Despite her disapproving tone, Jude fell a coil of satisfaction warm his chest.
"They look very hard."
His thighs tightened at the shock of her words. "Are men's legs not supposed to be hard?" When she shrugged, her gaze skittering back to his legs, Jude's heart beat faster. "All that looking and no touching?"
"Hardly any at all," she sighed miserably.
Jude's nerves sang with awareness, but he kept his expression calm. "Ah, but you are betrothed now. In theory."
She finally looked up al him, brows tightening even as her mouth curved up. 'Jude Bertrand, are you inviting me to explore your limbs?"
"Would a gentleman encourage that sort of thing?" He stretched his arms high, then folded them behind his head and closed his eyes. "But if I were to take a nap, I suppose I'd be at your mercy."
"Jude," she whispered. "I can't. What if someone sees?"
"Shush. We're in the shade, and I'm asleep." But he wasn't asleep. He was tense with painful anticipation. Would she dare? He was mad to even suggest such a thing, and yet he could never stop himself from goading her.
When he realized he was holding his breath, Jude made himself breathe.
"Of the two of us," Marissa murmured, "I'm not sure who is the more scandalous." And then her hand touched his thigh.
It was all innocent touch, if such a thing could be. A gentle laying of a hand just above his knee. And yet a faint tremor shook his bones. The touch stayed tentative and light for a very long time. When he offered no response, she shaped her fingers to his leg.
"You're very solid." Her hand inched up, a shocking slide of faint pressure.
He'd be a damn sight more solid in a few minutes if he let this continue.
She squeezed him lightly, testing his give. "I prefer you in breeches, I think."
"Mm."
The supple buckskin warmed beneath her hand. When she slid her touch toward the inside of his leg, Jude felt his cock thicken.
Christ.
He tried counting to ten. He tried thinking of hunting. He tried to recount the names of all his childhood tutors. But when she made a little humming sound and slid her hand slowly higher, Jude dragged his foot up and propped himself up on his elbows. She jerked her arm back.
"Thought I heard something," he said, and the words set her head turning back and forth to try to locate the nonexistent intruder. On another day, in another place, he'd let Marissa explore his thighs as much as she liked. But not here in the garden. Not when the very thought made him throb.
Goading Marissa York could prove a very dangerous exercise indeed.
Marissa hurried down the stairs, surprised by her eagerness to see Jude again. After luncheon, he'd asked if she'd like to ride to the old church, and Marissa had happily accepted. Her mother was busy gathering up players for the next stage drama, and Marissa was not in the mood for bad acting.
But her leaf-green habit lightened the weight on her heart, and the thought of a ride through the warm autumn with Jude ... it sounded almost as lovely as dancing.
Lovelier perhaps, because when Mr. Dunwoody stepped into the hall, stopping her rush, Marissa felt nothing but regret. "Oh, Mr. Dunwoody. Good afternoon." He wore riding breeches just as Jude did, as the men all rode during the day. But Mr. Dunwoody looked very different in his. Elegant, of course. Or just. . . ornamental? She shook the thought from her head as Dunwoody offered a friendly bow. "I'm off for a ride," she explained with an awkward wave toward the corridor.
"Oh, of course. Forgive me for keeping you. I only wished to ask if I might escort you into dinner tonight."
For a moment, her brain told her to say yes, to cultivate a relationship with anyone but Jude. But she'd made a decision today, and she'd honor it.
"I'm flattered, Mr. Dunwoody, but I fear I've already committed myself."
"Ah. I see. A new suitor, perhaps?" he leased. His words pricked her with both excitement and guilt.
"I..." Her blush worked to the advantage of the story they were wearing, but it was entirely genuine, all the same.
Mr. Dunwoody smiled wider. "I'm relieved to see you looking more yourself. And, uh ... no word from the Samuel family as of yet?"
That erased her awkwardness, and Marissa matched his grin. "They must arrive today."
Marissa was still smiling when she swept out the front door to find the groom waiting with her horse. Her smile didn't falter until she saw Jude, mounted and waiting as well.
It wasn't the sight of Jude that stopped her though. It was his horse.
The horse—if such a beast could be graced with that name—was huge, and just as sturdy and inelegant as Jude himself. In fact, the mount was downright ugly. A gray gelding that was fading to white in splotches and stripes, the poor thing now looked like an old carthorse dingy with grime.
Marissa look her time mounting and arranging skirts, giving herself a moment to recover. But when she looked toward him again, she couldn't help but wince.
"He looks as if he will be put out to pasture soon," she ventured as they walked their horses toward the road. "Perhaps you should find another mount."
He glanced down and patted the beast's neck. "He's only ten, and his gait is perfect." "Oh."
Jude spared a look for her mount. "If I braid his mane, will you like him better?"
Her mare, a sweet, feisty girl named Cleopatra, tossed her head as if she knew she was the focus of attention. "It's only one braid!"
"She's lovely."
Marissa felt he was making some annoying point about her vanity, but she was distracted from her frown by the appearance of Harry and Aidan riding in. The men waved and nodded, as if they both agreed that Marissa and Jude were doing a good job of keeping up appearances.
Aidan's face looked younger in the warm sunlight, as it often did after a good ride. In London he never seemed happy.
"My brother," she murmured to Jude. "I'm happy you're a friend to him."
"What do you mean?"
"For a long while there, he only spent time with Harry, and that was begrudging."
"Ah. I suppose I have seen too much tragedy wrought from love. I did not find his story romantic, so he likes me."
Marissa nodded. The whole of the ton seemed to think Aidan nothing more than a dramatic figure to be used as a centerpiece at dinner parties. A young, handsome bachelor with a story that made the ladies swoon with sighed delight. The love of his life had been snatched from his arms by the cruel hand of death, and he mourned her to this day. What gentle heart could resist that story?
Aidan hated them all.
"You've been a good friend to him, I understand."
"Well, we have common interests. Between his ships and my father's investments, we often travel in the same circles."
"Really? Do you work for your father? I had no idea."
"I do. He enjoys dabbling in his own investments on occasion, and I enjoy having some industrious way to occupy my time. Idle hands make for the devil's work, you know." His gaze slid to her. "Perhaps you need more than stitching to keep you busy."
"Oh, aren't you clever?" She tried to leave it at that, but she found her body actually leaning toward his, curious to know more about this man. Marissa readjusted her posture and tried to look less fascinated. "Where do you travel then?"
"Well, France quite often, for obvious reasons. And all over Europe. Italy, Spain, Portugal. Constantinople was fascinating, of course."
"Constantinople? You've been there?" Well, there was no disguising her eagerness. She didn't even try. She could not imagine such an exotic place.
"I have." His eyes studied her, glinting with pleased assessment. "If we marry, I'd welcome your company when I travel. I'd be pleased to visit the Ottoman again."
She blinked several times, shocked and happy with his words. "Truly? I've... I've never considered.... Would I like it, do you think?"
His smile curved to a wicked angle. "You would love it."
She flushed at his words. The lone of them bespoke admiration and pride and a sure knowledge of her very nature. How could those simple words leave her flustered and overly warm? Marissa clutched her reins too tightly and shifted in the saddle. Cleopatra stepped nervously before relaxing into an easy gait again.
Marissa swallowed and urged her to a trot. She wanted to run, but the mare wasn't warm enough yet, even if Marissa was. She'd never been flustered by talk of travel before. Everything about Jude Bertrand was so very
different.
So unexpectedly intriguing. How did he make her need things from him that she didn't even want?
For instance, right now, she was staring hard toward the horizon, counting the seconds until she could push her marc to a full, hard run. The old church was only miles ahead, and she and Jude would be alone there. When they arrived they would dismount to explore the ruins. They'd disappear behind crumbling walls and overgrown orchards. Even a passing traveler would not be able to spot them.
Surely, he would kiss her, finally.
Finally.
Marissa reminded herself that she'd only known him for two days. And then she urged her horse to a gallop.
Nothing.
He'd done nothing at all. Not a kiss. Not a stolen touch of her hip. Not a winking suggestion that she resume her exploration of his legs while they were away from the manor.
Jude had been a complete gentleman during the ride, and now the horses were happily walking the last few yards toward home.
Marissa's thoughts, however, had been less than ladylike. She still didn't think he was an attractive man, but she'd revised her opinion of his thighs.
Yesterday in the garden, his muscles had been just as hard as she'd expected when she'd touched him. Like stone, but stone that was warm and flexing and contoured into fascinating curves. Every shift of his body had felt like the pull and push of a mountain beneath her hand. And on his horse ... my Cod, on his horse, his thighs had bulged and tightened and pressed with fantastic indecency against his breeches. Marissa had found her breath coming quick and shallow by the time they'd reached the ruins.
Yet, they'd done nothing but stroll. He'd been perfectly respectable, and Marissa was close to snarling with impatience. They were playing at betrothal. She'd earned a kiss!
The packed earth of the stable yard thumped beneath the horses' hooves as boys approached to take the reins. Jude dismounted with a grace that defied his large size... and the large size of his horse.
He reached to help her down, and his hands finally curved around her body, but they didn't linger. He let her go, and Marissa barely managed to not stomp her foot.
Frustrated, she only raised her chin higher. "Thank you for the ride, Mr. Bertrand. I had a wonderful time."
Hands behind his back, he walked with her along the side of the stable. "Why so cross then?"
"I am not cross."
"Really? I was about to start quoting from
The Taming of the Shrew."'
"And now you've called me a shrew. Lovely."
"You say that as if it were my last offense among many."
"Mm."
Jude took her arm and swung her gently around to face him. "What is it,
mon coeur?"
"Why do you call me that? Your heart seems quite content to keep its distance."
"Docs it?" He touched her temple, sweeping a strand of hair back. His lingers brushed the edge of her little riding hat, and she worried it had lost its jaunty angle. Did he not think her pretty enough? Did he not desire a kiss at all?
His eyes told her nothing as he watched her. "I had no idea you wanted it near," he murmured.
And he was right, of course. She wanted nothing to do with his heart, and she was suddenly afraid of the challenge she'd nearly issued.
"We'll be late for luncheon," she whispered, stepping back from the trap of his gaze.
He studied her a moment longer, his dark eyes keeping his thoughts secret, and Marissa let out a sigh of relief when he simply offered his arm. A kiss was one thing, but talk of his heart had been foolish on her part. She did not know enough about her own heart to have that conversation.
He led her into the manor without another word, and at the bottom of the stairs, he bid his farewell and bent over her hand. Marissa was holding her breath, anticipating the brush of his mouth against her skin, when someone called her name.
She looked up in surprise at the eager female voice and spotted her best friend rushing across the entry.
"Beth!" Marissa squealed over the top of Jude's bent head. "You're here!"
He released her hand, and Marissa stepped forward into her friend's embrace.
Beth's mother had been ill for nearly a year, so Marissa hadn't seen her at all during the past Season in London. She'd missed Beth so much that she felt tears prick her eyes.
In that moment, Marissa realized why she'd gone with Peter White. It hadn't just been wickedness or lust. She'd been lonely.
Beth's tight embrace said that she'd been lonely too.
Marissa breathed in the familiar clean scent of Beth's dark hair. Their housekeeper made the soap herself, and it smelled like nothing else but Beth.
"Who is this?" Beth whispered in her ear.
Marissa let her go and turned to look at Jude.
"Oh, allow me to introduce Mr. Bertrand. Mr. Bertrand, this is Miss Elizabeth Samuel."
"Miss Samuel," he said. "It's an honor to meet you."
"Mr. Bertrand," she murmured, her voice quiet with shock.
"If you'll excuse me, I'll leave you two to your visit."
They both watched him walk away until Beth finally shook her head. "Good gracious, that man is quite frightening."
"Oh. Yes, I suppose he is."
"Did you go riding with him?"
"Yes." She felt the weight of Beth's curious gaze, but it was her own guilt that compelled her to blurt out, "He's very nice."
Beth just tugged her toward the stairs. "Come. Let's go to your room. You haven't written in a week. I want to know everything you've done."
Marissa thought that a singularly bad idea, but she pretended to agree.
"How many more proposals have you received?"
Marissa laughed too loudly and then peppered Beth with questions about her mother's health in order to keep her talking. Marissa didn't wish to speak of the past week. But mostly she didn't wish to speak of Jude. Beth wouldn't understand.
Marissa didn't understand it herself.
Dinner had been so lovely with Beth there to chatter with. And Jude as well, near enough to share an occasional smile if not a conversation.
After dinner, Marissa took Beth's arm and strode happily toward the music room, anticipating that the evening would only get better. She was wrong.
Beth's cousin had been far enough away from them at dinner that Marissa had been able to ignore her, but there was no ignoring her now. Nanette held court from her perch on a chair set close to the door.
"My darling Marissa!" she cooed. "I'm so happy to spend time with you again. This year has been so awfully dull, locked away from society."
Marissa gritted her teeth and offered a patently false smile. Nanette had lived with Beth's family for the past four years, and the two women should've been as close as sisters, as they'd come out the same year. But despite that the Samuels had taken Nanette in upon her father's death, she considered herself far above them. Her mother had been the sister of an earl, after all, and she herself was an heiress.
"I've made Aunt Samuel promise to get better. We simply cannot miss another Season! And we were so worried, of course."
"Of course."
Nanette leaned forward conspiratorially. "Did I tell you that Viscount Farington sent me lilies when he realized I would not be in London for the Season?"
"Mm," Marissa hummed, unwilling to say more. She knew that Viscount Farington had sent the flowers to both Beth and Nanette, but there was no point in clarifying it. Nanette would just wink and say that, of course, Viscount Farington had not wanted to be rude.
Beth sat tensely next to her cousin, not saying a word.
"Well," Marissa said, "You were both missed in London this year. Beth, did I mention that Mr. Dunwoody asked after you just yesterday?"
"He did?"
"Do you remember him? He says you met only once."
"Of course I remember. We danced once. Such a graceful gentleman."
"So he is. My favorite partner of late."
Nanette trilled a laugh. "I wonder if he will spare me a dance as well! I shall decide if he's as lovely as you say."
Marissa frowned, but managed to refrain from rolling her eyes. Barely.
Still, she knew she wouldn't be able to hold back her irritation for long, so the sound of the men walking down the corridor was a great relief. Nanette would be too busy flirting to bother with the women much longer.
Marissa bent to whisper quickly in Beth's ear. "I hope you are ready to dance while you're here. Mr. Dunwoody was quite interested in your arrival."
Her friend's checks flared pink. A good thing, as her face had been quite pale. Now she looked less like a girl who'd spent a year at her mother's bedside and more like a youthful maiden.
Marissa waited impatiently for Mr. Dunwoody to appear, but she soon forgot that she was waiting for him and began watching for Jude instead. Would he be a gentleman tonight or a rogue? Would he smile mysteriously from the corner, or would he steal her away and kiss her?
Both, hopefully.
The night suddenly felt so uncertain. Her pulse leapt in uneven surges.
"Miss York," a man said. She knew the voice was too tentative to be Jude, but she still hoped it was him as she turned. The sinking of her heart seemed melodramatic in the face of such mild disappointment, but she smiled when she thought of what Jude would say to that.
"Mr. Dunwoody! Here is Miss Samuel, just as I promised! Did you get a chance to speak with her before dinner?"
"I did not." He bowed low over Beth's hand. "Miss Samuel, it is such a pleasure to see you again. I hope your appearance means your mother has improved?"
"She is much better, sir. Thank you." They smiled at each other for a long, awkward moment before Nanette nudged her cousin's elbow.
"Oh," Beth breathed, her expression melting into a combination of embarrassment and dread. "This is Mr. Dunwoody. Mr. Dunwoody, this is my cousin Miss Nanette Samuel."
"A pleasure," she purred with a graceful inclination of her head.
Mr. Dunwoody laughed nervously as he bowed, and when he rose, his eyes stayed on Nanette. "I meant to... oh!" He turned halfway back toward Beth. "I meant to request the privilege of a dance with you this evening, Miss Samuel. And with your lovely cousin as well, if she would deign to dance with a stranger."
Nanette tittered and touched his arm, and Mr. Dunwoody's smile widened to a grin.
Marissa gritted her teeth, but she told herself it didn't matter. Mr. Dunwoody liked Beth, and though Nanette always did her best to draw attention from her cousin, she wouldn't succeed this time, surely. When he walked away, Nanette observed how handsome he was and asked after his prospects. Then she proceeded to tell Beth that a gentleman without a title might be a fine catch for someone like her, but Nanette intended to be Lady Something other when she married. "Still," she laughed, "Mr. Dunwoody certainly seems a fine prospect for a dance partner in the meantime."
Marissa interrupted with a pointed look at Beth. "Beth, I believe my mother wanted to speak with you about designing a headdress for tomorrow's play. You're so amazingly creative! You will excuse us, won't you, Nanette?"
She pulled her friend up and led her toward the far side of the room. "I don't know how you live with that woman," she whispered to Beth. "She's intolerable."
"She's not so bad. At least when I sit next to her, the gentlemen flock around."
"Mr. Dunwoody did not need her presence to entice him. And, as always, you sell yourself too cheaply. Why, Malcolm James was very close to making an offer during your first season."
"But he didn't." She shot Marissa a mischievous look. "It's all right. Nanette says I can be her companion if I never get an offer."
"She did not!"
"She did," Beth laughed.
Marissa stopped her for a quick hug. Beth was sweet and loyal, and if she didn't have the beauty of her cousin, she was very pretty at least. If only they did not have the exact same coloring . . .
Beth cleared her throat. "That Mr. Bertrand certainly seems fond of you. He watched you all through dinner."
"Did he?" She followed Beth's gaze to another corner of the room. She expected to find Jude watching her still, but he was looking down at the woman talking to him. Patience Wellingsly, the same woman who'd watched him so closely at dinner the night before.
"Doesn't he make you nervous? He looks like a ruffian."
Mrs. Wellingsly leaned into his arm, using the excuse of laughter to press herself close.
"Have you danced with him? I can't imagine he would recommend himself as a partner."
Marissa glared at the woman's hand wrapped so possessively around Jude's bicep. "What do you know about Mrs. Wellingsly?"
Beth looked surprised. "Her? Not much, I suppose. I know she's been widowed for a few years. And I believe she's very keen for whist." And big men who looked like ruffians, it seemed.
Marissa watched carefully, wondering why the gorgeous widow seemed so interested in Jude. Could they possibly be lovers? They hardly looked compatible. Mrs. Wellingsly, all pale beauty and delicate grace, looked like spun sugar next to him.
But she was obviously flirting, and Jude hadn't looked up once to see if Marissa was nearby.
"Hmph," she muttered, and Belli sent her a puzzled look. "Come, let's find some wine. I'm sure my mother will start the dancing soon."
She managed to get through two glasses of wine and three dances without seeing Jude again, and while she told herself she was purposefully avoiding him, her irritation fell suspiciously like hurt.
Ridiculous. He meant nothing to her.