed dramatically. "Well, it's clear we need a plan—something bold, something brilliant." She glanced at Honor, her eyes gleaming. "Let's visit 48 Berkeley Square. Between us and the other ladies, there's no situation too dire to escape. We'll figure this out together."

A flicker of hope stirred in Honor at Grace's determination. Their secret society of women had been her sanctuary these past few months, and perhaps, with the help of her friends, she could find a way out of this mess.

"Let's plan to visit tomorrow. My parents might worry since I left in the downpour. I should return home once my clothes are ready."

"I have something to ask you," Grace said, standing and adjusting her skirts with exaggerated care. "Why do your lips look as if they were recently well kissed?"

"Grace!"

Her friend's eyes twinkled. "Am I wrong in my assessment?"

Honor tried and failed to suppress a blush, burying her face in her hands.

"Did it happen before or after you came home with my brother?" Grace asked softly.

Taking a deep breath, Honor lifted her head and met her friend's concerned gaze. "I ... your brother comforted me, and I don't know what madness came over me, but I ... I ... touched my mouth to his, and then we were kissing."

A guarded look crossed Grace's face, and Honor's chest tightened.

"I wasn't trying to compromise your brother," she said quietly.

"Oh, Honor, it's not that," Grace replied, reaching to grip her fingers. "I just don't want to see you hurt."

A startled laugh escaped Honor before she sobered. "Don't be silly. It was a mistake—one that won't be repeated. How can you worry about me being hurt?"

Grace seemed discomfited, then said, "The first time I saw you blush, Honor, was when I introduced you to my brother. In truth, he's the only gentleman I've ever seen you act so flustered around. Given my feelings for Lord Hollybrook, I understand your attraction."

Honor was mortified. Had she been so obvious about her awareness of the duke?

Grace squeezed her fingers gently. "I don't want you hurt because my brother would never marry you."

Honor flinched, an awful sensation piercing her heart. "I know my connections and reputation are not worthy—"

"You are my dearest friend," Grace interrupted, her eyes flashing. "And you are worthy in every way. It's just that he's betrothed. It's an alliance my mother mentioned a couple of weeks ago. Society still mentions that he is an eligible bachelor weekly in their newssheet, so I was shocked when I overheard my brother and mother discussing his eventual wedding to Lady Cassandra."

Oh! He doesn't kiss like a man who's betrothed .

"I do not have foolish fantasies concerning your brother," Honor said softly. "There is no need to caution me."

Grace seemed as though she wanted to press the matter further, but Honor swiftly changed the subject, steering the conversation into more familiar, lighter territory. They chatted for a while about the latest happenings at the club, sharing stories and gossip.

A soft knock interrupted their conversation as a servant arrived with Honor's clothes, freshly pressed and neatly folded. Once she had changed into her gown, now dry and restored to its former elegance, she felt a small measure of composure return.

Honor bid her friend farewell.

"Thank you for everything, Grace," she said with a gentle smile. "I'm so grateful for your kindness."

"Please, let me have the carriage readied for you."

Honor shook her head. "I'd rather walk."

"Honor—"

"You know I do my best thinking when I walk. I don't wish to be enclosed in a carriage right now." She gave Grace's hand a reassuring squeeze.

Grace sighed but relented, offering a small smile of support. "Very well."

Honor made her way from the bedchamber down the winding staircase. She asked a servant to meet with the duke, and she was directed to his library. She paused outside the door, the memory of their kiss rushing back to her, unbidden and vivid.

Honor raised her hand and knocked softly. She waited a beat, then slowly opened the door and stepped inside. Jasper stood near the window, bathed in the soft glow of afternoon light. His back was to her, but she could see he had also changed into fresh clothes, the crisp lines of his tailored coat and trousers accentuating his broad frame. He looked every bit the dignified and powerful duke, composed and commanding.

"Your Grace," she said, venturing into the room.

As he turned to face her, their eyes met, and she instantly saw it—the memory of their illicit embrace reflected in his dark and intense gaze. The weight of the moment hung between them, unspoken but undeniably present. Her breath hitched, and for a moment, the air felt thick with the lingering tension.

"I am leaving, Your Grace. I wish to convey my thanks for your kindness."

His expression was far too inscrutable, and Honor wished she knew an inkling of his thoughts.

"Come in, Miss Shelton," he said. "Close the door. We need to talk."

Honor blinked, momentarily stunned, but she obeyed. With a soft click , she shut the door behind her, the sound echoing in the quiet room.

Jasper gestured to the chair before him. "Please, sit."

She hesitated momentarily, then moved forward and lowered herself into the chair. Her fingers tightened slightly around the armrests, her pulse quickening. Honor was acutely conscious of the excitement that shimmered at being this close to him. It alarmed her that she found him so uniquely compelling even after knowing he would soon marry another.

For a few beats, neither spoke, the tension in the room palpable. Jasper's eyes never left hers, and Honor could feel the weight of his scrutiny as if he were trying to read every thought and emotion she struggled to conceal.

"There are ... things we need to discuss," he said quietly, his voice softer now, though no less intense. "Allow me to know everything that happened between you and Whitby."