An Escapade and an Engagement (24 page)

She sat up and stared at the window, even though the darkness
and the drawn curtains prevented her from seeing out.

Then there was a scraping noise…as though something metallic
was sliding across the tiles.

She got out of bed just as something rattled down the roof and
then smashed onto the gravel path beneath. One of the tiles, by the sound of
it.

She had just put her hand to the curtains, to draw them back so
she could look out, when there was a rasping sound, and then a click and then
the casement creaked open.

Someone was breaking into her room!

She dashed back to the bed, looked wildly around for a weapon,
and seized upon the candlestick.

She turned round, half crouched defensively, to see a man’s
booted leg, which he had clearly just been thrown over the windowsill, appear
through the curtains.

Swiftly followed by…

‘Richard!’ She stood up straight. ‘What on earth do you think
you are doing?’

‘Climbing up to your room, obviously,’ he said, pushing the
curtains aside so that he could get his other leg over the windowsill and stand
up.

Immediately shafts of moonlight silvered the scene, taking her
back to the time they had been alone in the library.

Her heart, which had been beating fast with trepidation just a
moment previously, hesitated and then settled into a heavy rhythm which had
nothing to do with fear at all. She was wearing only her nightdress. And he was
dressed in a uniform which had clearly seen better days. There were patches, and
holes with charred edges all over it. And as for his boots—they were the very
antithesis of the highly polished Hessians he wore about Town. They were
scuffed, and creased round the ankles, as though they were far too comfortable
for him to throw away even though they looked so shabby.

It reminded her of how rakish and daring he had looked on the
night of the masquerade. Only tonight he was not in costume.

This was the real man. The man he had told her about. The
soldier who had marched across scorching plains and slept on frozen ground.

The man who climbed into a lady’s window and…what?

‘What do you want?’ Her voice had gone breathy, and was barely
more than a whisper as she asked, ‘Why have you come?’

He stalked across to where she stood, his mouth curving into a
grin. ‘That’s my Jayne,’ he said approvingly. ‘Straight to the point. No vapours
or feeble feminine protests about impropriety.’

‘Well, there would be little point, would there? Everyone
already thinks I am ruined.’

He grimaced, coming to a halt only an inch or so from her.

She could feel the heat from his body through the flimsy
material of her nightgown. He was breathing heavily from his exertions, and a
faint sheen of sweat made his brow glisten. Was he going to ruin her properly
tonight? Lady Penrose had said if he had not been interrupted he would have done
so that morning. And at The Workings this morning he’d looked for a moment as
though he’d been thinking about what they’d started.

Her tummy flipped with excitement.

Then from his cross belt he plucked out two roses that had been
tucked there. A white one, and she thought a red one—though the moonlight had
robbed it of its colour.

‘You climbed up to my room…to bring me roses?’ It was a lovely,
romantic gesture. But she couldn’t understand why he should think that at this
stage it was necessary. Unless… Perhaps he thought it would make it easier for
her to become reconciled to this forced betrothal if he gave her some
reassurance? Looking back over the day, she realized she’d done nothing but talk
about finding ways out of it.

Yes, that was just the sort of thing he would do to ease her
over what he thought she saw as a dreadful hurdle.

She laid the candlestick down and took them from him.

‘And to tell you that to me,’ he said with deliberation, as
though he had rehearsed what he was about to say, ‘you are as lovely as any
rose. I know you can be a little unapproachable at times. I think you have
deliberately cultivated a hedge of thorns about yourself, to stop anyone from
getting too close to you and hurting you.’

‘You…you think I am prickly?’

‘You know very well you can be, my lady.’ He stepped closer
still, his voice low and urgent as he said, ‘But it does not lessen my regard
for you. A rose is a wonderful flower. Nothing can compare with its voluptuous,
velvety petals.’

He reached out and twined one curl, which had escaped her
plaits, round his forefinger. She caught her lower lip between her teeth.

‘Or the heady perfume it gives off,’ he grated. ‘Lady Jayne,
will you…? I came here to ask you…’ He was staring at her mouth. ‘Whatever it
was has gone completely out of my head now,’ he said irritably. ‘All I can think
about is how much I want to kiss you.’

‘You want to kiss me?’

‘God, yes,’ he said, his voice throbbing with yearning.

Then, slowly, he began to lower his head towards hers. Giving
her the chance, she realized, to refuse him. But she did not want to. So she
tipped her head back, offering him her lips.

And he did kiss her.

Not swiftly, as he had done just before going out to chase
after Milly. Or with that edge of desperation he had displayed when he’d come
back. But slowly, as though he had all the time in the world and intended to
savour every minute. He slid his arms round her waist and pulled her close. She
clung to the facings of his jacket. The scent of roses filled the air as the
flowers were crushed between their two heated bodies. Indeed, by the time he
finished she felt as though she was melting.

But still a faint feeling of unease nagged at her.

‘You don’t need to do this. I don’t want you to pretend
something you don’t feel for me, or—’

‘Very well, then,’ he said raggedly, stepping back. ‘Listen to
me, Lady Jayne. I am not pretending any more. I’m done with pretence. I have to
tell you…’

‘Yes?’

‘That nightgown of yours is virtually transparent,’ he groaned.
‘Don’t stand just there in the moonlight, please, or I won’t be able to think of
anything but how beautiful your breasts are. How much I want to see them again,
taste them again…’

She went weak at the knees as her memory supplied the feel of
his hands cupping her breasts. His tongue lapping. His teeth nipping.

The roses fell from her hands as they flew instinctively to her
neckline.

He sucked in a short, sharp breath as she loosened the ribbons
of her gown with trembling fingers.

‘Maybe I don’t want you to think about anything else,’ she
said, pushing the fine lawn from one shoulder, revealing the upper slope of her
left breast. But then her courage ran out. He had not seemed to like it when he
found her naked in his bed. Would he lose all respect for her if she fully
exposed her breast to his gaze? Would he think she was wanton?

She was just about to cover herself up again when his hand shot
out and stayed hers. Then, very gently, he stroked the fabric of her gown
aside.

For a moment he just stood there, breathing heavily as he gazed
at her. His hand hovered an inch above her flesh so that she could feel the heat
of it, tantalizingly close. The tremors that ran through his body made it look
as though he was exerting all his willpower to hold himself back.

So she stepped forward, pushing her breast into his
outstretched hand. Her nipple beaded into his palm immediately.

And then it was as if whatever had been holding him back
snapped. He tore open enough fastenings to expose both breasts. His mouth
swooped to suckle feverishly on one while his hand caressed the other. The
sensation was incredible. And it was not restricted to the area where he was
touching her, but flooded the whole of her being with heat and yearning and
wonder.

‘I want you,’ he said.

‘Y-you do?’ she gasped.

‘More than anything. Oh, Jayne,’ he murmured, running kisses
along her collarbone and up the side of her neck. ‘Jayne.’ He sighed into her
ear.

‘Oh, yes, Richard, yes.’

‘Yes? You mean that?’

‘Mmm…’

She wanted to reach up and put her arms round his neck, to show
him that she was a more than willing participant in whatever was going to
happen. But her nightgown had slid down to her elbows, imprisoning them at her
sides. And it suddenly felt much more satisfying to leave him entirely in
charge. To know that whatever followed was all going to be exactly as
he
wanted. She did not want to feel any guilt, any
shadow of doubt about who had seduced whom. Not tonight.

He walked her backwards to the bed, hastily undid the rest of
her ribbons and slid her nightgown down over her hips. Then he picked her up and
laid her gently down on the bed.

She felt very shy about being so exposed while he was still
fully dressed. But he only stood looking down at her for a moment before joining
her on the bed. He paid such sweet homage to her—with his hands, his lips, his
tongue—that it was as though he was worshipping her body. He made her feel like
a goddess as he bestowed reverent kisses upon every inch of her. He untied her
plaits, sifted her hair through his fingers as though it was some rare treasure,
then spread it out across the pillows. He stroked her flanks as though enchanted
by the curve of her hips, the indentation of her waist. And whenever he
encountered a bruise or a scrape he placed a particularly tender kiss there.

But eventually he began to restrict his attentions to the parts
of her that were crying out for attention the most. Pretty soon the sensations
he evoked were so intense she had no power left to think, only to feel.

And what she felt was beautiful. Men had told her before that
she was beautiful. But she had dismissed their words as just that. Mere words.
Only Richard could make her
feel
she really was
beautiful. To him.

Yet though it was glorious it was not enough. She needed to
touch him, too. Needed to kiss him.

‘Richard, please,’ she whimpered, reaching for him. ‘Kiss
me.’

At her pleading, he rolled her onto her side so they were face
to face and did as she bade, kissing her long and languorously. Prising open her
mouth with the insistent probing of his tongue and thrusting it inside when she
opened to him.

It felt incredible, having his fully clothed body all along the
length of her sensitized skin. The roughness of the material of what she was
certain was the uniform in which he had served created such delicious
friction.

She raised her leg, rubbing her foot along the supple leather
of his boots, feeling the material of his breeches abrading the soft skin of her
inner thigh.

He pushed her onto her back, reared up and pulled off his
jacket.

‘Buttons,’ he muttered. ‘Don’t want to hurt you.’

And then he was back, kissing her with a feverishness that was
even more glorious than anything that had gone before. For even in her
inexperience she could tell his passion was raging almost beyond his control.
The satisfying proof of that came when he fumbled open his breeches, pushing
material out of the way, and nudged her legs apart.

And then suddenly he froze.

‘I should not be doing this,’ he said through gritted teeth.
‘Lady Jayne, can you ever forgive me?’

When he made to roll off her she let out an indignant squeal
and locked her hands behind his neck. ‘I shall never forgive you if you stop
now—and that is a promise!’

‘It is wrong,’ he insisted, though she noted with satisfaction
that he wasn’t trying all that hard to pull away from her. ‘I did not come here
for this.’ He groaned. His whole body was shaking. ‘I must not force myself on
you like this….’

‘You think you are forcing me?’

‘Yes.’ He lay down and pressed his face into the crook of her
neck. ‘You have to marry me, Jayne. I want you so much…too much,’ he
murmured.

His breath was hot on her ear. And the weight of him on top of
her, with her legs spread like that, made it hard to concentrate on his words.
She could only feel.

‘Richard, please stop talking and just take me.’

‘You are still that wild little creature your grandfather
described this morning,’ he said softly as she butted her hips up against his
pelvis with a little whimper. ‘You think right now that this is what you want
because you are being ruled by your senses. But in the morning, when you think
about it…’

‘I shall be glad that you made me yours completely,’ she
declared. ‘I shall ride back to Darvill Park in the carriage, hugging the
knowledge that you saw something in me that made you climb up to my room and
behave completely disgracefully, for once.’

And with that she spread her legs wider and hooked her ankles
round the backs of his knees. The slight shift in position brought his member to
the exact spot where she needed to feel it.

‘Oh, God,’ he groaned. ‘I cannot fight you any more.’

He reached between her legs. Stroked along the slick folds of
skin with his fingers. Then repeated the action with his rigid length. Sliding
repeatedly towards the place where she felt an aching need to have him. The need
increased as he continued to tease her until she was writhing beneath him,
clawing at his back and panting, ‘For God’s sake, Richard, now.
Now!
’

And at last he pushed up, and in, and he was there, seated deep
within her. Exactly where she needed him.

For a few glorious moments they both went wild. He plunged and
she bucked. She clung and he grasped. He suckled on her neck. She sank her teeth
into his shoulder. She flung her head back to cry out her ecstasy. He buried his
face in her hair to groan out his, his fingers kneading into her buttocks so
hard she knew she would still feel the imprint in her flesh the next day.

‘You are mine now,’ he panted. ‘You will
have
to marry me.’