Tempting the Marquess (17 page)

Absolutely.

There you had it.

How low the mighty had fallen.

He would not allow her to become fallen, though. He could have pleasure of her, and she of him, without her getting ruined. She would just go to her marriage bed a little more informed.

The thought of Livvy getting married sent a bolt of white-hot rage racing through him. The violence of his reaction left him shaken . . . and ashamed.

As he had told Edward earlier, he had no intention of getting remarried, not just to Livvy, but to any woman. If he wasn’t going to put his ring on her finger, was it really fair for him to begrudge her finding some other man to do it? No, of course it wasn’t fair, but he did all the same. At the moment she belonged to him, and Jason was not a man who shared what was his.

He entered the Great Hall, his eyes involuntarily seeking her out amongst the crowd. She was not hard to find. Most of the women present were married or widowed, and Livvy’s light-colored dress stood out amongst the deeper hues of their gowns. A beacon of her innocence.

He quashed down on the guilt that rose up in his throat. It wasn’t as if she didn’t want his attentions, he reminded himself. And in any case, she would still be innocent when she left Arlyss. She would have a much clearer idea of the relations between men and women, but she would remain a virgin. On that point he remained firm.

An unfortunate choice of words. He was already beginning to feel the flutterings of arousal. Damnation. He was as randy as a goat. And he was not happy to see that Charles had been Livvy’s partner through the dance. The two of them were too close for his liking. Would Olivia turn to him once she and Jason were through? Assuming, of course, that they ever actually began. It was not a thought he wanted to dwell on.

He forced his mind—and his gaze—in another direction and saw Callista determinedly making her way to him through the crush. Bloody perfect. He hoped she had enough common decency not to grope him publicly with her husband nearby. Then again, if Vernon ran him through with a sword or put a lead ball in him, he would have to take to his bed until Olivia was safely gone.

“My lord,” Callista simpered, batting her lashes at him. “I had begun to believe you had disappeared.”

No such luck,
he thought glumly.

He bowed. “Lady Vernon.”

“So formal with an old friend?” she chided.

To make a scene or not to make a scene, that was the question. He wanted to tell Callista that not only had they never been friends, they never would be. How the mild-mannered vicar and his meek mouse of a wife had produced such a hellcat for a daughter was beyond him. She had been wild as a child and had only become worse with age.

Her marriage to the elderly baronet had elevated her position in Society, and she had become so proud and bold as to believe the rules of polite society no longer applied to her. He decided then that he would not give her the dressing-down she so richly deserved. She would bring about her own downfall soon enough with her grand airs and her loose tongue.

“Was there something you wanted,
my lady
?”

She sulked at his insistence at formality.

“You haven’t yet asked me to dance, my lord,” she said, lowering her gaze to his groin. “I’m certain we would both find the activity
invigorating
.”

She took his hand and began leading him over to the other dancers.

Jason spoke in a voice low enough that only she could hear. “I will dance with you, Lady Vernon, because there would be talk if I turned and walked away from you now, and I don’t want to cast a blight on my stepmother’s party. I told you earlier not to touch me again. As this was not a particularly complicated request, I must conclude that you are either abysmally stupid or, more likely, you have deluded yourself into thinking you are irresistible. In either case, I trust I will not have to tell you again.”

Her eyes blazed with anger as the musicians began to play a cotillion. At least he’d be able to keep trading her off to the other men who’d had the misfortune to join their set.

He bowed.

She curtsied.

They joined hands and stepped toward each other.

Or rather, he stepped toward her. She gave more of a leap and landed on his toes with as much force as she could muster. Damn, but that had hurt!

Jason shot her a warning glance.

Her eyes were fixed on his crotch.

He sighed.

It was going to be a long night.

There, she had admitted it.

She was in love with Jason.

When she’d overheard Lady Vernon, she had been devastated. Her worst fears about allowing herself to care and ending up heartbroken had seemed to be crashing down on her. But she had worried for nothing. She had been right to trust Jason with her heart. He wouldn’t hurt her, at least not intentionally.

Livvy had no illusions that Jason was going to suddenly fall in love with her before she left. And as he certainly wasn’t going to be in London for her Season, once she left, she could not look back. But she knew she would and she wanted to be able to do so without regret.

Life was short. In the past year she’d nearly lost both her sister and her brother-in-law. She didn’t know if she would ever fall in love again. Maybe someday, if she could see her way to somehow falling out of love with Jason, but there was no knowing for certain.

The future was hazy.

The present was clear.

She was prepared to live in the moment and take whatever Jason would give her.

She took a deep breath and opened the door to the library. She swallowed hard. Jason lounged on the wooden settle beneath the window wearing the red silk banyan she’d seen him in the night of Edward’s episode. Only the faintest sliver of moon remained in the sky, and the only light in the room came from the golden glow of the fire and the few scattered candles Jason must have collected and lit.

She had thought him beautiful in the moonlight, like a fine marble statue of antiquity, but by firelight he was perfection. The flickering flames cast dancing shadows on him, gilding the olive tones in his skin and highlighting the sable undertones in his raven hair. On his chest, in the vee of flesh exposed by his robe, she saw dark, crisp curls, the same color as the hair on his head. Her mouth nearly watered at the sight of that naked skin; at the knowledge that she could reach out and touch him with no barriers to get in the way.

He rose in one fluid motion and walked over to her. His feet were bare, as were his muscled calves. This time he wasn’t wearing anything under his banyan.

Knowing how he felt about her hideous monstrosity of a wrapper, she had dismissed her maid once her gown and corset were off, telling the girl she would finish undressing herself. She wore only her chemise, stockings, slippers, and a shawl she’d wrapped around her shoulders to ward off a chill, though the last seemed a foolish precaution, as she was burning up inside. She should have felt shockingly underdressed. But faced with Jason in that loosely belted silk robe—really, she could undo the knot at his waist with little more than a tug—she felt as though she was wearing a ridiculous amount of clothing. Which probably accounted for her sudden desire to strip it all off and launch herself at him.

“You came.” He sounded pleased and not a little surprised.

“I told you I would,” she responded breathlessly.

He smiled and inclined his head. “So you did.”

Silence filled the space between them.

Livvy fought the urge to burst out in nervous chatter. She didn’t think inane babble was going to make her more alluring, but if he didn’t say something in five seconds, she wasn’t going to be able to stop herself.

Five . . . four . . . three . . .

“Lock the door, Olivia.”

The sound of his voice, low and rough, did something funny to her insides. She turned around and fumbled with the lock, her hands shaking, and when she heard the bolt slide home, she knew her fate was sealed.

She turned back to Jason and froze. He had shed his banyan and was now totally, gloriously nude.

And he was perfect.

Far more beautiful than the prints of classical sculptures she’d discovered in her father’s library. He was hairier, too. And the male part of him—the part that was proof of his desire for her—did not look as if it could possibly be covered by a fig leaf.

Breathing became difficult. She stumbled her way to one of the settees, never taking her eyes from him.

He placed one hand on his hip. “How shall I pose for you?”

“I—” She licked her lips. “I’m afraid I forgot to bring my drawing materials.”

He dropped his arm. “And here I was set on having my glorious male self immortalized,” he teased.

Olivia gave him a shy smile, beginning to get into the spirit of the game. “I can work from memory, but I’ll need to perform a close study.” She rose somewhat unsteadily, leaving her shawl behind. How had she ever thought this room draughty?

Jason held out his hand to her and she grasped it, needing his warmth. She might be prepared to embark on an adventure, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t a little bit afraid.

“It’s still me, Livvy,” he said, as if he sensed what she was thinking.

“More of you than I’m used to.”

“We can take as long as you need. The last thing I want to do is pressure you into something you’re not ready for.” He bent down to reach for the robe pooled around his feet, but she stopped him.

“I’m ready, Jason. I want this. I want
you
.”

He reached up with his free hand and cupped her cheek in his palm. “Then I’m yours.”

She nestled her face into his hand. “Will you kiss me? I know I didn’t like it much before, but—”

He placed a finger against her lips, quieting her. “It will be different this time.”

He threaded his other hand through her loose hair to cradle the back of her head. With a gentle tug he tilted her head back, angling her to receive his kiss.

Her eyes fluttered closed.

She gasped in surprise when he pressed his lips to the base of her throat, right in the curve where her neck met her shoulder. The next kiss fell on her forehead. The one after that in the sensitive hollow just below her left ear. On and on he went with these surprise kisses, never quite landing where she wanted him.

Her lips parted of their own volition.

“Jason,” she pleaded.

Her knees didn’t feel weak; they felt as though they had turned to liquid. And she wouldn’t be surprised if she swooned, as she was having a difficult time remembering to draw breath. She clutched at his arms, needing support but not wanting to open her eyes for fear this was all a dream.

His lips brushed over hers in a feather-soft caress, so tender and reverent, tears stung beneath her closed eyes. He kissed her like she was made of porcelain, delicate and fragile. She took a step closer to him, twining her arms around his neck.

He ran one of his hands down her back until it was resting lightly on her bottom. She gasped in surprise and he seized the opportunity to slide his tongue into her mouth.

Oh, my. She had never imagined anything like this. She tentatively touched her tongue to his, trying to learn him as he was learning her. He tasted of the wassail, that delicious hot mixture of winter ale, apples, cinnamon, and cloves, which had been served in keeping with the holiday spirit.

Alongside the wassail was a dark, masculine flavor that she knew was Jason. She wanted more. She pressed herself up against him, reveling in his heat and his strength. And in the urgency of his desire, which she could feel clearly against her belly.

He groaned, and she wriggled her hips, trying to get closer still. She wanted to melt into him, into his skin—into his very soul. So this was the reason people risked everything for love. This was the divine madness that obliterated all sense and logic.

He kissed her the way she had dreamed of being kissed. Like she was extraordinary. Like he couldn’t live without her. Like she was a heroine—
his
heroine.

His hand came up to cup her breast, and her head fell back. He pressed hot, openmouthed kisses along the column of her throat as he gently squeezed and kneaded first one breast, then the other, through the thin lawn of her chemise. He lightly nipped her earlobe with his teeth as he pinched the hard bud of one nipple.

“Jason!” she gasped, her knees buckling under the onslaught of such intense pleasure.

He sank down to the floor with her.

“Livvy, are you all right?”

“Again,” she commanded.

He laughed and toppled her onto her back.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

She arched her hips up against him. “Oh, I think I have some idea,” she purred, peering up at him through lowered lashes.

He regarded her with amazement.

She didn’t know how, but she knew just what to do and say. Perhaps she had always had this seductress inside her, lying dormant, waiting for a man like him. A man who would encourage her to act on her every last naughty desire. A man who would want her to be a little more wicked.

He had shocked her with his nakedness. For all her bold talk about drawing him in the nude, she had never expected him to actually allow it. But he had somehow known what she needed before she did. She had been touched that he had offered himself up to her and made himself vulnerable, perhaps the only way he knew how.

She had been freed by his gesture as well, because by doing something so totally unexpected he had wiped away any preconceived ideas she’d had about the way things ought to be. She wasn’t overthinking and fretting that this wasn’t the way things were done in her books. She was free to give herself over to feeling.

“What is that smile for?” Jason asked, tracing the curve of her bottom lip with his index finger.

“I was just thinking that nothing like this ever happens in my books.”

“Thank God,” he teased her. “The last time I was weighed against that standard I came up sorely lacking.”

She lifted her head and bit the tip of his finger. “You have redeemed yourself. I am actually beginning to feel a little sorry for all those heroines. They have no idea what they are missing.”

He gave her a light, tender kiss. “There’s still plenty more to come. But this is better than your books, then?”

“Oh, yes!”

He gave her a lazy, mischievous smile. “And you’re certain you never read about this?” He tweaked her other nipple.

Her back arched up off the floor. “No, never. Blast you, don’t stop.”

His smile deepened. “Then I feel fairly positive they never did this, either.”

He untied the drawstring of her chemise and pulled at the fabric until her breasts were bared to him. “So beautiful,” he murmured appreciatively.

Was that the sort of compliment one was supposed to respond to? It didn’t make much sense. Breasts were breasts. Every other person had a pair—more if you counted portly men like Sir George. If hers pleased Jason, she supposed it was all to the good, but she really wished he would stop staring at them and go back to touching them.

Before she could voice her request, Jason bent his head and licked her breast, circling his tongue around her nipple.

Oh.

Then he gently worried the aching, hardened nub of flesh between his teeth.

Ohhhhhhhh.

When he began to suckle, she dug her fingers into the hard muscles of his shoulders.

“Oh. My. God.”
The words emerged on a strangled moan as pleasure rocketed through her body.

He raised his head. A lock of hair fell forward onto his brow, making him look particularly roguish. Or maybe that was the extremely satisfied grin he was sporting.

“Again?” He cocked an eyebrow.

“Forever,” she told him, drawing his head back down. She felt his smothered laughter against her breast, and then there was only the pull of his mouth stirring up the most wicked, wanton, wonderful sensations.

She couldn’t stop touching him. Her hands roamed restlessly over the smooth, broad planes of his back. She had never imagined what immense joy could be derived from the simple act of touching and being touched.

But it wasn’t enough. With every new height he roused her to came the growing need for something more. She felt empty and achy inside, and she craved the fulfillment she sensed he could give her. Her hips rocked instinctively beneath him as if trying to direct him to the part of her that throbbed, demanding attention.

He took her mouth again, his kiss hard and passionate and frantic, as if he wanted to consume her. She understood. She wanted to devour him. To bind him to her. To drive him as insane as he was making her.

“God, Livvy,” he groaned, raining kisses over her face. “I want to be inside you so badly.”

His hips bucked against hers and she shifted, spreading her legs, guided by some knowledge as old as time.

He ran one hand along her side, tracing her curves. He didn’t stop until he reached the hem of her chemise.

“Shall I show you what else is missing from these books of yours, Olivia Jane?”