Pride and Pleasure (Historical #3)

Pride and Pleasure (Historical #3) Page 7

“It was expected,” she qualified. “I wouldn’t call it natural. As you said, he died before his time.”

“And your mother’s death? Are you confident it was an accident?”

“The only surprise about her demise was how long it took to happen,” she said sharply.

“Eliza…” Jasper came to sit beside her.

The air around her became charged with his energy.

I never feel so alive as I do when I am the object of a man’s desire, her mother had said, while spinning like a giddy girl with her skirts held in each hand. The blood sings, Eliza. The heart races. It is the most glorious feeling in the world.

Why did Jasper have to be the man to awaken such reactions in her? Why did he have to prove, just by breathing, that she wasn’t immune to needing someone after all? She was so disappointed to realize there were indeed some shades of pleasure that could be colored only by another hand.

His dark eyes were warm with concern. “Please understand, I only wish to be thorough. Your safety is of the utmost importance to me.”

She nodded, believing the sincerity in his tone. A lock of her hair was dislodged by the movement, slipping free of her hastily tied ribbon to slide over her shoulder.

He stood. Holding out a hand, he assisted her to her feet. “Turn around.”

As Eliza pivoted, she disturbed the air, allowing the primitive scent that clung to him—horses and leather, tobacco and bergamot—to tease her senses. She jumped slightly at the feel of his fingers against her nape. Awareness of him swept outward, flowing across her skin like warm water. He lifted the curl from her shoulder and rubbed it between his fingers.

“Like fine silk,” he murmured. He loosened the ribbon securing her hair, returned the errant lock to its former place, and retied the whole more securely.

Her gaze darted around the room, hyperaware of her surroundings. Everything was rendered in brilliant clarity, from the crystals hanging from the many ornate candlesticks to the inlaid mother-of-pearl glimmering from the tops of the end tables.

In the swirling confusion, she grasped the first thought that came to her. “Are you one of those gentlemen who has an unusually strong interest in red hair?”

“I have an unusually strong interest in you.” He pressed his lips to the bare skin between her shoulder and throat.

“Jasper,” she whispered, shocked by the violent quiver that moved through her. “What are you doing? Why did you come now…tonight…when I’ll be seeing you tomorrow?”

His hands fell to his sides. “I saw the way you looked at Montague. What he said made you see him in a way you haven’t before.”

Eliza faced him. He was more than a head taller, but his frame curved toward her in a way that made their proximity searingly intimate. As if he was about to twirl her into a waltz.

Her heart beat a little faster. Her breathing quickened. “I don’t understand.”

He cupped her chin and tilted her face upward. “You looked at him the way you look at me.”

“That’s impossible.” Montague incited none of this turmoil.

“I need you to regard me in the same manner with which I regard you.”

She was arrested by the way he looked her over. So intent. With a gaze that was fierce. Fervent. His fingertips followed the path of his perusal. Touching her forehead. Tracing her brows. Following the bridge of her nose.

Eliza, in turn, studied him unabashedly. His features were so perfectly formed, beautiful in their symmetry but masculine in their lines. It was such a pleasure to look upon him; he made her want to stare.

“How do I regard you now?” she queried breathlessly.

“Too aware. Trying to reason your way out of this attraction. Stop thinking,” he murmured. Tilting his head, he lowered his mouth toward hers. The approach was slow and deliberate. His grip was loose and without force. “Let yourself feel it.”

She stumbled back, panting because she couldn’t breathe when he was so close.

Jasper watched her retreat with hooded eyes. She was nearly beyond arm’s reach when he growled and caught her back. His lips sealed over hers with a boldness that stole what was left of her air. With one hand at her nape and an arm around her waist, Jasper took her mouth as if he owned it. Undeniably skilled and…hungry. A slanting, suckling, ferocious possession that stunned her completely.

Eliza sagged into him, unable to comprehend the ardor with which he kissed her. His body was astonishingly hard, like warm marble. From shoulder to thigh, he pressed unyieldingly against her. Without the barrier of her stays the sensation was…Dear God, she couldn’t describe the need she had to touch more of him. Her hands clenched and released at her sides, reaching for him, then falling away.

Where should—could—she touch him?

As if he understood, Jasper’s hand at her nape followed the length of her arm down to her wrist. His fingers circled it, then lifted her hand to his chest. Between his coat and waistcoat he urged her palm to splay over his heart. His skin burned through the layers of clothing between them. His heartbeat raced with the same recklessness as hers.

Her other hand clenched the hem of his coat. She whimpered, overwhelmed.

Her capitulation gentled him. The press of his lips softened and his grip slackened enough to allow her lungs to expand. Teasing rather than taking, Jasper licked the lower curve of her lip, goading her to taste him back. She did, trembling, uncertain.

At the first flick of her tongue, he captured it with soft suction. Startled, Eliza jerked in his arms, her breasts flattening against his chest. His groan vibrated against her, tumbling across sensitized nerve endings.

“Eliza.”

The clock on the mantel began to chime on the half hour, but Eliza was lost to time, focused instead on the luxuriant licks stroking deep into her mouth. Her hand moved across Jasper’s torso, feeling the muscles tense beneath her touch. A sound escaped her, a soft plea.

Jasper lifted his head, breathing hard. With heavy-lidded eyes, he studied her face.

“This,” he said gruffly, “is how you should look at me, the way you look at no one else. As if you long for me to finish what I’ve started. As if you ache to feel my mouth on you, my hands on you.”

She did ache. And felt unappeased, as if she had an un-quenched thirst. Her skin was too sensitive. Her fingers trembled. She was far too hot.

He stepped back and turned away in a motion as elegant as it was powerful. She couldn’t help but follow him with her gaze. He was such a large and finely built man, yet he moved with such grace.

“Jasper.” Her pulse leaped at the look he shot her. “Tomorrow night…I will save the first waltz for you.”

She hadn’t meant to say that. In retrospect, she wasn’t certain she’d had anything to say at all. She simply felt the unaccountable urge to stay him and keep him just a little while longer. And she wanted to dance with him, to stand within the circle of his arms in a place where there was safety in numbers.

He returned. Reaching for her hand, he lifted it and pressed a kiss to the back, giving her fingers a squeeze that only added to the tingling his lips had evoked. “I’m not well versed in dancing. Let me rephrase: I do not know how.”

“You don’t?” Eliza was astonished by the pronouncement and the lack of education it implied. But he comported himself without fault and was well-spoken.

It would be weeks before Tobias Reynolds returned. How would she bear the wondering about his origins until then?

Jasper’s smile chased her ruminations away and curled her toes. “I shall endeavor to please you in other ways. Be assured, I will not rest until you’re completely satisfied. Until tomorrow.”

He departed the room. It was several minutes later before Eliza felt steady enough to do the same.

It was a beautiful afternoon. A brief spate of rain before the sun rose had cleared the worst of the soot from the air, leaving behind a pale blue sky. It was the kind of day that lightened moods and increased the proliferation of smiles.

But Eliza was nervous.

It was a rarity for her to feel out of sorts. There were very few things that affected her mood in a negative way, because reason so often provided the answers required to accept any given situation. But physical attraction had no reason. It was instinctual and separate from the mind. And she wasn’t immune to it, as she’d hoped she would be.

What was she to say to Jasper, who was waiting in the parlor to escort her about town for the day? She sighed and turned away from the cheval mirror. Perhaps it would be best to leave the opening of discussion to him. A man such as Jasper Bond must be familiar with such circumstances.

She descended to the ground-level floor with studiously controlled speed, her hand coasting along the top of the wooden handrail to support less than steady steps. She was still chastising herself for deliberately selecting a pale yellow gown, one of the few pastel colors that suited her. It hadn’t been laid out on the far right. What did she hope to gain by encouraging Jasper’s interest?

On the other hand, what did she have to lose?

“Mr. Bond,” she said as she entered the parlor, steeling herself for the sight of him and finding the effort ineffective. When her brain stopped, her feet followed suit by abruptly halting their forward movement. She stumbled.

In the process of standing, Jasper was agile enough to lunge forward and catch her by the elbows. He steadied her with a frown. “Eliza.”

“Thank you.” She pulled free and stepped back, needing some distance to catch her breath.

How dangerously handsome he was. The fine cut and quality of his dark green velvet coat and the beautiful silver-threaded embroidery in his pale green waistcoat enticed the eye to linger and admire. His fawn-colored breeches hugged powerful horseman’s thighs, a sight that made her feel things she oughtn’t. But that was merely the packaging. It was the man inside the trappings who so appealed to her. The magnetism he exuded. The sense that at any moment something extraordinary would happen. The phantom tingling of her lips that brought heated reminiscences of his kiss to mind.

She looked away, seeking the clock to distract herself.

“You’re early.” She startled herself by feeling…pleased by that.

“You wreak havoc on a man’s schedule,” he said with a slight smile to soften the sting.

The tiny warmth in her chest blossomed.

“You look lovely, Eliza.” His voice lowered. “I wanted a few moments of your time before I’m restrained by decorum.”

“You will be restrained by me, young man.”

Eliza turned as Regina, Lady Collingsworth, entered the room like a whirlwind. She was a guinea-blond matron with piercing blue eyes and cherry-red cheeks. A sweet and pleasant woman for the most part, she was capable of a great force of will, and she took in Jasper’s appearance with a steely glance.

Wagging a closed fan at him, she said, “You are a pretty fellow, Mr. Bond. Accustomed to testing your boundaries and finding little resistance, I bet. But I will not tolerate such nonsense. You’ll behave yourself. If you want the right to be naughty, you will have to provide more than charm and a smile.”

The top of her ladyship’s head barely reached Jasper’s shoulder, but there was no doubt she could manage him.

Eliza quickly introduced them. “Her ladyship and her son, Lord Collingsworth, will be escorting us today.”

Jasper sketched a faultlessly elegant bow. “A pleasure, Lady Collingsworth.”

“Let us see if you feel the same by the end of the afternoon.”

In short order they were on their way, comfortably seated in Lord Collingsworth’s barouche with the men on one side, and Eliza and Regina on the other. Eliza studied the two gentlemen from beneath the shade of her wide-brimmed hat, attempting to resolve in her mind why she should be so attracted to one man above all others. Was it because Jasper seemed to be equally attracted to her? If so, perhaps the simplest solution was to discuss it with him and see if he wouldn’t be willing to be less overt. He’d given no serious indication that he was doing anything more than being very, very thorough about his work. And she knew she wasn’t the sort of female who incited raging passions in men.

The thought had a depressive effect on her sprits.

Determined to be less maudlin, she moved her attention to Lord Collingsworth. The epitome of aristocratic excellence, his lordship was tall and slender with stern lips and an aquiline nose. His hair was as light as his mother’s, but he lacked her liveliness. Collingsworth had lost both wife and unborn child a year ago, and the light of joy that once filled him had died along with them. His grief was reflected in the somberness of his clothing and the rarity of his smiles. Eliza was still trying to comprehend why the things that brought him happiness before his marriage were no longer capable of doing so now. Yes, he’d lost what Lady Collingsworth had brought to him, but surely he retained the interests he’d had as a bachelor?

Clearly, she was missing something required to reason out the answer. She was becoming resigned to the notion that she would never be capable of understanding romantic natures.

Jasper’s boot tapped against the side of her foot. She met his gaze with raised brows.

Look at me, he mouthed with darkened eyes.

Did he not understand how difficult that was? Of course he didn’t. He did not feel overheated and confused when he looked at her. He didn’t struggle to understand why the act of pressing their lips together had created overwhelming feelings in other parts of the anatomy.

Frustrated, she crossed her arms and looked at the passing carriages.

The toe of his boot touched her ankle, then slid up along the back of her lower calf.

Eliza froze. Her lungs seized, holding her breath. A shiver moved up her leg to unmentionable places. Wide-eyed, she glanced at him.

Jasper winked. As indignation welled up within her, his tongue traced the curve of his lower lip in a slow, sensual glide. Her breath left her in a rush. Instantly and viscerally she recalled the feel of that talented tongue against her lips and in her mouth, thrusting deep and sure in imitation of a far more intimate act.