Chills (26 page)

“I already found her. You look delicious by the way.” Jack’s breath rushed over her neck and she shivered deep inside. His voice stroked all of her desires and a few she had yet to discover.

Constance swallowed. “You look wonderful, too. I cannot believe you kept your father’s suit. It looks so good on you.”

“And my mother’s dress fits you to perfection, as well.” His expression changed. “Have you grown taller?”

“High-heeled shoes,” Constance explained.

A pleased smile flashed across his face. “I cannot wait to see those on your legs.” Jack’s voice dropped lower and caused gooseflesh to rise over Constance’s body. “Come, let us find somewhere quieter. I want to talk to you.”

“What about?” Constance asked, almost afraid of a reprimand about her scandalous appearance.

“Everything. Anything. I don’t care. I've been dying to whisper in your ear all season.”

His confession astonished her. She had no idea he hadn’t already said exactly what he wanted already.

Constance glanced about. She could spend the whole night with him without risk to her reputation, as long as they were not recognized.

Judging by the laughter around her, the tone of the gathering was lowering rapidly. There would be a lot of gossip about Town tomorrow, and from behavior that was far more scandalous than just talking. She might need a protector before the night ended. Besides, would anyone believe that the cold-hearted marquess would attend this masquerade?

Jack’s head twisted, bringing his lips to her ear, and his fingers twined through hers. “This way, my little Pixie.”

She shivered as his lips brushed her skin, but let him lead her away from the ballroom. They moved slowly through the crowd, hands joined while all around them, raucous laughter rang out. Lady Malvey’s ball would undoubtedly be an outrageous success, if it did not end up an orgy. A great number of guests had sampled the free-flowing champagne and stronger spirits, and the laughter was boisterous and overwhelming.

The crowd was thick around the base of the stairs and Constance clutched at Jack. He glanced at her, moved his arm around her, and directed her up the stairs before him. While Constance held her skirts clear of the steps, Jack curled his fingers about her hip, keeping her steady. Constance’s pulse leapt.

When she reached the top, Jack’s arm encircled her waist and they walked away from the crowd. “This is better. Your dress could cause a riot and I might have trouble protecting you from all that.”

She glanced up at him and smiled. “Far better. I don’t like being pushed around by strangers.”

Jack squeezed. “Far better to be pushed around by me then?”

Constance opened her mouth to speak but shut it quickly. She didn’t want to argue about his bossy ways. She just wanted one short hour of peace with him.

Jack found a secluded place by the railing, hidden from most eyes by a wide column. By the time they stopped, Constance’s skin was so flushed and tight that she had to fan herself. The air stirred the curls draped across her upper chest and Jack’s nimble fingers slipped them back with the others.

The way everything dimmed when he was near and when he touched her, she may as well have been blind. Struggling to control her instinct to do something foolish, Constance turned to admire the ballroom below.

The dance floor looked chaotic from their vantage point. The small orchestra in the corner was no match for the crush of people before them. They were playing a waltz, but the dancers were not dancing it. Thanks to the freely supplied drinks, the dance floor was at a standstill.

Jack’s arm slid possessively across her back and curled tight over her hip.

Constance gasped, as surprised by Jack’s actions as the man wearing a walrus head grasping the breasts of a large busted woman on the floor below.

“Lord Hobart has made an excellent start on his evening, don’t you think?” Jack laughed into her ear. “But I believe he could be more discreet when entertaining his mistress. The woman hitting him is his wife.”

Constance laughed with him and looked for the next act of decadence.

“Not everyone in the ton behaves as you would expect, Pixie,” Jack whispered, sliding his fingers up and down her side.

She had known the ball was famous for scandal, but she hadn’t quite imaged it was filled with sin too. Constance really would have a lot of news to leave out of her mother’s letter this week.

In the distance, she spotted Virginia. She, too, was not dancing the waltz. She appeared to be standing still, gaze focused on her partner. Virginia cupped the face of her partner. Even from this distance, a shudder passed through the stranger. That touch was all the encouragement needed. Virginia’s partner kissed her in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by hundreds of members of polite society. Some of the observant even cheered.

Beside her, Jack muttered something she could not understand. She asked him to repeat it.

“I said it was about time.”

He laughed, settled his hand more firmly at her waist and inched her closer.

“But your sister is going to …” she blundered, but he only smiled.

“Fighting can conceal other desires, Pixie,” he whispered. “Virginia and Hallam have better things to do.”

It took a moment for Constance to catch his meaning. “No.”

Jack chuckled and wrapped both his arms around her waist while she attempted to match the dark, poetic stranger with the musty scholar of antiquities she knew.

“Ah, there goes Lady Malvey, making a very large spectacle of her departure,” he muttered darkly. “Good riddance.”

“If you don’t stop being mean on my behalf people will begin to make ugly insinuations. If they unmask us tonight—”

“Well, she shouldn’t have laughed. But trust me, Pixie, no-one will recognize us tonight.”

 
She hoped he was correct.

Yet when Constance glanced around Jack, trouble headed toward them. She froze. Lord Daventry approached, a masked woman hanging on each arm. He shouldn’t pay them the least attention, but the fear remained. Would he recognize them?

For a moment she thought they were safe, but then his smile grew as he looked them over on his way past. He winked.

Constance turned to Jack and his lips twisted in a rueful smile as he ran his hand along her ribs.

“He recognized us?” Constance shuddered at both the thought of detection and the pleasure Jack’s fingers evoked. “Could anyone else?”

 
“Well, perhaps he did. But don’t worry about Daventry—he can’t abide gossip.”

With Jack sliding his hands over her back and neck, teasing her with the light touch of his fingertips, it was hard to concentrate on being worried. When he drew lazy patterns across the bare skin of her shoulders and down, over her dress, she had to twitch her shoulders.

“Ticklish, are you?”

“Not really,” Constance lied. If he knew the truth, she would stand no chance of avoiding the torture.

Jack’s other hand toyed with her fingers until she could stand it no longer and she made a grab for him. She traced the lines on his palm to each of his fingers, examining the texture of his skin in detail. The crowds below faded away. She found a scar he had received from swordplay and stroked the fine hair on the back of his hand up to the cuff of his sleeve.

All the while, his undivided attention and his hot breath ruffling her hair thrilled her. The hand at her back moved, long fingers curling in onto her belly. She let Jack turn her toward him and she ran her hands from his wrist along his coat sleeves to his upper arms.

Disturbed by the pose, Constance fiddled with his sapphire cravat pin.

When Jack tugged her hips, she laid her body along his. His groan made her shiver. She had not meant to misbehave tonight. She meant to watch others rather than participate. But she was obviously better at wickedness than she thought. She had never felt such a heady rush as Jack swept his hands over her possessively. She didn’t want him to stop.

Suddenly embarrassed, she pushed against his chest. “There are a lot of people moving this way.”

“Hmm, I think you might be right. Perhaps we should go somewhere else.”

“That might be a good idea.” The words had barely left her mouth before he swept her off her feet, took the necessary steps to the closest door, and ducked them inside.

As the door closed and locked, Constance’s ears rang from the lack of noise and the stillness of the dark chamber. Jack carried her across the room and sank into a high-backed chair by the window, settling her on his knees. She had sat on his knee before, but that only as a small child. Yet it seemed so very different to do it at the age of one and twenty. His long, hard muscled legs cradled her and his hands held her tight.

It felt right. Thrilling.

With Jack, everything created a twisting tension she couldn’t get enough of. His lips pressed to her forehead, his breath tickled her skin. It was a fatherly kiss really and she frowned. He was not her parent—she had never thought that.

Constance turned her face to him.

Moonlight illuminated his features as he held her gaze. “What are you thinking, Jack?”

“I’m thinking about your shoes. May I?”

Constance nodded, but butterflies assaulted her.

Jack ran his hand down her leg, grasped her ankle then covered her foot. He touched down to her toes and voiced a deep, appreciative groan. “Lovely, just lovely.”

Constance blushed, unsure of how to react to his words. She tracked his hand as it slid along her gown and settled at her waist again. When they moved higher and settled under her breasts, her breath seized.

“Is something wrong?” The deep gravel of his voice sent chills racing along her limbs.

Constance squirmed on his lap as confusion and desire warred within her. She shouldn’t allow him liberties like this but she wanted so much more yet.

She licked her lips. “Will you kiss me again?”

“Anything you wish,” he whispered.

Jack cradled her face and aligned her lips to his. Like the first time, his kiss began gently, but Constance still gasped at the sensations. He returned his lips more firmly, twisting his head to deepen the kiss. The masks touched and she pulled back to remove hers. Jack tugged his off as well and threw it away.

Without the masks to hide behind, Constance lost a little of her courage. She shouldn’t be doing this. Jack shouldn’t be letting her experiment on him. But Constance was powerless to say the words to bring them back to proper decorum.

He slid his fingers into her hair, brushing his fingertips across her ear and sending fire down her legs. His hand firmed around her head and then he began to kiss her again.

If she thought she knew anything at all about kissing, Jack disproved her assumption in the next moment. His tongue tickled her lips and she gasped, opening her mouth at the unexpected sensation. He took advantage of her response to sweep his tongue into her mouth and the flavor of him exploded her senses.

Jack tasted of cinnamon too.

He claimed her mouth, exploring, controlling. She couldn’t get away and she couldn’t get enough. He ate at her mouth, sending her pulse racing. Constance’s world shrank to where she touched Jack. He was her favorite smell, taste, and touch.

On instinct, she darted out her tongue to touch his. Jack groaned and withdrew, opening wide to let her explore. Constance tasted him, flicked her tongue across his, and reveled in the sweetness of his kisses.

Kissing Jack was beyond anything she had ever expected. His hands were moving on her body, fingers flexing and kneading as they kissed, melting her into puddles of longing. She explored his face with her fingertips, feeling the unique contours of a man she had thought she knew all about, but clearly had a lot to learn.

~ * ~

Jack almost disgraced himself when her hands cradled his head. She wanted him, wanted his kisses, and he set about teaching her how to kiss thoroughly. He groaned as she became more aggressive, actively plundering his mouth with her tongue, sucking on his lips, and using her teeth to bite down.

His wicked Pixie was voracious in passion.

Jack got a firm grip on her hair and sought control, but she was enjoying her first taste of desire so much that he only succeeded in arousing himself to greater heights. Her dark hair was gloriously soft. He wanted to feel the whole of it sweep his skin.

Pixie resettled herself so she straddled him. Jack grasped her hips, stunned by her desire and how far he had led her toward sin. He wanted her desperately, but not here, not at a masquerade where any indiscretion might be uncovered. He had to stay in control. She had only asked for kisses.

Not that she needed the guidance.

Fighting desire, he lifted his head. “Don’t wriggle so much when we kiss, love. I need to get you back out of the room without ruining that gown in my haste, remember.”

Jack’s voice came out as a lusty growl, and he hoped he didn’t frighten her with his desire.

 
He tried to pull back, to regain control of their passion. But instead of complying, Pixie kissed him again, pressing against him as her passionate nature took over. Her fingers raked through his hair, massaging his scalp, holding his lips tight against hers. She clutched his shoulders and breathed the same air. If she kept this up, he would take her here upon the chair.