Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

W ith nothing that needed her urgent attention, Ciara found solace in the shade of a large oak tree, her book resting gently in her lap. This was one of the rare moments of tranquility she found in the midst of her new life. The soft rustling of leaves and the distant murmur of voices from the estate's grounds provided a soothing backdrop as she immersed herself in her reading.

Her peace was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. She looked up to see a footman standing before her, bowing respectfully. "Your Grace, Lady Kirdale has requested your presence," he said.

Ciara closed her book, her curiosity piqued. She knew the Lady, having met her only once, during her hasty wedding to the Duke. Lady Kirdale was his cousin, one he was obviously very close with. She could deduce that much easily.

She nodded to the footman, rising gracefully, only to follow the man across the manicured lawns to where Jonathan and Lady Kirdale were standing, gathered where the servants were finishing setting up a game of Pall Mall.

"Your Grace," Lady Kirdale addressed her. "Thank you for joining us."

"It is a pleasure to see you again, Lady Kirdale," Ciara curtsied before the lady politely. "I apologize for not having welcomed you. I… I had no idea you were here."

"Oh, that is entirely your husband's fault, my dear," Lady Kirdale teased her cousin. "He has this nasty habit of keeping himself to himself which I'm certain you have already witnessed."

Ciara only smiled at the comment, feeling it was not her place to take sides in their game of teasing. She didn't know either of them that well.

"Perhaps I simply like to keep people away from you, Becky," Jonathan said playfully. "Have you considered that?"

"See?" Lady Kirdale shook her head as if she were a governess whose ward had misbehaved time and time again, and she couldn't even be mad at him anymore for the simple reason that it served no purpose. "He is utterly incorrigible."

"Some things are beyond repair, I suppose," Jonathan shrugged. "You simply wish to make everything perfect as it is in your little bubble."

"Perfection is a wonderful thing," Lady Kirdale chirped. "Although I admit, it is extremely difficult to obtain."

Jonathan sighed, turning to Ciara. "Don't mind Rebecca, Duchess. She can be… too much at times."

"And yet, you love me," Lady Kirdale smirked. Jonathan resisted smiling, but the smile was there, nonetheless, and Ciara knew that their love was unbreakable.

Lady Kirdale then turned to Ciara. "We were just about to play a game of Pall Mall. Would you care to join us?"

Ciara hesitated, her fingers nervously toying with the edges of her book. "I appreciate the invitation, Lady Kirdale, but… I must confess, I do not know how to play."

Jonathan's brow furrowed in surprise. "Didn't your father teach you?"

She didn't want to tell them the truth. Far from it. She knew she had to resort to a lie as she always did when someone new asked her about her family. Because if they knew the truth, they wouldn't believe her. No one would believe that a mother and a father could be so insensitive to their own child, so utterly cruel, while pretending that they were doing it all for the child's sake.

She shook her head slightly, her gaze dropping. "My father was often preoccupied with his work, and I have no siblings to teach me either. And at the nunnery…" Her voice trailed off, realizing that she had almost divulged too much.

She hastily cleared her throat, hoping that it would help her conceal the fact that she was unable to reveal that part of her life.

"Well then… Jonathan will teach you," Lady Kirdale suddenly said, stunning Ciara. "Won't you, Jonathan?"

As it turned out, Jonathan was as shocked as Ciara was by her suggestion. Seeing his reluctance, Ciara immediately responded, "I do not wish to impose," feeling a bit out of place.

"Nonsense," Lady Kirdale insisted, with a playful nudge to Jonathan's side. "It will be his pleasure to teach his wife."

Jonathan obviously caught his cousin's determined look, and he turned to Ciara with a polite tone, "Of course, Duchess. I would be delighted to teach you."

"Splendid!" Rebecca said, taking a step back. "Why don't you two take a few moments for Her Grace to get acquainted with the rules? I shall wait over there by the shade then once you are ready to commence, we can start the game."

Before either Ciara or Jonathan could say anything, they were left together, alone, with the game Pall Mall looming over them, demanding something neither of them was quite certain what it was.

Teach someone? He had never been very good at teaching anyone anything. He didn't have the patience for it. However, the thought of being allowed and even encouraged to stand behind Ciara, dangerously close, touching her even in an effort to show her how to hold the mallet and how to swing it, entertained him beyond description.

He could sense her nervousness as her fingers fidgeted, playing with her dress. Her confession of not knowing the game surprised him, but the following explanation, or what he was offered as an explanation, evoked a sense of empathy in him, something he didn't usually feel for others.

"All right," he began warmly. "Let us commence with the basic rules."

He picked up a mallet and handed it to her, their fingers brushing lightly. Although the touch was barely there, his body reacted to it with an eruption of desire. He couldn't understand how something so innocent and chaste could evoke such naughty images in his mind.

Usually, a woman would have to seduce him with everything she had for him to be this attracted to her. Yet, Ciara was not even trying. It was simply who she was that mesmerized him so, that thrilled him to the extent of mad desire for her.

"This is the mallet," he said, trying not to focus on the way his manhood throbbed in his pants.

Even his mind was working against him, offering images of her beautifully chaste, naked body on pristine white sheets with pale moonlight as her cover. How he yearned to defile her in every way possible, to make her forget that she ever wanted to be a nun.

"And these are the balls," he said, gesturing to the brightly colored spheres.

"All right," she nodded, holding the mallet with both hands, her fingers curled around it tenderly, as if she were afraid of breaking it.

"Don't be afraid to hold it firmly," he said as he placed his hand over hers, squeezing it to drive his point home. "Like this."

He could feel her body melt into him, and in that moment, he almost prayed for her to press her bottom back into his hips.

Ciara tentatively glanced at him, and he saw her lids half-closed, his mind racing, thinking of all the ways he could make them roll back into her head?—

But he had to compose himself. His cousin was present for Christ's sake.

As he slid his hand off hers, his knuckles slowly grazed her arm before releasing her completely, knowing fully well the dozens of shivers it'd sent down her spine.

After a tiny exhale, Ciara gripped the mallet tighter.

"That's how you hold it. Good girl," he said playfully in her ear.

He wondered if he gave her something else to hold, would her fingers curl in the same manner around it, tenderly and with reverence? His treacherous mind was playing a dangerous game, evoking other images of feeling her lips, her tongue on parts of his body that shivered at the thought.

She lifted her gaze towards him. "Why don't you try and focus on what we're doing here?"

He chuckled. It was exactly the response he expected of her. He stepped behind her, close enough to feel the warmth emanating from her. "First, let's get your grip right."

He placed his hands gently over hers, guiding her fingers toward a harder grip on the mallet's handle. Her skin was soft and warm, sending a tidal wave of warmth through him.

He moved slightly away from her, not wanting to prod her or heaven forbid, have his cousin see him in this awkward position. He tried to focus his mind on anything else. Meowing kittens. A broken carriage wheel. The smell of burnt apple pie. Anything that might distract him from Ciara's presence, from her fragrance, but that was impossible.

"Now, stand with your feet shoulder-width apart," he said, positioning her feet, his hands resting briefly on her shoulders to align her stance. "You want to keep your body relaxed."

He could feel her tension from that slight touch. He wondered if she felt the same way as he did, titillated by their proximity, barely able to control himself not to grab her into his arms and kiss her again. The memory of that kiss lingered like a haunting melody he kept going back to.

"Like this?" she asked, locking eyes with his.

Her lips were slightly parted, a row of pearly whites gleaming through them. She was smiling. A siren if he had ever seen one.

"Yes, exactly like that," he grinned. "Now, to hit the ball, swing the mallet smoothly, like this." He demonstrated the motion then placed his hands over hers again to guide her through the swing. As they moved together, their bodies brushed slightly against each other. He realized he had never wanted a woman so badly, so desperately.

He tried to remind himself that it was probably because she refused to succumb to his charms as quickly and easily as the other ladies did. She made him work harder for her attention, something he was not used to. That had to be it.

"Try aiming for the wicket," he said, pointing to the small hoop ahead of them. "It is all about precision and control." He stood behind her, his chest almost touching her back, and helped her aim. The proximity made it difficult to focus solely on the game, but he was determined to teach her well.

Ciara took a deep breath and swung the mallet. The ball rolled forward, not quite reaching the wicket, but her face lit up with determination. "You're getting the hang of it," Jonathan encouraged, smiling at her progress.

Each touch, each moment of contact, seemed to build a subtle connection between them. When Ciara finally managed to send the ball through the wicket, her triumphant smile made Jonathan's heart swell with pride. "Well done!" he exclaimed, unable to hide his admiration.

As the three of them continued to play Pall Mall, Jonathan couldn't help but steal a glance in Ciara's direction, admiring the way her body swayed to the motion of her hands. His gaze lingered on her a bit too long, taking in the curve of her waist, the way her dress clung to her breasts as she leaned into her swing, and the soft flush of her cheeks. He wanted to have his hands on her waist, his lips on her breasts. He wanted to be the reason for that gentle flush of her cheeks. He wanted her more desperately than he was ever willing to admit, and it was driving him insane.

"Jonathan, are you paying attention?" Rebecca's voice broke through his reverie, bringing him back to the present moment. "It seems you have a bit of drool dribbling down the side of your mouth."

He blinked at her and instinctively brought his hand to his mouth.

"Rebecca," he growled under his breath, and his cousin raised her eyebrows at him.

"All I'm saying is that it looks like you're quite taken by her," she said.

"Don't be absurd," he replied, waving his hand at her dismissively, tearing his eyes away from Ciara, and forcing a smile. "I was merely focusing on whether she was following my instructions, and I can see that she was. That is all."

"If you say so," Rebecca replied with a mysterious smirk he didn't want to dive into.

Instead, he stepped forward to take his turn, but his thoughts remained on his wife, her presence stirring a deep desire within him.

As the game drew to a close, Rebecca, ever the socialite, brought up the upcoming dinner party. "I hope you're both ready for the Weatherly's dinner party this weekend. It should be quite the event."

Ciara's expression shifted, a flicker of anxiety crossing her features. "Do you know who will be there?" she asked, her voice tinged with hope. "I was wondering if my uncle or Adeline might be attending."

Jonathan shook his head gently. "I'm afraid our hosts have invited mostly other married couples. It's unlikely your uncle or Adeline will be there."

Jonathan could see Ciara's face turning pale as she took a small step back, her hands clasping nervously in front of her. He could conclude that the thought of facing a social event without the comfort of her uncle filled her with unease. However, before he could say anything, Rebecca spoke.

"You'll be wonderful, Duchess," she assured. "You are a lovely lady, and everyone will be as charmed by you as I am."

Ciara smiled back, blushing gently. "Your words are beyond kind, Lady Kirdale. And please, Ciara is more than fine."

"Ciara," Rebecca repeated cheerfully. "Also, Lady Kirdale is for those who are not family. You are family. Rebecca will do."

"Thank you, Rebecca," Ciara acknowledged with a smile. "It's just that navigating these gatherings is still difficult."

Jonathan stepped closer, feeling a need to speak. "You will be fine, Ciara. Rebecca and I will be there. You aren't alone."

His words, coupled with the warmth in his eyes, seemed to ease some of her anxiety. She nodded, taking a deep breath. "All right. I will do my best."

Rebecca clapped her hands together, her usual vivacity returning. "That's the spirit! Now, let's head inside and have some tea. All this playing in the sun has me thirsty and hungry."

Jonathan and Ciara chuckled as all three of them headed back to the house.

He couldn't explain what had happened, but he also couldn't remember the last time he had so much fun without it being in the bedchamber.