Marissa hadn't come down to luncheon, and Jude was growing worried. The woman loved to eat, though she took such ladylike bites, people didn't notice that her last bite was often from a third serving. How she managed to stay so thin was beyond Jude's understanding.
He frowned down at the carpet as he paced along the hallway.
He'd sent Aidan to find out what the matter was, and her brother had come back to report she was taking a nap. Aidan had gone on his happy way, but Jude couldn't stop worrying.
Was she sick? Or was she regretting the betrothal? He didn't care to see the woman tortured. He truly believed they were compatible or he'd never have volunteered. Did she understand that?
Impatient with his maudlin mood, Jude decided to simply ask her the question himself and headed toward the second floor and Marissa's chambers.
She didn't answer the first soft knock, so he tried again, then wondered if waking her from a nap was counterintuitive to his goal. He had the feeling that Marissa York would not trip lightly from sleep.
"What is it?" she called just as he was turning away.
He tensed in surprise. "It's Jude."
Silence.
"I wanted to check on you."
She murmured something.
Leaning close to the door, Jude thought he caught the word "men," but he couldn't make out much more.
"Just a moment," she said more loudly.
And so Jude found himself standing in the corridor like a child awaiting punishment. A few eternal minutes later, Marissa opened the door and pulled him into her room.
And Jude gawked like a naughty boy.
She looked beautiful. Her normally styled-to-perfection hair was still braided, but the strawberry-blond braid hung down to curve over her shoulder. Her checks and lips were rosy as if she'd been curled beneath warm covers. Her eyes were heavy lidded with sleep. He'd see her like this every morning if they married.
"Would you care for tea?" she asked.
"You're beautiful."
Her brow furrowed with skepticism as she touched the end of her braid with a snort. "You're either mad or a liar. I've been napping."
"Are you ill?"
Her hand went to her stomach, drawing his eve to the soft white peignoir she wore. "No. I only had trouble sleeping last night."
"The announcement?"
Gaze falling to his shoes, she shook her head.
"Not really. I can't tell Beth the truth. I don't want to avoid her, but I don't know what to say."
"Tell her that I kissed you and you couldn't refuse me. Those things are true, after all, if not in that order."
She snuck a tiny smile at that. "You want me to convince her that I love you?"
"Would she believe you?"
"I don't think so. I wrote to her a week ago, after all, and somehow forgot to mention you."
"A tragic oversight." Unable to resist the lovely picture she presented, he stroked the backs of his fingers over her rosy cheek. "Then why don't you tell her that I make you feel things you've never felt before. Would she believe that?" Her cheek grew warmer against his knuckles, and he was sure she leaned her face more fully into his touch.
Her gaze rose to meet his, eyes flashing green heat. "She might."
He couldn't kiss her. Not now. Not in her chambers when she wore that flowing white gown and nothing else. She'd be soft right now if he touched her. Soft and.... He dropped his hand and stepped back.
"I finished your book. You were right. The handsome gentleman did save the day."
Her eyes narrowed with irritation. "Mm. Who is that woman to you?"
"What woman?" He wondered if his face looked as dumbfounded as he felt.
"Patience Wellingsly. Is she your lover?"
"What?" His mind spun with the change of topic. "No. Of course not."
"Then why does she look at you as if she wants to he devoured?"
He shook his head. "Perhaps because I've refused to take a bite?"
She crossed her arms and glared at him. "I don't believe you."
"Marissa." His brain finally caught up to the topic, and Jude registered a shocking fact. Marissa York was jealous. Over him. "I have never so much as kissed Patience Wellingsly."
"Well then, that puts me a full minute ahead of her in your distribution of intimacy. A comforting lead."
He didn't point out that she was jealous. She'd only deny it. But there was one thing she might not deny. "Are you complaining about a lack of kisses, Miss York?"
"Well, what is the point of being betrothed if one can't even enjoy kisses? I was kissed more often before!"
"Were you? By whom?"
Her chin inched up. "Men."
"Are you sure?"
"Why do you keep saying that? What is this great divide in your mind that sets men apart from boys?"
This time when he stepped toward her, Marissa stepped away. Then she seemed to realize what she'd done and stood her ground, shoulders back and chin high. And when he kissed her, she leaned into him, lingers spreading open on his chest.
He didn't lease her this time, but kissed her fully. She tasted of sweet, hot tea, and she was soft. Very soft. The layers of thin fabric did nothing to conceal the feel of her curves when his hands touched her hips. She wore no corset. She wore practically nothing at all.
When she sighed into his mouth and pressed her entire body more firmly against his, Jude groaned and told himself to set her away. Instead he shifted her toward her bed. A natural instinct. An awful idea. But he was all instinct now, as her tongue stroked his in eager hunger.
Her passion had stolen his willpower away. Her hands eased beneath his coat and snuck over his chest. Her knee rubbed restless between his. Her soft noises seemed to wind around him and squeeze till he couldn't breathe.
He eased her toward the bed until her legs touched the mattress, then laid her slowly onto the goose down. "If I were a boy, I'd probably slide my hand beneath your neckline right now."
Her eyes popped open. "Oh!"
"I'd caress your breasts until I felt enough time had passed, and then I'd pull your dress up in bunches until you were sufficiently exposed. Does that sound familiar?"
She stared, wide-eyed, at him, her breath rushing past her lips.
"Then I'd rub your sex until it was slick enough for penetration. No more than that, mind you, because if I were a boy, my only goal would be mounting you."
"I see," she whispered.
"But I'm a man, Marissa, so I'll do this instead. ..." Lying on his side, Jude made sure to keep his weight off her body as he kissed her again. Naturally passionate as she was—or perhaps just naturally impatient—Marissa slid her hands behind his neck and pulled him closer. He smiled against her mouth and murmured his pleasure, but he did not touch her. He only kissed, exploring her mouth, discovering what she liked and what she didn't, memorizing the texture of her tongue against his.
When she shifted restlessly beneath him, Jude finally broke the kiss and dragged his mouth down her neck. He sucked at her neck and nibbled her shoulder and kissed his way down her breastbone, his cock aching more with every taste. Her encouraging whimpers drove him wild. He wanted her making those sounds while she took him inside her. Wanted her begging him to give her more.
Jude took a deep breath and made himself calm. He wouldn't take her. Not until they were married. But he meant to
show
her, at least, that there was more to a man than dancing and tight trousers.
So he drew gently at the skin just above the ruffled neckline of her gown. Her belly sucked in, and her breasts pushed up. The delicate fabric showed the clear outline of her pebbled nipples, pushing against the silk. Jude stifled a groan.
She was a slim woman and her breasts were small, but by god, they were finely made.
His hands clenched the bedspread. He would not enact the very scenario he'd described.
"Jude," she whispered.
He ignored her plea and kissed his way along the line of the fabric. Her hands tightened in his hair and pleasure pulsed into his veins. She wanted this. She wanted
him.
Jude eased one hand beneath her robe and curled it over her shoulder so that he could feather his thumb across the very top of her breast. She shivered and arched into his body.
This was a more difficult exercise in control than he'd imagined. And Marissa was showing no restraint at all.
Jude closed his eyes and counted to twenty; then, telling himself he could stop when he needed too, he finally pressed his lips to the thin fabric that covered her breast. He closed his mouth over her nipple, and Marissa gasped in a high, sweet voice.
Christ, yes.
that was the sound he wanted. Those gasping, keening sighs. He suhecked her nipple and coaxed more lovely notes, then scraped his teeth over her to hear even more.
He wanted so badly to tug her gown down and see the miracle of her naked body. He wanted to strip her bare and taste every inch of her skin. Then he wanted to bury himself deep within her for hours.
But more than anything, he wanted Marissa to think she couldn't live without him, as he was beginning to think he couldn't live without her.
He kissed her other breast as well, sucking at her nipple through the fabric until she was panting with lust.
Hands shaking with the effort of restraint, Jude lifted his head and kissed her mouth once more. Then he rolled to his back with a wince and closed his eyes. "That is the difference between a boy and man," he rasped.
"What? Why did you stop?" Unwilling to lie there passively, Marissa popped up on her elbow. "You haven't left me satisfied, if that's what you think!"
"Ha! Give me some credit. Half the joy of making love is the pleasure of anticipation. I bet none of your dancing boys have ever taught you that lesson."
"But... but I do not need to be taught lessons! You are not my tutor!"
"No, I am only the man you paid no attention to until three days ago. I am no boy, Marissa, and I am no fool either."
She was silent so long that Jude finally forced his eyes open to look at her. She frowned down at him like a troubled nymph, her lips pink and swollen from a recent tryst in the forest. I do not need you to tempt me, Jude. I like you well enough."
He cocked an eyebrow. "Well enough for what?"
Her lips curved into a smile. "Well enough that I did not want you to stop."
"We've discovered that at least."
She studied him for a long moment. "May I see your chest?"
"Pardon?"
"I'd like to see your chest."
"I'm not sure you'd like it. There's hair on it, you know."
"I know that!"
"What is it that you wish to see then?"
She narrowed her eyes in irritation. "Oh, I think I understand. You've seen women's breasts before, so why would you care to see more?"
There was no arguing with that nonsense, so Jude simply reached for his cravat. He pulled the ends free and unbuttoned his shirt down to the placard. She seemed satisfied with that and slipped her hand beneath the linen to touch his bare skin.
Jude stifled a deep groan. Her hand stroked a tentative path over his chest and twisted knives into his soul.
"You are hairy," she breathed.
I will not pull her over me.
"But not frighteningly so. It feels rather nice."
And I will not slide myself atop her.
She explored up to his shoulders and down to the bottom of his rib cage. "You are so very wide compared to me."
Her palm slid over his nipple, and Jude clenched his teeth. And when her hand skipped down to the sensitive skin of his stomach, he sucked in a gulp of air.
"Sorry, does that tickle?"
"Yes." Yes, it tickled, but the jump in his heartbeat made his cock pound harder until his arousal felt more like pain.
"This is nice," Marissa murmured. "I like this."
Pain or not, he liked it too, and when Marissa laid her head on his shoulder and rested her hand over his heart, something more powerful than lust swelled inside him, and he closed his eyes and curved his hand over her head to keep her close.
"Mm," she murmured sleepily. "I finally see what you mean about not embarrassing yourself."
"Pardon?"
"Your trousers are quite out of sorts."
She sounded so ridiculously prim that Jude couldn't believe her words. Then he burst into deep, honest laughter. Marissa York was like no other woman he'd ever met. It was no wonder he was falling in love with her.
Marissa hated Nanette, and she was beginning to hate Mr. Dunwoody as well.
And,
she decided with a petulant scowl, if she was going to hate people, she may as well add Patience Wcllingsly to the list. The woman had no right to sit out in the sunlight on an autumn day and simply... glow.
Marissa had first thought her mother's suggestion of a grand picnic exciting. It was a beautiful, warm day, and a romantic picnic would add to the story of love at first sight that she and Jude were attempting to weave. Well, Jude was claiming he'd loved her at first sight. Marissa was smiling shyly and pretending to accept it all as her due.
"More punch, my darling?" he asked loudly as he rose to his feet. Patience Wcllingsly watched from her blanket as he stood straight and dusted off his trousers. The woman's eyes showed a deep appreciation for such large thighs, and Marissa had to fight the urge to put a hand to his leg and lay claim to them.
"She is so beautiful," Beth sighed.
"I know. It's sickening."
"Do you think Mr. Dunwoody is in love with her?"
"Why would... ? Oh." She swung her eyes back toward the Samuel blanket, where Mr. Dunwoody sat straight and proper. "You should move over there. Talk to him. I daresay he'd be relieved to change subjects. One can only speak of Nanette for so long."
"Marissa!" Beth laughed, but her face soon turned miserable again. "No, I cannot move there now. It would be obvious I was only begging attention."
"Perhaps, but Nanette would do it and not feel the least amount of shame."
"Yes, but I am not Nanette. Unfortunately." She wilted down to the blanket to lie back and stare up at the sky, so Marissa joined her.
"Thank God you are not Nanette. I'd not like you at all. It is so much more important that you be interesting and intelligent."
"Is that what you like about Mr. Bertrand?" Beth asked quietly.
Marissa's heart froze for several long seconds.
"It's only that I am so surprised! And please don't take this the wrong way, Marissa, but he hardly seems the kind of man you'd love. You never even mentioned him in your letters!"
"I... yes, I know. It happened quickly. And you're right, of course, he's not the kind of man to catch my eye. He's terribly brutal looking, isn't he?"
Beth's hand found hers and held it. "I fear there's something amiss. You told me just yesterday that you'd never even danced with him."
"There are more important things than dancing."
"Like what?"
"He ..." There were so many things she could say. He was kind and funny and strong, but Marissa knew she was not the kind of girl to jump into a quick marriage based on kindness. Better to take Jude's advice. "He kissed me," she whispered.
"And so have many others, by your account."
"Yes, but he kissed me and I thought ..." She closed her eyes and imagined him leaning toward her. "I thought I might die with the pleasure of it."
Beth squeezed her hand. "Truly?"
"Yes. And he touches me like I'm priceless and ... and base all at once."
Beth turned her head to look at Marissa. "I don't know what you mean."
"It's hard to explain."
"Harder still to understand. I've never been kissed. Not really."
"Perhaps if your morals were a bit looser?"
They both laughed and the tension was broken, and Marissa sighed with relief. Beth seemed satisfied with the answer, and Marissa felt. . . well, she felt strangely satisfied with the answer too. She didn't love him, and she didn't wish to marry him, but at least there were the kisses to look forward too. And the limbs.
"Do you know that men have hair on their chests?" she asked Beth.
Even from the corner of her eye she could see Beth's eyes go wide. "You mean laborers?"
"No, I mean all men. Beth ... do you like Mr. Dunwoody?"
"I do. He's very handsome. And gentle. I think I need a gentle husband. So many men are intimidating, aren't they?"
"Before dinner tonight, I'll come and help you pick out a dress, and then we'll get ready together. I'll have my maid style your hair, and we'll add a little rouge to your checks."
"My mother won't—"
"She won't even know. Nanette's cheeks don't get so pink from high spirits, do they?"
"No," Beth murmured.
"Then come to my room. You can be as shy as you like as long as you are prettier than Nanette."
"There's nothing to be done for that."
"She's only trying harder, and you are too kind to compete. But I am not kind at all," Marissa said with a grin, "so leave it to me. Will you?"
"I suppose," Beth murmured, but she sounded more loyal than certain. As if she suspected Marissa was up to no good.
Ridiculous, of course, but when Jude loomed over her with a glass of punch, Marissa knew she was caught. He took one look at her expression and grinned.
Yes, Jude had named her well. She was naughty indeed.
"Here," Marissa muttered, reaching a hand down the bodice of Beth's dress.
"Marissa!" her friend gasped as she tried to duck away.
"Elizabeth Samuel, men like bosoms, and yours are sheer perfection, if only you'd let them out." Once she'd plumped Beth's décolletage to her liking,
she stood back. "Do you know what I'd give for bosoms like that? Mine make no kind of shape at all, no matter how tight my laces."
"Well, if they're so important, why have you had five offers and I've had none?"
"We each have our blessings. I have a swanlike neck, and you have wonderful bosoms. I show off my blessings, and you do not."
"Marissa!" She started to tug her bodice up, and Marissa slapped her hand.
"Don't you dare. Even if Mr. Dunwoody is blind, there are at least three other likely gentlemen here. I'll be surprised if they don't all ask you to dance. I've already spoken to Mother. She promises to have dancing after the play. Now hold still."
Marissa surveyed her work with a critical eye. Though Beth hadn't had any jewel-tone dresses, she'd brought this sky blue one from her last Season. She hadn't worn it more than once, because she'd felt too self-conscious, but Marissa had thought she'd looked beautiful. She did.
Marissa's maid had spent nearly an hour ironing Beth's curls into loose waves, and a touch of kohl at her lash line turned her plain brown eyes mysterious.
Marissa's own hair was pulled into a simple chignon as a result of all the time spent on Beth, but she didn't mind. She had her hands full of troublesome men already.
"Are you ready?" Marissa asked.
"No," Beth muttered as a faint knock sounded on the door. A maid entered, a note in her hand. Marissa's heart sank as she took it.
"Is it from Jude?"
Marissa lied as she opened it. She knew it wasn't from Jude, but she couldn't let Belli know that. Instead she look the note to a corner chair and read it.
Mr. White wasn't giving up. He wanted to meet her one last time, to try to convince her of his good intentions. A meeting behind the stables at 10
pm,
as if she were that foolish. He'd kidnap her or cause another scene. But what would he do if she didn't show up at all?
Damn that man. She felt helpless now, incapable of making a good decision and vulnerable to the whims of an untrustworthy man.
She folded the note and slipped it into a drawer of her dressing table. She'd have to consider it carefully. But right now she wanted Beth to emerge from this year of exile and enjoy herself.
"Come," she said with a forcibly bright smile. "Let us find you a gentleman. But remember what I said about kisses. A nice kiss is well and good, but keep trying until you find a kiss
magnifique
"You're scandalous, Marissa!" Beth whispered, but she was still smiling a few minutes later when they entered the drawing room.
A freckled young man named Kenworth looked toward them, and his eye definitely settled on Beth, but she didn't seem to notice. Her focus fell on Mr. Dunwoody, who didn't look up from his conversation with Nanette.
Marissa's eyes locked onto Nanette too. "Oh, blast her," she said when she saw her dress.
Nanette had been in the room when they'd picked out Beth's dress, and she'd clearly meant to outdo her. Nanette was dressed in bright blue, with a bodice that came very close to immodesty.
"It's all right," Beth murmured. "It was a flawed plan. I can't compete with Nanette. I'm better off waiting for her to marry before I set my cap for a husband."
Marissa disagreed. She wanted to shout that it wasn't true and Beth could marry whomever she liked. That they could both marry whomever they liked.
But there was no point flailing, so she only took Beth's arm and led her to another seat. "Next Season will be grand. You'll see." Except there was a good chance next Season wouldn't be grand at all, at least not for Marissa.
The play was so ghastly that Jude found himself enjoying it immensely. A vignette of
Of hello,
with much shouting and wailing and gnashing of teeth. The death scene transcended awfulness and became sublime. Cousin Harry roared with perfect anguish, and the lady playing his wife died with many a tortured sigh.
Jude's mother would love these people, and he had a feeling that Lady York just might be persuaded to invite his mother for a visit. A secret visit, of course, but a friendly one, nonetheless.
"Bravo!" Jude shouted as the crowd burst into applause. He was about to rise to his feet when a feminine hand settled on the back of his neck. Expecting to find Mrs. Wellingsly standing behind him, Jude cringed as he turned. But when he saw that the fingers dragging over his neck belonged to Marissa, his body spread with instant heat.
She leaned down to speak into his ear, and her neckline caught his focus and held it, rendering him unable to concentrate on what she was saying. He'd opened his mouth against that skin earlier. He'd teased his lips over her collarbone. And he'd suckled her until she'd moaned with need. His earlier restraint now seemed an awful thing. If he'd only done what she'd wanted, he'd know what her breasts looked like, naked and Hushed with lust.
Marissa started to stand again, and he shook his head. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear a word you said."
"I asked if you'd care to stroll about the garden before the dancing begins."
"God, yes."
Her polite smile spread into a smirk. "Were you staring at my bosom, Mr. Bertrand?"
"Surely not."
"You may stare as much as you like if it leaves you so starry-eyed and flustered."
"I live to please." He finally remembered he should stand in the presence of a lady and thanked God he hadn't stared at her much longer. Even her most casual movements seemed designed to enflame him.
"You're damned beautiful," he whispered as he rose to offer his arm.
"Why do you always say that?"
"Because I'm overwhelmed with it every time."
"Did you learn charm during your years in France?"
"Yes, but I'm not being charming."
"I'm too thin and only passably attractive, so it's definitely charm."
"My word, you're in a strange mood this evening. I didn't wish to interrupt you and Miss Samuel to find out, but are things still awkward with her?"
"No," Marissa sighed as he opened the terrace door and led her out. "No, I've convinced her that
your kisses turned my head and overwhelmed my tender feelings."
"Ah, I can see why that has you out of sorts."
"That's not it either. It's just that Mr. Dunwoody fancied Beth until he saw her cousin, and now he can't see beyond Nanette's beauty. Beth is nicer and kinder and smarter, and now it's as if she doesn't exist. I want to strangle him!"
Jude stared at her for a moment, wondering if she was joking. But no, he could see the outrage in her wrinkled brow. "Marissa, are you complaining that Mr. Dunwoody enjoys flirting with pretty girls?"
"Beth is pretty," she muttered.
"I agree. But are you truly passing judgment on a man for being attracted to... fashion and fabric?"
She turned to him to glare. "He favored Beth until he met her cousin! It's not the same!"
"If you say so." He touched a careful hand to her hair. "I like your hair like this,
mon coeur.
It looks as though I could free it with a twist of my hand."
She touched her neck self-consciously, the anger leaving her face, and Jude bent to kiss her. He was slow this time, and careful, and Marissa seemed peaceful as well. They kissed for a long, quiet minute, but when he raised his head, Marissa laid her brow against his jacket as if she was weary.
"That's not all that's troubling me, Jude."
His stomach dropped. He put a hand beneath her chin. "What's wrong?"
"I received another note from Peter White."
"What's he done?"
"Nothing. He wants to meet tonight. At the stables."
"That scurrilous bastard. What time?" When Marissa put a hand on his arm, Jude realized that he'd clenched both his lists in anticipation of pounding Peter White's face in.