In the Garden of Disgrace (35 page)

She leaned against him and she could feel
the agitated knocking of his chest muscle, keeping time with the
beating of her own. Adrian ran his open hands down her back,
stopping at the curve of her waist then slowly, enticingly he moved
lower. Cupping her bottom, he crushed her tightly to his aching
groin. Abruptly he grew still.

Jillian sensed that he wanted something from
her, and again she rose up to look at him. Blue eyes glittered back
at her, filled with lust.

“Take me,” he grated.

She stared into his handsome face, for a
moment confused before his meaning finally came clear to her. He
had handed her the initiative—what a heady thought! Should she? she
wondered as a thrill of excitement quickened her blood. Before she
had time to more than consider, she positioned herself above him,
and with one swift thrust, sheathed her body on his engorged
member. She shivered in ecstasy as she engulfed him, that part of
him feeling like warmed marble layered in silk.

At that same moment she heard him gasp
aloud. “Jillian…my God!”

Adrian, his breathing coming harshly,
grabbed hold of her, halting her movements.

“Be still, love, or you lose me now,” he
said in a voice raw with hunger.

She could feel him calming himself, his
chest expanding and contracting as he took deep, shaky breaths.
Only after he had gained control did he grip her hips and begin
slowly pulling her back and forth along his tempered length,
setting up an irresistible rhythm.

Sweet, sweet pleasure—over and over the
motion continued. Now Jillian knew where he was going—down an
erotic path with a fiery conclusion—and she wanted to go with him.
She pulled back then pressed against him, meeting his strokes as
her excitement swelled.

“Kiss me, Jillian,” Adrian implored, the
words seeming to come straight from his heart.

Jillian peered down at him, his dark
features unmasked by a fierce craving, not just for the moment but
for something more, and instantly all her doubts were banished.

“I love you, Adrian,” she said, the words
feather-light, pristine, in the earthy heat that surrounded their
lovemaking.

She saw his eyes widen in sudden
comprehension, and she saw elation flare in his gaze. He clasped
the back of her head, pulling her toward him, and as their lips met
he bucked beneath her, releasing himself. He groaned savagely into
her mouth, and when he did he drew her into the rapture.

For long moments neither moved as they
strained against each other, and then Jillian went limp. Adrian
also slackened his grip, gently rolling her onto her back and
moving on top of her. With shaky fingers he brushed back a few damp
curls that dusted her forehead.

“Do you know how long I have waited to hear
those words?” he asked, cradling her in his arms. He dropped a
lingering kiss on her mouth.

She smiled dreamily when he came up again.
“Nearly as long as I’ve wanted to say them.”

Adrian eased off Jillian, laying next to her
atop the muslin sheet, side by side. The morning sun flooded into
the room from the small window, gilding their naked bodies with its
healing warmth. He reached for her hand, lacing his fingers with
hers, his hold tender and reassuring.

After such draining lovemaking—not to
mention a night’s loss of sleep—Jillian could not remember ever
having been more exhausted. She felt warm, sated and utterly
paralyzed. And loved, she felt loved. She squeezed Adrian’s hand,
returning his affection, and closed her eyes.

*****

Jillian came awake with a start. She lay on
the bed, covered in a sheet, instantly aware she was alone.
However, she could hear someone stirring in the room. She opened
her eyes, sitting up as she did. Adrian was donning his coat.

“Where are you going?” she asked, voice
thick with sleep.

“It’s after eight, love. I have to leave.
You have some anxious relatives waiting to hear that you are all
right.”

She came up on her knees on the bed,
bringing the sheet with her to shield her nakedness. “What are you
going to do?”

“Nothing’s changed, Jillian.”

“How can you say that? Everything has
changed.”

“Phillip will be here in a few hours,” he
said, not looking at her. He walked to the door and placed his hand
on the knob.

“Adrian, please, listen to me.”

He glanced at her then, and when he did she
let the sheet slip. His gaze, as she intended, wandered down her
body, lingering. It was an obvious ploy and Jillian cringed
inwardly, certain she would see derision in his eyes at her blatant
attempt to distract him. Instead she saw compassion there, a gentle
understanding.

“If anyone could deter me it would be you,
Jillian.”

“Then stay.”

“I can’t. I let you stop me earlier, my
love, because the truth is I wanted you—no, more than that—needed
you. But what kind of a man would I be if in the end I let my baser
needs prevent me from doing what is honorable?”

“Is not the desire for revenge a base need,
Adrian? I see no honor in an unnecessary death.”

“Are you afraid for my life, Jillian?” he
asked quietly.

“No. I’m afraid you will take a life. I do
not remember Lionel being skilled with a pistol.”

“He should have thought of that before he
undertook to be a scoundrel.

“You’ve humiliated him enough, Adrian. Why
push for more?”

“You don’t understand.”

“You are right about that.” Jillian twitched
the sheet impatiently, twisting it around herself as she scooted
off the bed. “I do understand this, though—you made a promise to
yourself, and that is the most damaging promise of all to break. In
the end you will seek forgiveness, and if you are fortunate it will
be forthcoming from everyone—everyone but you.”

His expression turned hard. “That is
something with which I’ll have to learn to live.”

“But I won’t,” she said in a voice barely
above a whisper.

His brows snapped together in a scowl. “What
do you mean?”

“You are in the unique position of ending a
disaster before it begins, Adrian. A legacy of pain has taught you
what to expect. If you kill Lionel you will have to leave the
country again, perhaps forever. I can’t go with you.”

At least she had his attention. “I don’t
think it will come to that,” he said. “And if it will make you feel
any better, I have no intention of killing Edgeworth.”

“But things happen unexpectedly. No one
should know that better than you. Surely you did not intend to kill
Viscount Lindley either.”

“He was to blame for his own demise.”

“Of course he was, Adrian, but in the end
does it matter who is to blame?”

He shook his head, but it appeared to be a
gesture aimed more at underscoring his determination than in
finding agreement with her. She felt her spirits sink.

“You are going, aren’t you?” she asked.

“I’m sorry, Jillian.” He paused as he opened
the door, his gaze now filled with sadness. “I do love you.”

As he shut her into the room, Jillian felt
her temper flare.
Damn!
she thought, surely she could have
said something, done something that would have stopped him. Quite
brazen of her to believe that all she had to do was tantalize him
and he would retreat from his goal. Oh no, not Adrian St. John, the
stubborn Earl of Wickham, a man who would rather sacrifice
everything he had than concede his honor.

So be it. But the day wasn’t over yet and
Phillip would be much easier to manage. She stalked across the room
and yanked the bell pull to order water for the tub. She would
bathe, she would dress and she would wait.

*****

“Jilly, please don’t ask this of me.”

“All right, Phillip, I shall refrain from
making you uncomfortable, and you can watch the life I have planned
with Adrian evaporate with your courage.

“Not fair,” her cousin said, his face
flaring with indignation.

The night had arrived, clear with just a
hint of cool. Minutes earlier Phillip had paid the remainder of her
tab and was now helping Jillian into his phaeton.

“I’m not worried about fair,” she said. “We
must stop that duel somehow.”

“It is not my place to stop it, Jilly,” he
said, climbing in beside her and snapping the reins. “I’m Lord
Wickham’s second, remember? You are putting me in an awkward
position.”

“I’m giving you the opportunity to prevent a
tragedy. Looking at it from that angle you should feel
gratified—no, more than that—you should want to help.”

He snorted. “Of course, I should.”

Jillian smiled in the darkness, aware he was
starting to relent. For several moments she remained silent,
wanting to broach another subject that disturbed her, but not
knowing how to begin.

“Phillip?” she said at last.

“Yes?” She heard the wary note in his
voice.

“I…that is to say…” She swallowed. “I heard
something that has me concerned, and I was hoping you might be able
to put some light on the matter.”

“If I can.”

“Do you remember telling me about the gossip
in London regarding Lord Edgeworth and me?”

“Hard to forget,” he said.

“Lionel told me that the talk reached the
betting book at White’s. Is that true?”

Phillip glanced at her and she caught the
consternation on his face. “You shouldn’t know about such things,
Jilly. Are you positive you want to talk about this?”

“I see. It’s all right for my name to appear
on the pages in a derogatory manner. I’m just not supposed to know
about it, is that it?”

“You misunderstand what I’m trying to
say.”

“Let’s not argue about this, Phillip,
please. Just tell me, do you know if Adrian placed a bet in the
book regarding me?”

“He declared his intention to marry you,
yes.”

Jillian was crushed. “Oh. I-I had hoped
Lionel had lied.”

“Why? What did Edgeworth say?”

“Mostly that Adrian had dealt me a public
humiliation by exposing my relationship with him.”

“Ha! That’s an interesting way to look at
it.”

The derision in her cousin’s voice caused
her to look at him with a trace of optimism.

Phillip continued. “What Wickham did went as
far as possible toward rescuing your reputation which, I might add,
others seemed determined to destroy.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re certain you want to hear this?” He
looked at her again clearly uncomfortable with the
conversation.

She nodded, not certain at all.

“There was boasting going on in White’s that
night—I was there so I can verify. One man in particular proclaimed
to know you and the variety of woman you are. Said you and
Edgeworth were already lovers if one were to ask him. Wickham was
infuriated and I feared he meant to challenge the man to a duel. I
think everyone did. Instead, he made the fellow admit to lying, and
then he placed a bet in the book.”

“I see.”

“Yes, indeed. With that wager he told the
world he found you worthy to be his countess. Somehow I find it
difficult to believe he meant to insult you.”

Jillian was too overcome with relief and
thankfulness to do more than murmur, “I suppose you are right.”

“Feel better now?”

“Much.” And then, “The wager says we will
marry before the end of the year?”

“Yes. And if it doesn’t happen Wickham
stands to lose ten thousand pounds.”

“Oh, he’ll win,” Jillian said, “he’ll
win.”

Phillip turned on her a look of outright
pleasure. “I’m glad to hear it, Jilly, I really am.” He smacked the
reins with renewed vigor. “Now, let’s return to our earlier
discussion—I assume, given that Wickham did the unthinkable and
left you alone for hours to scheme, you’ve been doing that very
thing.”

“Actually, I have,” Jillian said, folding
her hands primly in her lap. “And with what you’ve just told me,
now more than ever I know stopping that duel is the right thing to
do. If you’ll listen I think you’ll agree that my idea has
merit.”

“And if I don’t?”

She shrugged.

“I see. You intend to force my hand
regardless.” Phillip sighed. “Right then, tell me what you
have.”

Jillian gave him a smile she hoped reflected
her gratitude. “First we need to stop by the home of Lady
Edgeworth. I believe Meredith’s cooperation will prove
invaluable.”

*****

Later that evening in the hour past
midnight, Jillian stood in the middle of her parlor. Her arms
outstretched, she twirled for her two companions, displaying the
male clothing she wore.

“Well, what do you think?” she asked.

“You do not look masculine enough,” Meredith
said as she eyed the costume. “Impossible that anyone will mistake
you for a man, Jillian.”

“No man I’d want to be,” Phillip muttered.
“Too many curves. And if you think you’ve been talked about before,
Jilly, wait until the wrong person sees you in that attire.”

“Do you think so?” Jillian asked. “I wonder.
Course I’d probably be recognized, hence the domino.” She pointed
to the black cape and mask that lay on the settee. “I’m not as tall
or broad as a man, I admit, but wearing that will hide much.”

Meredith wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know
how you can tolerate wearing those trousers.”

“Really? Curious, but I believe I like
wearing them. Gives me a sense of freedom. Why, I can plop onto a
chair and never worry about whom I might offend with my rising
skirts. Do you think Adrian will mind if I wear trousers once in a
while?—only in the country, you understand.”

Just as she had intended both Meredith and
Phillip stared at her in stupefaction.

“Tell you what, Jilly,” Phillip said,
shaking his head, “I think I should feel sorry for your
intended.”