Just Wicked Enough (13 page)

“I hope you’re cursed with a dozen daughters so you have to give marriage a great deal of thought in later years.”

Jeremy laughed, his smile bright. “I plan to marry a woman with the good sense to give me sons. I suspect your husband is hoping the same thing.”

“It’s not a hope but a requirement among the aristocracy. They’re a rather demanding lot when it comes to their heirs.”

“You know wagers are going about as to when your first child will make an appearance.”

“So I heard,” she said, not bothering to disguise her disgust with that ridiculous practice.

“I put my money on ten months. Is it going to pay off for me?”

She very nearly stopped dancing. “I can’t believe you did that!”

“I believe in taking advantage of opportunity. Besides, it gave notice that my sister wasn’t marrying under scandalous circumstances.”

“So you’re my champion?”

“Do you ever doubt it?”

She shook her head. “But there is a fine line between being a champion and being meddlesome.”

“He wasn’t good enough for you, Kate.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. She wasn’t going to discuss Wesley, not tonight, not ever again.

“Tell me true, you’re happy with Falconridge, aren’t you?”

“I’m content.”

Unlike her dance with Falconridge, she was grateful when her dance with Jeremy ended, so she didn’t have to answer his probing questions. Even if they were asked with the greatest of intentions, they only served to make her question her acceptability as a wife.

She wanted what every woman wanted: to be loved, cherished, appreciated.

Would her husband ever love her? Would she ever love him? Was she beginning to have a fondness for him?

Those questions circled her mind as she danced with the Duke of Pemburton, the man her mother wanted Jenny to marry. She’d expected Pemburton to pepper her with questions about Jenny, but instead he simply smiled, apparently confident he had Jenny’s hand already firmly nestled in his. He was incredibly distinguished, but not very exciting, almost cold, and she wondered if he’d be able to deliver the passion that Jenny so desperately wanted.

During the eighth dance, she stood near the open doors that led on to the gardens, allowing the cool night breeze to waft enticingly over her warm skin. She saw Jenny dancing with the Duke of Stonehaven. Unlike Kate’s dance card, Jenny’s was always filled and even though her sister left dances blank, she never sat out, except by choice. Her beauty and poise drew men to her.

Except Wesley had chosen Kate over Jenny. Although, so had Falconridge, but she didn’t delude herself into thinking he’d married her for anything other than money. Unlike Wesley who had openly adored her. He’d made her heart—

“Hello, dear girl.”

Kate’s breath backed up in her chest at the rasp of the familiar voice, the cherished endearment, coming from behind her. She’d known this bittersweet moment would come at some time, but she wasn’t prepared for it, hadn’t expected it to be so soon. It took everything within her to hold the tears of loss at bay, to force a smile on her lips as she slowly turned.

“Hello, Wesley.”

He took her gloved hand and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. “You’re as lovely as ever. I heard you’d married.”

Nodding, she swallowed hard. “Falconridge. Can you believe it? A marquess.”

“You deserve a king.”

She damned the tears that threatened to ruin this moment. “I saw that you, too, had married. Are you happy?”

“How can I be when she is not you?”

“So are you related to the king of France? His twin brother, perhaps? Locked away in the Bastille?” Jenny asked the man wearing a golden mask. Just as Kate had immediately recognized the costumed man wasn’t her Falconridge because of the way he moved through the crowd, so did Jenny recognize exactly who he was by his elegant gait. Earlier in the Season, she’d spent far too much time watching his movements. He’d intrigued her from the start. “Or are you simply a man too embarrassed to show his face?”

“The latter, if truth be told.”

“You’re not one for always telling the truth, though, are you? I don’t recall sending you an invitation, Ravensley.”

“Yet another reason why I chose to come as someone being treated unfairly.”

She scoffed. “You brought your misfortunes upon yourself. Does your sister know you’re here?”

“No. Louisa is spending far too much time gazing at her husband to notice much else. She seems happy enough.”

“I think they’re well suited, but that doesn’t excuse your deplorable behavior where they’re concerned.”

“I couldn’t bear the thought of you marrying him. Now I hear you’re to marry Pemburton.”

“You’ve been so absent from Society it’s a wonder you’ve heard anything at all.”

“I have my ways. Is it true?”

Although she was angry at him for the pain he’d brought Louisa, Jenny couldn’t deny she was grateful to have a moment to speak with him. From the first dance they’d shared at the beginning of the Season, she’d found herself drawn irrevocably toward him. But he was only an earl and her mother wanted her to be a duchess not a countess.

“In all likelihood he is the one I’ll marry, although he has yet to ask.”

All she could see were his blue eyes, but it was enough for her to read the sadness and disappointment he felt.

“Take a turn about the garden with me?” he asked.

She glanced around—

“No one’s paying any attention to us,” he said quietly. “We can slip out the back door over here and none will be the wiser.”

“I’ll be missed. I’m the hostess.”

“Five minutes, Jenny. It’s all I’m asking for.”

Nodding, she took another look around before slipping out the side door. She was so very much aware of his nearness, but then she was always aware of him.

Instead of leading her on to the path that wound through the garden, he gently took her arm and urged her toward the side of the house, into the shadows, where the gas lamps couldn’t touch them. She’d not been aware of him removing his mask, but quite suddenly she found herself wrapped in his arms, his mouth taunting and teasing hers with the memories of all the secretive liaisons they’d managed to arrange throughout the Season. He tasted heavenly, just as she remembered, and the warmth sluiced through her. He could deliver passion in ways that left her innocence intact, yet left her yearning for a few more moments with him.

He must have dropped his mask and removed his gloves, because his bare fingers were grazing her cheek, his thumb circling beside one corner of her mouth, while his other arm continued to hold her close. Drawing back, he pressed his forehead to hers. “Ah, but I’ve missed you. Run away with me.”

He trailed his hot mouth along her jaw, down her throat, stealing her ability to think, forcing her to concentrate on her words when she wanted nothing more than to let herself drown in the incredible sensations he was creating. “You are twice the fool if you think running away with you is even an option. You are the most impoverished lord in all of London, and my parents wouldn’t sanction our union with funds.”

“I don’t care about the money.”

“Well, you should,” she said more forcefully than she’d intended. “I’ll not end my life as a pauper.”

“We’ll find a way.”

She chuckled low. “You are a fool if you believe that. You’ve not managed to turn your circumstances around and I haven’t Kate’s head for numbers. Once the passion cooled we’d be miserable.”

“It’ll never cool. You have no idea how desperately I want you.”

And he had no idea how desperately she wanted him. It was tempting, so tempting to go somewhere completely private where intimacies could be shared with no danger of discovery.

“We shouldn’t be here, we shouldn’t be doing this.” She pushed on his shoulders, easing him away from her. “I must return to the ball.”

“I want you, Jenny, and I’ll do anything, anything at all to have you.”

His voice contained more determination than desperation. It excited, thrilled, and terrified her all at once. “So you’ve proven.”

“Betraying my sister and Hawkhurst was nothing compared to the lengths I’ll go to in order to have you.”

“Your actions hurt me as much as it hurt them. Yes, your kiss can make me forget a good many things, but it eventually ends and when it does the memories return. I’m sorry, Alex, but I’ll never marry you.”

The pain of those words spoken aloud caught her off guard. She nearly stumbled as she hurried away from him, leaving him in the shadows, along with her dreams.

“I can’t believe you wore a costume.”

Michael gave a hard glare to Hawkhurst before turning his attention back to the dance floor. It didn’t help matters that his friend was dressed in formal evening attire.

“At least we didn’t have to wear masks to this thing,” Michael said.

“Didn’t have to wear a costume either.”

“It is a costume ball. By its very nature it requires a costume.”

“You’ve never before followed the dictates of a gilded invitation.”

“I’ve never before been married.”

“You’ll do anything she asks of you.”

Michael ground his teeth together. “Sadly, that’s the truth of my circumstances. I’m beginning to think Louisa’s brother did you a favor by ensuring that all of London knew you’d compromised his sister. If Jenny is half as stubborn at Kate—”

“Not making much progress at earning her affections?”

“I’d not thought so”—he considered the way Kate had watched him as they’d danced—“but I may have made great strides this evening.”

If he’d known chain mail would have done the trick, he’d have donned it on his wedding night.

“I can’t believe your patience with her.”

“I have to admit—” He shook his head. No, he wasn’t going to admit, not even to a trusted friend, that he found himself actually wanting to please Kate. For all his grumbling and disappointment that she had requirements that must be met, he always felt a certain sense of accomplishment whenever he caused her to smile. And when he made her laugh…he thought there was no sweeter sound in all the world than her laughter.

“You have to admit…?” Hawkhurst prodded.

“I have to admit as much as I enjoy chatting with you, I’ve promised my wife another dance. So if you will excuse me, duty awaits.”

“I think Louisa would warn you that as long as you view dancing with your wife a duty, she’ll not come to love you.”

“I suppose you don’t see dancing with your wife as a duty?”

Hawkhurst, damn him, smiled broadly. “Any moment spent with her is a pleasure.”

“You’ve effectively served to ruin my good humor.”

“My apologies. I was actually hoping to offer you a bit of advice. Make her believe you’d rather have her in your arms than anyone else. To do that, you can’t think of it as a duty.”

Michael nodded. Being with Kate was pleasurable. He
was
foolish to view dancing with her as a duty. “Your advice is well heeded. Now, if you’ll excuse me?”

“Of course.”

He strode away from his friend, surprised to find he envied Hawkhurst. He’d married a woman with no funds, and yet he seemed absolutely content and madly in love. Michael had no plans ever to be madly in love. His wife was leading him around enough as it was. To love her as well would give her far too much power over him. She had enough as it was. Although, in truth, being at her mercy was not nearly as unpleasant as he’d expected it to be.

He spotted Kate standing near a set of doors leading on to the garden, talking with a man. But that wasn’t what gave him pause.

It was the open, unmasked expression on her face: adoration, yearning…desire.

A possessiveness he didn’t understand, a jealousy he’d never before experienced roared through him, almost painfully. He wanted to deny what he was witnessing, wanted to deny the desperation with which he longed to have her look at him in the same manner.

Wanted to reject the realization that no matter what he did, he would never receive such devotion from her.

Taking a deep breath, he strode toward the couple, recognizing the man as he neared: Wesley Wiggins, third son to Viscount Wiggins. A man who’d nabbed an American heiress of his own. He posed no threat to Michael, and yet, Michael couldn’t help but feel that he did.

He arrived with a loudness to his heels that caused the couple to turn toward him, with Wiggins blushing almost as profusely as Kate.

“My lord,” Kate said, her smile uneasy, “allow me the honor of—”

“Mr.
Wiggins and I are acquainted.” It pleased him immensely to reinforce with his address Wiggins’s lack of a title.

“Oh, yes, of course. I suppose you move in the same circle, being part of the Set and all that.”

“Where is your lovely wife?” Michael asked.

If at all possible, Wiggins’s blush deepened. “She’s not feeling well this evening. I escorted her sisters.”

“I would have thought you’d have stayed by her side.”

“There was little I could do to ease her discomfort.”

Yet, Michael could imagine the disfavor he’d receive from his own wife if he left her while she wasn’t feeling well. Perhaps it was the reason he took some comfort in pointing out Wiggins’s failure. Although to his chagrin, Kate seemed unfazed by it.

“I was hoping to have the honor of dancing with your wife,” Wiggins said into the silence that had suddenly surrounded them.

This dance was his, damn it. And yet, he could see in Kate’s eyes…what? Hesitation? Uncertainty? Anticipation?

Michael wasn’t certain exactly what Wiggins meant to Kate, but he sensed the man was a threat. A threat in some manner, to either Kate or Michael or perhaps their future.

He wasn’t one to take threats lightly.

“Regrettably for you, I have anticipated this dance with my wife far too much to give it up now.”

He extended his arm toward Kate, who looked startled. Did she truly believe he would give her to another man so easily?

She smiled at Wiggins. “It was a pleasure to see you again.”

“And you, my lady.”