"Jude, I want to talk to him. But I want you to come along."
He took a deep breath, trying to cool his own surprising temper. "What is there to say? If you like, I can go on my own. Convince him to leave you alone."
"With your charm?"
"Of course."
"You don't look very charming right now."
He shrugged one shoulder and tried to look less violent.
"No, I want to speak with him. It's too soon to be sure. ... I didn't plan to say anything yet, but I'm ... my stomach feels quite... achy."
"Morning sickness?" he asked, as half the blood seemed to rush from his head.
"No. Not that."
"Oh," Jude said. "I see."
"I'll know for certain in a day or two, but I thought if I told him, he might finally give up."
"Ah, yes. That's clever. He'll leave you alone if he knows there's no hope." Jude wondered if he was talking about himself or Peter White. But that was ridiculous. Jude hadn't given up hope yet. Babe or no babe, Marissa had started opening up to him. "I'll come with you. It's nearly ten now."
"Thank you." Instead of taking his arm, Marissa reached for his hand, and they walked like that through the quiet dark, each keeping their thoughts close.
Hallway to the stables, she finally broke the silence.
"What was it like when you lived in your mother's home?"
"Well, I knew nothing different at First. It was a home like any other, full of servants and visitors and parties. A happy place, though sometimes not ideal for a child. My mother would send me away to the country with my nurse sometimes, and I was dreadfully lonely without her. She's warm and full of wit and laughter."
"It sounds strangely ideal."
"Oh, there was the occasional fight with a neighbor child who called her names, but ..." He shrugged those darker memories away. "But I was happy and loved."
He caught the glint of her eyes when she looked toward him. Her hand squeezed his. "When were you sent to live with your father? You were raised in his household, weren't you?"
"Yes." The heartbreak felt old as time now, and yet it still ached if touched.
"Jude—"
"It's neither tragic nor very dramatic. He married when I was three, and by the time I was eight, his family was established and he sent for me. My mother could hardly say no. He'd acknowledged me from the start, and she reminded me every day that I should be grateful for that generosity. And if he wanted to give me the life of a duke's son ..."
"But the duchess?"
"Oh, she was as understanding as she could be, under the circumstances. Not loving, but not cruel either. It helped that I had been born before they met, I'm sure. And my half brothers treated me as an older cousin. We were close enough. I would've been overjoyed with the arrangement if I hadn't been so homesick."
Marissa stopped and turned toward him. Her hand touched his face, shaping to fit his cheek. "I'm sorry. I can't imagine being sent away."
"Most boys are sent to school at that age, you know. Earlier even."
"And I'm sure they all suffer from it. And your poor mother ... I missed my brothers horribly when they were at school. She must have been devastated."
"We are close as ever. The story has a happy ending."
"I'm glad," she breathed, and Jude couldn't help but kiss her.
Their mouths met in desperation. A wildness unlike any kiss they'd yet shared. A threat hung over them. This charade might soon come to an end, and then they'd have no excuse to touch each other. No excuse to kiss.
But the charade shouldn't matter. He'd determined to convince her to love him and, pregnancy or not, he still could. She felt it too, after all, the threat of an ending. Her hands clutched him tight, and she kissed him as if she wanted to devour him before it was too late.
If it weren't for Peter White's imminent arrival, Jude would take her hair down. He'd run his fingers through the heavy red-blond locks and see her as no other man had. He'd carry her into the stables and lay her down and show her that she could not dismiss him.
He could overwhelm her with pleasure. He knew he could. A woman like Marissa would bloom under a wicked tutelage. But lust was a crumbling foundation on which to build a future. Lust would not support a year together, much less a life.
In that moment, he saw that he wanted everything, not just her lust.
So instead of sweeping her up into his arms, Jude set her back. "We'd best get this over with and return before we're missed."
"Yes," she said, though her voice was soft enough to get lost in the rustle of the trees around them.
She turned and trudged on without taking his hand.
"Marissa!" a voice hissed just as she drew even with the stable. "Is that you?"
"It's Miss York," she snapped back.
"Yes, of course. I meant no offense."
"What did you wish to speak with me about, Mr. White?"
"I feel as if we left things in an unfortunate state the last time we met. I desperately wish to rectify that, Miss York. I know you must have some feelings for me, else you wouldn't have—who in the world is that?" Peter White took a few frantic steps back.
Jude smiled.
"It's Mr. Bertrand," Marissa answered, her tone a bit too dismissive for Jude's taste.
"Well, what's he doing here?"
"He's here to be sure you don't cause offense, Mr. White."
"I would never seek to cause you harm, Marissa. You must believe me!" He threw his hands high in a dramatic gesture, and Jude tensed. He'd hung back to give them a semblance of privacy, but he was within two seconds of knocking Peter White to the ground the man raised a hand in her direction.
"Be that as it may," Marissa continued in a cool tone, "I only met you here to insist you cease writing to me."
"I can't give up—"
"You must give up. You attempted to trick me into marriage alter I'd twice refused your offer. You meant to take that choice from me, and I'll never forgive you for that."
"But you're ruined!" Amazingly, the man actually sounded sincerely concerned for her future.
"If you're implying that no man will want me, I'm forced to tell you that you're quite wrong. Mr. Bertrand has offered for my hand, and I've accepted."
"That's... that's not possible!" White's head turned toward Jude. "What kind of a man would take another man's leavings?"
Jude had been lounging against the side of the stable, but he stood straight at those words. "Pardon me?" he drawled as violence crept into his blood.
"Urn ..." White backed up again, stumbling a bit over a clump of grass. "Please understand. She may be carrying my child!"
Jude felt Marissa's touch and looked down to see her hand on his fist. "It is my opinion," he growled, "that only the lowest cur takes advantage of a woman and then abuses her for participating. Is that what you are, sir? A dog in need of putting down?"
"Because if you think I will not beat you within an inch of your life, then you are stupid as well as immoral!"
When Marissa wrapped her hands around his
arm, Jude realized he'd stalked two steps closer to White. Almost within striking distance now. His hands shook with fury.
"Mr. White," she said quietly. "I am not carrying your child, so the matter is finished."
The man's eyes jerked nervously between Jude and Marissa. "Are you sure?"
"Yes. So please consider me a stranger. I do not wish to see you again."
"And," Jude added, "I promise you that if you breathe one foul word about her, I will hear of it, and I will kill you. Do you hear me?"
White seemed to sense that the immediate danger had passed, as he pulled his shoulders hack and primly straightened his cuffs. "I do. Good-bye, Miss York. I only regret that my intentions have been misunderstood. I wish you the best in your fortuitous marriage."
Though Jude ached with the need to pounce, he let the man turn around and walk off into the night.
Marissa let out her breath in a long sigh. "My word, Jude. You are terrifying when you're angry."
"I cannot stand men like him."
She raised a knowing eyebrow.
"And not only because of my mother," he muttered.
"Were men cruel to her?"
"No, my mother is a good judge of character, but many of her friends were ill-used. Often it's how they came to be in that profession. Seduced by a gentleman, then cast aside like rubbish." He let Marissa turn him back toward the house.
After a few steps, she asked a very quiet question. "Is that what my brother does?"
"Who? Aidan?"
Not meeting his eyes, she nodded.
"No, I wouldn't call him a friend if he did. Aidan might be cold, but he's unfailingly honest. He does not love them and makes that clear."
"But they love him?"
"Only the very foolish ones, Marissa."
"He is just so cold now. And the stories I hear... I worry."
He was finally calm enough to feel that her hand trembled against his arm, and Jude pulled her to a sudden stop. "You're shaking. Are you all right?"
"Yes, I'm just feeling a bit... drained. I wasn't expecting to believe anything Peter White said."
"Did you?"
"Yes! And that's what so frightening. That he may have truly cared for me when he tried to force me into a future I did not want."
Jude made a sound of agreement as he wrapped her in his arms, but pain bloomed in his chest at her words. Is that what she thought of him, as well?
"Jude," she sighed. "You've been so good to me."
Closing his eyes, Jude breathed in the flowered scent of her hair, his whole body tightening with arousal as he drew her in. But he only held her, hoping he could calm her even as his mind raced. If he had to let her go, he'd do so with grace. Or at least pretend to.
"You're warm," she whispered, unbuttoning his coat to slide her hands against his shirt. For a moment it seemed an innocent quest for comfort, but she kept touching him in wide, slow strokes, and then she pressed her lips against his heart.
"Marissa," he said, meaning to remind her that someone would surely notice their absence soon, but then she whispered "Kiss me. Please?" and the warning died in his throat.
He kissed her, just as she'd asked, aware of her body melting into his as she met his sigh with one of her own. But Marissa was no longer content with just being kissed, and he could feel the racing emotion like another pulse beneath her skin. She kissed him hard and slid her hands along his waist, tugging at the fabric ... and he suddenly felt the electric shock of her hands on his bare skin.
Stop,
his brain said, but his body was still primed with aggression from the confrontation with White. His mouth refused to free itself. His throat refused to form a sound of warning. Instead he growled encouragement as she pushed his shirt higher and spread her hands wide.
Yes, this was what he wanted from her. Her arms holding him, nails digging into his skin to urge him closer. He wanted closer. He wanted in.
They were just past the small gazebo, a private little bower where they wouldn't be disturbed, the perfect place for a seduction, though he had no idea who was being seduced. Him or her or both of them.
Jude picked her up, just as he'd yearned to before, and he carried her into the gazebo as she kissed his neck, her mouth impossibly hot against his skin. The edge of his cravat kept her from exploring further, and he wanted to tear it off, throw down his coat and shirt, and let her explore as she wished. She was right, after all; he wasn't her tutor. He wasn't her master. He was her equal, and in that moment he regretted the control he'd exercised over his own lust. Who the hell was he to protect her from herself?
So he did it. Jude set her on a cushioned bench and shrugged out of his coat. He pulled at the knot of his cravat, and tugged his shirt over his head.
Moonlight slanted through the latticed wood, throwing ribbons of light across her face. It was just enough to make out her hungry eyes as he sat down and pulled her onto his lap.
'Jude," she breathed, pressing kisses to his shoulder. Her hands ran eager paths down his arms and back up, then around to his back before touching his chest again. "My God ..."
He held her by the waist and let her do what she wanted. Anything she wanted. She licked his neck and kissed his nipples and nuzzled her cheek against the hair on his chest. She whispered how large he was, and hot, and how much she'd wanted to do this. Her innocence was a starving thing, and in that moment, he was shocked she hadn't lost her maidenhead long ago. Passion seemed to have replaced the very blood in her veins.
"I want to see all of you," she whispered, the words a strange combination of lust and embarrassment. He would've said no if she demanded it, but she sounded so tentative.
Cursing himself, Jude reached for the buttons of his trousers, and Marissa slid back to give him room.
In that moment, the moon lit her whole face, and Jude froze. He wanted more than this lust, more than this night.