Would that she could reveal to him she was more than that. A woman who defied convention to seek her own pleasure. Pleasure in the form of him.
Seth felt an odd sense of satisfaction as he watched his hostess sit so indignantly in her chair, the color riding high on her cheeks.
For weeks, he had suffered Julianne’s pouts and sighs. Her attachment to Lady Jane ran deep. Damnable bonds of youth. Seth had tried to explain that Jane was a lady of the ton now, too busy to concern herself with lapsed friendships.
He had thought she genuinely cared for his sister. She had promised to call, and he had believed her. Believed that she wouldn’t hurt his sister. But she had failed. Failed to keep her promise, convincing him that he should never have dropped his guard with her, never considered that she might be different from her family. Better.
Still, he had caved to his sister’s demands and permitted her to call on Jane. More than that, he had accompanied her on her call. For the life of him, he could not fathom why.
“So what has kept you so occupied you could not accept a single one of my sister’s invitations?” he inquired, his voice surly even to his own ears.
“Seth,” Julianne reprimanded.
“It’s quite all right,” Jane assured Julianne. Such assurance only further rankled him. Crossing his arms, he glared at her. It was not her place to soothe his sister. She had shown how little she cared for Julianne by ignoring her these last weeks.
Jane suffered his glare, her expression cool as frost. She paused to moisten her lips, saying, “I should have made the time. My apologies, Julianne.”
Seth studied her in silence, noticing that her bottom lip quivered ever so slightly. The only hint of emotion in her haughty reserve.
Several times over the years, he had stared off the ship’s deck at a quiet sea, reflecting over the hoyden that had chased him about the countryside, curious over what had become of her. Now he saw that she had become all that was proper and correct. A boring bit of starch in her widow’s weeds. Disappointing.
And yet he devoured the sight of those lips, the full mouth that promised passion even as the rest of her hid behind ladylike diffidence. It was only that expressive mouth which reminded him of the girl he once knew. The girl, he admitted, had grown into a woman he would like to thaw with the heat of his mouth and hands…to strip of her mourning rags and spread naked on his bed.
The unwanted thoughts brought an uncomfortable tightness to his breeches. He reached for a biscuit, intent on distraction. Chewing, he forced himself to think about his hunt for a bride. About chits like Fiona Manchester. Prospective wives that would do nothing to ignite his ardor. The sort of ladies whose drawing rooms he ought to be occupying.
At that moment, Billings strode into the room, his skinny legs swaggering like a rooster’s.
“Rutledge,” Billings exclaimed, tugging the ends of his plum vest over his bulging middle in a self-important air.
They stared at each other for a heavy moment, no doubt recalling their last encounter.
“Billings,” he returned, inclining his head, recalling the bastard’s attempt to claim Aurora.
“This is unexpected. What are you doing here?”
Jane rose. “Lord St. Claire and Lady Julianne were kind enough to call upon me. If you recall, we grew up together.”
“Ah,” he murmured, his gaze flicking over Julianne before returning to Seth.
Awkward silence fell.
Jane cleared her throat and motioned to the tea ser vice. “Would you care for refreshments, Desmond?”
With a nod, Billings dropped to the chair next to Jane, his gaze drifting to Julianne, staring overly long at the bodice of her dress. Seth’s hands curled into fists at his sides.
Billings leaned forward to select a biscuit. “You must forgive my sister-in-law.” The delicate wood frame of his chair creaked as he settled back and popped the biscuit whole into his mouth.
Jane stiffened in her chair but looked resolutely forward, hands clasped tightly in her lap.
Billings glanced sideways at her and smiled, a smug stretch of lips over uneven teeth. “I fear Jane has been remiss. Did she not explain that she is still in mourning?” He stretched an arm along the back of her chair, his fingers a hairsbreadth from her shoulder. “She is not receiving callers.”
“Forgive us,” Julianne murmured, cheeks pink, her awkwardness apparent as she fumbled for Seth’s arm, clearly ready to rise and depart.
Billings’s eyes danced. Seth’s jaw tensed. The bastard was enjoying their discomfiture.
“No harm,” Billings assured breezily, his fingers brushing the top of Jane’s shoulder, grazing the crisp fabric of her sleeve. Back and forth, back and forth, his fingers crawled, encroaching like a white moth creeping over the unremitting black of her gown.
Seth watched, a strange tightening in his gut as he considered the slight motion, considered Jane’s bent head. In a flash of insight, he knew. Knew that Billings pulled the strings and controlled her as he would a puppet.
Anger flooded him. Where was her backbone? Why did she let this strutting peacock speak for her? Did she not possess a voice, a shred of autonomy?
“Perhaps in another year Jane may entertain once again,” Billings mused with an idleness that made Seth’s already clenched jaw ache. The bastard lifted both brows, daring him to object.
Clearly Billings thought he was sniffing about his sister-in-law’s skirts and needed to be set in his place like some overardent schoolboy. Seth looked Jane over again and immediately felt the stirrings of desire that had plagued him since first seeing her in the park. To be fair, Billings might not be far off in his concern.
Seth could not deny there was something about her. Those changeable eyes, the rich nut brown hair. The hint of a girl he remembered. Even though he longed to deny it, she tugged at some forgotten part of him.
Jane shrugged Desmond’s hand off her with a twist of her shoulder. “You’re mistaken, Desmond. I am quite able to receive social calls.”
Desmond’s face reddened. His gaze flicked to Seth, then back to Jane.
“Perhaps you did not realize it has been over a year,” she added in a firm voice.
“No,” he bit out through compressed teeth. “I did not.”
Seth fought a smile, pleased to see that some of her spirit remained intact.
She met his gaze, and a familiar spark in her eyes reminded him of the Jane he had known. The Jane, he admitted to himself, he would like to know again.
Rising, he took Julianne’s elbow. With a bow, he murmured farewell, his gaze lingering longer than it should on Jane before turning and leading his sister from the room.
As he departed, he told himself that he would smother his growing fascination and put Jane far from his mind, focusing, instead, on finding a bride. The sort of woman who would not muddle his head and twist him into knots.
Chapter 15
A low hum of conversation, broken only by the occasional rumble of laughter, reached her as she stood in the cavernous foyer of Lucy’s mansion. A footman took her cloak and led her toward the music room.
Jane was late, having waited for Desmond and Chloris to leave for the evening before venturing out. Cowardly perhaps, but why suffer a scene? She still achieved her goal in the end. A pleasant evening out among friends. Good company, entertainment. A small exercise in freedom, to be certain, even if less dramatic than her previous forays.
The hum of conversation ebbed as she was led down the portrait-lined corridor. The famous Italian contralto Lucy had engaged for the evening eased her rich voice into song.
Upon reaching the tall double doors, Jane hovered for a moment, eyeing the rows of velvet-backed chairs occupied with two dozen guests.
Astrid sat in the front beside Lucy, a chair vacant beside her, doubtlessly intended for Jane. Not relishing making her way to the front amid the performance, she moved from the threshold to the back of the room and lowered herself to a sofa that had been pushed to
the wall to make room for the evening’s company.
With a sigh, she closed her eyes and let the lilting chords float over her. Sad, haunting words stretched over the air like slow curls of heat. Jane wished her Italian was better so that she might understand their meaning. No doubt it was some tragic tale of love lost, ideal for her dark mood.
The woman sang with her entire person, the generous curves of her body angled forward, palms lifted in supplication, face tight with emotion that plucked at one’s heart. Very affecting. So much so that Jane felt moisture gather at the corners of her eyes.
Fearful that she would turn into a blubbering mess and draw attention to herself, she slipped from the room, deciding her current mood not the most suited for tonight’s performance.
The haunting voice followed her and she quickened her pace, turning the corridor in the direction of the gallery. Her slippers moved swiftly and silently over the runner. Wall sconces dimly lit her way, stretching her shadow long before her, eerie and strange, as though it belonged to someone else. Another woman fleeing the memory of a night never to be relived.
The corridor opened up to the gallery—a wide, room with an elaborate mosaic covering the floor. She always felt a bit sacrilegious to walk upon such a beautiful rendition of Madonna and child.
Lucy’s late husband had fanatically toured the continent to gather a collection that was the envy of every museum in Town. Jane lingered, drifting among the various pieces, studying the magnificent array as she did on almost every visit, grateful at least that the singing had eased to a soft croon on the air that no longer made her throat thicken.
She stopped before a white marbled bust of the god Anteros, the avenger of unrequited love, and her thoughts drifted to Seth.
She had been a fool to think one taste would be enough. That she could forget Seth and move on now, content with having had her time with him, however brief.
She wanted more. She wanted him. Not just once but over and over again. Sighing, she rubbed her fingertips over her forehead. The heart was a greedy beast. Always wanting more than it should.
“No taste for opera?” came a voice behind her.
Jane whirled around, her hip nudging the pedestal upon which the bust sat. Heart in her throat, her hands shot out to steady the piece, her panic subsiding as Anteros stilled.
Chuckling, Seth advanced, his long limbs moving loose and powerful as a jungle cat. “That would have been a mess.”
Nodding mutely, she eased her hands from the pedestal and inched back until well clear of it and any other object of value, not trusting herself to be conscious of anything when he was in the vicinity and all her attention centered on him.
“You shouldn’t sneak up on people.”
He grinned and crossed his arms over his chest in a way that made his shoulders strain against his jacket.
She frowned as realization sunk in. “What are you doing here?”
“I was invited.”
“By whom?” she demanded, unable to believe Lucy would have invited him without telling her.
His grin broadened. “Lady Shillington, of course.”
Lucy invited him? And forgot to mention it? Suspicion settled along her shoulders.
He continued, “I thought my sister might enjoy a small gathering such as this.”
“Your sister is here?”
“Yes. Were you not of the opinion that I should allow my sister out in Society?”
She blinked. “Yes. Only I did not think my opinions bore much weight.”
Instead of responding, he glanced about the room, his eyes skimming the various pieces. “Impressive collection.”
She nodded.
“Enough to draw someone away from the evening’s entertainment, I suppose.” His gaze fell on her. “The haste in which you left, one would think you have an aversion to opera, Lady Jane.”
“Not at all.”
“Hmm.” He drew closer, his steps clicking sharply over the mosaic.
She skirted a statue of Aphrodite and he followed, his stride lazy, hands clasped behind his back as though he strolled the park—as though he did not stalk her.
“And what of Billings?” he queried, all mildness. “Did he have no wish to attend tonight?”
“My brother-in-law and his wife had other plans.” Not that Lucy would have invited them.
“And they have no objections to your attending?” he pressed, his eyes glinting knowingly. “Billings seemed most determined for you to remain in mourning.”
Jane inhaled deeply. “And I am most determined to live my life as I please. I am no green debutante to be led about by my nose. My family does not control my actions. I’m a free woman to come and go as I please. To do as I please.”
“Indeed,” he drawled, sliding to a stop directly before her. Her head fell back to lock with his molten eyes. “And do you?” His voice glided through her like a shot of spiced rum, settling in her belly in a burst of heat. “Do as you please?”
For a moment, the sensation of his hard maleness driving into her washed through her, rippling over her skin and transporting her to a moonlit garden where he breathed Aurora against her ear.
Throat dry, she could only nod.
“Is that so?” he asked, his voice soft and taunting as he encroached closer, forcing her against a tapestry-lined wall. The tapestry felt scratchy at her back.
Even without looking, she knew the scene well, had studied Zeus’s ravishment of Leda in secret, rapt fascination. In her mind she could see the swan alighting down from the sky upon Leda, the woman’s lovely face an odd mixture of horror and rapture.
A deep tug pulled on her belly as Seth’s hands closed on either side of her head. Trapped between his body and the tapestry-covered wall, she stared into his stark gaze, trying to read his thoughts, feeling somewhat like the prey Leda must have felt.
Faintly, the contralto’s voice grew, winding its way into the room, vibrating through the heavy silence of the chamber.
Jane succumbed to temptation and brought her hands up to play with the cravat at his neck.
“I’m no schoolroom miss anymore,” she murmured, enjoying the words the moment she said them, enjoying herself the moment she decided a little bit of wickedness wouldn’t hurt. “I do a good many things I shouldn’t do…”
“You?” he queried.
“You don’t believe me?” she asked in offended tones, imagining his reaction if he knew she was the woman he made savage love to against a tree at Vauxhall.
“No,” he asserted. “You’re much too proper.”
Moistening her lips in determination, she commanded, “Close your eyes.”
His eyes glowed down at her, wide and unblinking, mouth curving in mockery.
“Close your eyes,” she repeated, determined to wipe the mockery from his face.
After a moment’s hesitation, he complied.
She closed her fingers around his wrist, removing his hand from the wall near her head. Intent on showing him she could—and did—do as she pleased, she brought that hand to her lips.
Lightly, teasingly, she brushed her mouth over his palm. His skin quivered beneath her lips and she smiled. Opening her mouth, she lavished him with a kiss, trailing her tongue over warm, slightly salty skin.
Pulling back, she blew on the moist flesh. Watching his closed eyes, she sucked a single finger deep into her mouth, running her tongue over his fingertip and nipping the callused pad with her teeth.
With a hissing release of air, his eyes flew open, the centers sparks of light that seared her to the spot. Deep satisfaction gripped her as she slid his finger slowly from her mouth like a sweetmeat long savored.
She smiled saucily. “See.”
Dropping his wrist, she attempted to step around him, but his arms came up around her again, bands of steel on either side of her.
“You play a dangerous game,” he growled, shoving his face so close she could see herself in the gleaming titian centers of his eyes.
A
muscle flexed in his jaw. “Now it’s my turn. Close your eyes.”
On this beast she freed from its cage? Not a chance. She shook her head.
“Time to play fair,” he chided.
Reluctantly, her eyes drifted shut. Blackness engulfed her, every sensation intensified as she waited for his next move.
She did not have long to wait.
Cool air caressed her legs as he lifted her skirts. With a gasp, her hands dove for his, seizing his wrists and forcing them still.
“Let go,” he ordered, his voice no less commanding for its quietness.
For whatever reason, she complied, fingers slipping from his wrists. She had permitted this man to do much more than lift her skirts after all. Even if it had been under the guise of Aurora.
His hands caressed their way up her legs, past her stockings and garters to her bare thighs. Her flesh trembled beneath his touch, but she did not move, did not open her eyes. In her mind, she saw Leda, lips a crimson slash in her pale face as her swan lover swooped down upon her.
His fingers slipped within her drawers, sifting through the soft curls with infinite gentleness. Without hesitating, he went directly to the aching spot between her legs. She gasped at the first touch of his thumb there.
“That’s it,” he whispered, the sound of his voice directly in her ear. “Does this please you?” He pushed his thumb against the small nub, exerting enough pressure to make her gasp sharpen and veer into a cry.
Without thinking, she widened her stance.
He added his forefinger and squeezed, rolling the nub in quick, savage circles.
She cried out again, hands clawing the tapestry at her sides as moisture rushed between her legs and sweet release washed over.
Seth’s ragged breathing filled her ear. His fingers delved into her wet heat. Parting her folds, he impaled her with one finger. She lurched off the wall, fingers digging into his shoulder as she sobbed her pleasure.
“God, I wager you taste sweet, too.”
I wager you taste sweet, too.