The Hidden Heart (20 page)

He sank his hands into the cloud of her hair, gathering the soft, fragrant mass and squeezing it in his fists, feeling it slip like silk through his fingers. He thought of her lying naked on his bed, her hair spread out gloriously around her, all fire and light and softness, and at the thought, desire shuddered through him.

His hands swept down through her hair and over the curve of her buttocks, and he lifted her up into him, grinding her against the hard, aching staff of his desire. He hated the clothes that lay between them, wanted to feel her flesh against his.

Jessica felt the hard length of him and knew instinctively what it meant. There was an answering, throbbing ache between her legs, and she wanted to open them to him, to take him inside her and ease them both.

He walked with her the few feet to the bed, and they hit the edge of it, tumbling back onto the mattress, sinking down into it. The luxurious softness cupped her body. His leg was between hers, tantalizingly touching the hot, throbbing center of her desire. Jessica arched up against his thigh, rubbing against him to ease the ache. He jerked as if someone had touched a red-hot poker to his flesh, and a groan escaped him. His fingers dug into the bedclothes, for he feared that he would bruise her if he touched her now, so powerful was the need to take her, subdue her, crush her beneath him.

He moved against her, unable to remain still, and his mouth left hers to kiss her face, her throat, her ears. His fingers fumbled at the line of buttons down the front of her dress, pulling, unfastening, even tearing at the more recalcitrant ones. His breath rasped in his throat, heavy and animalistic, and he could hear Jessica’s ragged breath, arousing him even further. She moaned, moving her pelvis against him.

Something was building in her, something powerful, unstoppable. She wanted him, wanted him inside her, easing the ache, wanted him to
do
something to her, she wasn’t sure exactly what. Jessica had never experienced such fevered, desperate, pleasurable sensations. They thrilled and amazed her, creating new and ever-more-hungry desires. With every delightful thing Richard did, the need built in her.

He opened her dress, and his hand slipped beneath it, curving over her breast, caressing and stroking, taking her nipple between his fingers and teasing it into hard, hot life. Jessica sobbed with desire, pressing herself against him, and her hands dug into his hair—painfully, if he had not been too far gone in his hunger to feel the pinch of pain. He cupped one breast in his hand, his hard, callused flesh curving enticingly around hers, so soft and sensitive, and, startling her, he softly kissed the rosy bud of her nipple.

Jessica let out a little sound of something, part need, part satisfaction. Then, amazing her even more, his tongue traced over the button of flesh, teasing it into hardening and prickling. She shivered, wanting more, afraid he would stop, but he did not. Instead, with a sigh of pure pleasure, his mouth settled down over her breast, pulling her nipple into the warm, wet cave of his mouth, stroking and caressing it with his tongue as his lips suckled gently at her breast.

She arched her back, groaning at the sensation of pure, almost unbearable pleasure. As his mouth tugged gently at her breast, moving in a sweet, unhurried rhythm, his leg pressed firmly into her. Jessica moved against it, the pressure inside her multiplying, expanding, swelling into something so huge that she was panting and desperate. Her hands dug into his shoulders, and she moaned his name, moving her hips in a mindless, instinctive rhythm.

And then something burst within her, so hard and bright and powerful that she cried out, her eyes flying open with surprise.

Richard raised his head and looked down at her, seeing the astonished pleasure in her face, the faint flush rising up her chest and throat. He knew that she had climaxed, and it filled him with a rush of pride and triumph, and at the same time sent such white-hot desire jolting through him that it was all he could do not to lose control. He looked at her, filled with a jumble of emotions and sensations, aroused almost past bearing at the thought of her passionate nature, her innocence, her untutored, honest response.

But Jessica saw only his stillness, his surprise, and she knew in a rush that she had done something wrong. She let out a little gasp, her hand flying up to her mouth. “Oh, no! I should not!”

She had not behaved as a lady should; she had felt something no lady was supposed to feel. Never in her aunt’s talk to her when she was going to marry Darius, never amongst all the words of duty and submission and a man’s lower needs, had there ever been any mention of this heady rush of pleasure, this delightful, joyous burst of ecstasy. The marital bed, she had assumed from that one brief, embarrassed lecture, was a place of, at worst, pain and embarrassment, and at best, a necessity quickly over.

Only the depraved, lower sorts of women must feel this, she reasoned, the kind of women who men set up as their mistresses or who, like Leona Vesey, engaged in illicit affairs. Quite frankly, at that moment, Jessica did not care that she was not the sort of woman she should be; that had often seemed to be the case. What she really wanted was to feel that wondrous sensation again, to see what else she could feel, what other tingling sensations awaited her—for there was more to it, she was certain of that. She wanted—oh, a hundred things. To see his naked body, to feel his skin upon hers, to have the tender ache between her legs filled, to see the same sort of pleasure burst in him.

But, looking at Richard, she was sure, with a sudden, horrid sinking sensation, that he was appalled by what she had just done. She had little doubt that his wife would never have been so low, so common, as to moan and rub herself against his leg, all but begging him to take her. Hot anger at the precious Caroline stabbed through her. Caroline would not have shuddered with such wanton, pleasurable release—much less have thought of wanting more…and again….

With a little noise of hurt and embarrassment, Jessica rolled to the side, pulling out from beneath him. Richard, thrumming with passion, struggling for control, groaned, digging his fingers into the bed to keep from reaching out and grabbing her and pulling her back under him. He wanted to take her, thrust into her, ride out his raging desire until he was spent and quivering in release.

But he had seen the horror leap into her face as Jessica realized what she was doing, what she was about to do. He would be a cad to take her, to rip the remaining shreds of her innocence, to use her passionate nature against her and, in so doing, ruin her name and reputation.

So he stayed, fighting back the desperate hunger, as she slipped from his bed and ran out the door. With a groan, he rolled to his side and cursed long and softly.

R
ichard cursed the snow the next morning. It kept him from spending the day as far away from the house as he could, and that was really the only thing he wanted to do. His head pounded from the blows he had taken the night before—and from the fact that he had not fallen asleep until it was almost dawn. There had been no possibility for sleep when his head was filled with thoughts of Jessica lying in her bed on the other side of his bedroom wall. It seemed to him that Baxter must have placed her there solely to torment him.

It was wrong, he told himself, to feel this way about Gabriela’s governess, to want to do with her the things he wanted to do.

However passionate her response had been last night, it was equally clear that she was inexperienced. Virginal. Just as his wife had been when he first brought her to his bed on their wedding night. The fact that Jessica had not reacted with fear as Caroline had did not mean that she would be able to accept lovemaking without regrets or qualms. The distress on her face when she had realized what had just happened to her told him that—and she had not even really known a man yet, had just felt the passion inside herself.

And, Good Lord, what passion it had been!
Simply thinking of it brought his blood to a boil all over again. She had been so natural, so untamed, so unwittingly seductive…He could not keep from thinking what her response would be to his undressing her, caressing her, parting her legs and driving deep within her.

He reminded himself that he could not afford to think this way. She was an innocent woman under his care. His desire should be to protect her, not take her into his bed and seduce her. She was not someone like Leona, the sort of woman one could bed and then forget, nor the sort that he could make his mistress, exposing her to the scorn of the polite world. Even if he provided well for her, so that she did not ever have to work for anyone again, she could not live that way, knowing that she was a kept woman, a scandal. No, Jessica was the sort of woman who should have love and a devoted husband—a marriage and children and everything a woman desired.

Richard knew that he could not give her those things. He would never love again. He could not replace Caroline, and marrying a woman who meant any less to him would seem a sacrilege, an insult to Caroline. He felt low and guilty enough that he could feel such desire for another woman—but to marry again? It would be impossible.

So that morning he locked himself in his study and tried to immerse himself in the account books his manager had brought by. He did not succeed, but at least it gave him an excuse to stay shut away from everyone else all day…even though hardly an hour passed that he did not wonder what Miss Maitland was doing.

What Miss Maitland was doing most of the day was trying to keep a large group of bored and diverse visitors happy—or at least not quarreling. Normally Rachel would have taken over the hostess duties, being the duke’s sister-in-law, but the head cold that had threatened the day before had arrived in full today, and she felt feverish, stuffy nosed and generally miserable, so that instead of helping with the guests, she had to be looked after, as well.

Jessica was in and out of her room all day, making sure that Rachel did not need anything and was taking the nostrums that Miss Brown had prepared for her and generally alleviating the boredom of illness. Jessica was fortunate in that Gabriela liked Rachel and did not like the other guests, so she was happy to sit with Rachel through much of the day, talking and sometimes reading to her. Still, keeping a sick person company was not enough to keep Gabriela occupied all the time, and cooped up in the house as she was, she frequently turned to Jessica with complaints that she was bored or restless.

Leona, not surprisingly, seemed to delight in shocking Miss Pargety and tried to get the same sort of rise out of Mrs. Woods, but with little success. Lord Vesey spent most of his time trying to get up various games of chance with the other men, but he, along with the others, began drinking far earlier in the day than was wise, and Jessica was afraid that trouble would result from it. She had had ample experience with men drinking too much in close quarters from being around military men all her life, and she certainly did not want them getting in their cups and starting fights with one another. She wished with some bitterness that the duke would come out of his isolation in his study and tend to the men, at least.

But he did not. She was sure he was too busy regretting his actions of the night before and trying to avoid her to ever emerge from that hideaway. She had known as soon as she realized what she had done that he would turn away from her. She felt sure he was appalled by her wanton behavior, no doubt very unlike that of his wonderful wife. Jessica cast the duchess a dirty look every time she walked past her portrait. The woman was far too lovely for any other woman ever to hope to compete with her, and Jessica was sure that she had not been outspoken or high tempered or shockingly lustful.

Indeed, many times through the day Jessica wished that she herself were not so shockingly lustful, or at least that her memories of Cleybourne’s kisses and caresses were less clear. It tortured her, thinking about the way his hand had felt on her or the taste of his mouth…or how fire had shot through her just at hearing the sound of his labored breathing. He had wanted her; she knew it. But she also felt sure that he would not admit it—and certainly would not act on it again. He had made it clear the last time he had kissed her that he was later horrified at the notion that he desired her. She knew that he did not want her, and it was stupid of her to want him. She could never have him in any way except as his mistress. He was too in love with his dead wife to remarry, and if he ever did, it would certainly not be to someone like her, below his station and tainted by scandal. All he felt for her was lust, and if at times throughout the day she toyed with the idea that that might be enough for her, she knew that ultimately it would not be. However wild her desire might be, she knew herself well enough to know that her emotions lay not far behind it. She wanted him, and she knew she wanted him in every way.

Was that love?
She wasn’t sure. It seemed absurd to think of loving a man she had known no longer than she had known the duke, a man, moreover, with whom she was so frequently in strife. A faint smile touched her lips as she thought of their arguments. There was always something compelling about their rows. They left her feeling strangely invigorated.

She leaned against the wall beside one of the windows, looking out at the cold, white landscape. But in her mind’s eye she was picturing Cleybourne, his eyes flashing, cheeks flushed with temper as they exchanged words. It made her think of the way his dark eyes had lit with fire last night. Her breasts felt heavy and tender as she thought of him on top of her, anchoring her to the bed. She closed her eyes, wondering what it would be like to feel the full extent of his hunger, the depths of his passion. There was the faint echo of that throb again between her legs, the hint of that tender ache.

Grimacing, she opened her eyes and moved away from the wall, irritated all over again by her own weakness and by Cleybourne’s undeniable power over her. She strode out of the room, determined not to think about him anymore. Walking down the hall, she stepped into the sitting room, where she found Leona looking amused, Mrs. Woods bored, and Miss Pargety sitting straight in her chair, cheeks pink, whether with anger or embarrassment, Jessica was not sure.

Reverend Radfield was there, too, she noticed, carefully examining his fingers, his face expressionless. He looked up as Jessica entered, and his smile was one of great sweetness. “Miss Maitland. How nice of you to join us. We were just discussing how close it is to Christmas and whether any of us will be able to get to our destinations for it. I personally shall be most sorry if I must miss my first Christmas with my new congregation.”

His voice was smooth and educated, his face kind, and for an instant when Jessica looked at him, she thought she detected a faint glint of humor in his eyes, as well. It would be a good thing, she thought, for a man of God to have a sense of humor, especially when dealing with his flock. He was also, she suspected, a liar, since she did not think that Leona was looking sly and Miss Pargety shocked over any discussion of the Christmas holidays. But, she supposed, men of the cloth must also have to be skilled in the art of diplomacy, since she imagined most congregations also contained people who liked each other as little as Lady Vesey and Miss Pargety did.

“Yes, it would be very sad to miss Christmas,” Jessica agreed, and it was then that the idea struck her. “Indeed,” she said, “it has just struck me that we are so near Christmas, and we have not even put up any Christmas decorations. If you will excuse me, I must go talk to Baxter.”

She found the butler in the main dining room, checking on the placement of the silverware by one of the undermaids. “Baxter…”

“Yes, miss.” The butler turned to her with a smile. Though he had been somewhat startled by her forthright manner at first, he had come to like and rely on Jessica a great deal, particularly over the past couple of days, with the bothersome problem of their many uninvited guests.

“I could not help but notice that there are no Christmas decorations in the house.”

The butler’s smile fell away. “No, miss.”

“I would not want to add to the servants’ burden at a time like this, but it occurred to me that adding some Christmas decorations might just lift everyone’s spirits. You could send the gardeners and grooms out to cut down some fir boughs. It isn’t far to the spruce trees in the garden. They would not have to trek very far through the snow. There are some holly bushes right by the back door. And the men are idle, anyway, with the snow. I think everyone would feel better just to smell the scent of them, don’t you? And it would keep the female guests occupied, too. We could make bows from red ribbon and fashion a mistletoe ball, decorate the mantels and doorways with garlands. Perhaps some of the men could help hang them.”

Baxter looked at first eager, then wistful. “Oh, yes, miss, it would brighten up the place, and it would, as you said, give people something to do. But…well, we haven’t celebrated Christmas here for many years now.”

“Not at all?” Jessica asked, amazed.

“Oh, His Grace does not deny us our own dinner and Christmas festivities. He gives us gifts on Boxing Day, of course. But he does not want the house decorated. It…hurts too much, you see. There were decorations all over the house when the accident occurred.”

“Oh. That is too bad. Miss Gabriela will be terribly disappointed. Children are so fond of the Christmas celebration.”

“Yes, miss.” His eyes grew sadder. “Our own little Alana loved the holidays. I know Miss Brown told you about the tragedy.”

“Yes, she did.” Jessica paused, then asked, “Did the duke forbid you to put up the decorations this year?”

“Well, no,” the butler admitted, looking thoughtful. “He did so the first year after the deaths, of course, and then the next, when I asked him, he refused in no uncertain terms.”

“Four years have passed,” Jessica pointed out. “Perhaps he has simply grown used to not having them. But that does not mean he would object to a few garlands being hung here and there, a few touches of holly and mistletoe. Miss Gabriela and I decorated the General’s house every year at this time, and I was thinking how happy it would make her to do so here. It is a very sad time for her, you know, having just lost her great-uncle,” Jessica added. “And I am sure the other guests must be feeling a trifle blue, as well, knowing they may miss Christmas with their loved ones.”

“It would be nice for her,” Baxter mused. “I suppose it might be all right if I asked the gardener to cut a few branches.” The older man smiled, and Jessica could see anticipation beginning to shine in his eyes. “I’m not sure what His Grace would say,” he hedged, looking torn.

“If he says anything, just tell him that I asked you to,” Jessica suggested. She was not at all sure Cleybourne wouldn’t fly into a taking about the decorations. But she did not think that he would blame Baxter. He would bring his complaints straight to her. And, frankly, right now she did not mind the thought of a little row with the duke at all. It would be far better than his locking himself in his study all day, ignoring her.

“I am sure he will tell me about it if it displeases him,” she went on confidently.

“Of course, miss.” The butler turned and hurried off, smiling with anticipation.

It did not take long for the servants to get into the holiday mood. The gardeners and grooms brought in armloads of fir boughs and strands of ivy, and Jessica, Gabriela and Miss Pargety were kept busy most of the day, making bright red bows and knotting them into the garlands, and intertwining holly leaves and ivy, showing clusters of shiny red berries. Even Leona deigned to help, wrapping wire with a ribbon to form an open ball in which to hang mistletoe, which was, she told Lord Kestwick with a sly smile, her favorite holiday plant. Mistletoe was hung in the doorway to the formal drawing room, and garlands were wrapped around the banisters of the stairway and hung over mantels. Soon the air was filled with the refreshing scent of the garlands, and the house took on a festive air. Miss Brown brought out a supply of red wax candles, which they placed about the house, sometimes wrapping a wreath of holly or ivy around the bottom of the candle.

Rachel, waking from an afternoon nap, heard some of the hubbub and came out of her room to find the upper hallway being decorated. She gazed around delightedly at the red candles on the hall tables, the garlands decorating the tops of door frames. After that she insisted on sitting up in bed despite her cold and helping Gabriela twine holly leaves and berries into small wreaths for the candles.