Stephanie Laurens Rogues' Reform Bundle (11 page)

His face calm and impassive, Jason drew her still closer, so that his thighs brushed hers with every step. “And then there's your eyes. Lucent pools of green, like the hazy green in the summer distance. I dream of how they'll glow when I make love to you, Lenore, of how they'll darken with passion…”

Lenore tried to shut her ears but nothing kept out the tenor of his voice, reverberating through her body. Despite all her efforts, her mind heard his words, his slow, sensual descriptions of her body, of how he would make love to her. His arm about her waist kept her upright, effortlessly whirling her through the turns, the sensation of his thighs against hers emphasising his words.

Inwardly Lenore burned, anger at his strategy melting in the fire his words evoked. Her skin was alive, nerves flickering with anticipation. A self she did not know stretched and purred, luxuriating in the shocking glow of his visions. And still the descriptions rolled on, his voice dropping to a deep caress as explicit as his fantasies.

It was the longest waltz Lenore had ever danced.

When it came to an end and he released her, she felt like sinking to the floor but pride kept her knees functioning. She forced herself to draw breath and turn to him, extending her hand. With a superhuman effort she kept her face as impassive as his. “Thank you, Your Grace, for a most informative dance. I'm sure you'll understand if I decline any further invitations.”

With the slightest of curtsies, Lenore headed straight for the tea-trolley, making a timely entrance under Smithers' direction. Her hands shook as she dispensed the cups. Twice she had to stop and drag in a calming breath. Once the chore was completed, she cast a quick glance about. Her father and Harriet were in their servants' care; she had no wish to approach any member of her family in case they sensed her agitation. Amelia would have been a reassuring refuge, but, when she located her cousin's fair curls, she saw Frederick Marshall beside her.

Determined not to give Eversleigh the satisfaction of seeing her run under fire, Lenore settled on Mrs. Whitticombe, joining that lady's circle and remaining there for the rest of the evening.

From the opposite side of the room, Jason watched her, his face impassive, a frown in his eyes.

 

“M
ISS
L
ESTER
is in the library, Your Grace. Tucked away in the old wing, it is.”

“Thank you, Moggs.” Jason did not turn from the view beyond his chamber windows yet his mind was not filled with the shifting green of the canopies nor the rolling hills in the distance. As it had been for the past forty-eight hours, his mind was consumed with thoughts of Lenore Lester.

Moggs, his valet, moved quietly about the room, as self-effacing as ever. Moggs was a creature of silence, capable of so merging with the background that most overlooked his existence. His ability to garner the most surprising information had stood his master in good stead. Jason had frequently used his talents when in pursuit of the numerous mistresses who littered his past. He had, however, felt reluctant to set Moggs on Lenore's trail. But his prospective bride had left him no choice.

It was Friday, the last day of the house party. The afternoon sun was already slanting across the treetops. If he did not gain Lenore's agreement today, certain difficulties would arise. Returning to town without a firm understanding did not appeal, any more than did facing the matchmaking mamas and his aunts with their favourites in tow. But to stay at Lester Hall and continue his strange wooing would mean taking at least Jack into his confidence. That, he was reluctant to do, not least for fear that familial pressure might be brought to bear on Lenore. He was no coxcomb but it was impossible not to acknowledge how society viewed the position of his duchess. And while he had castigated Lenore's family as having been less than effective in their duty towards her, he did not imagine they were fools. They would urge Lenore to accept; he was not prepared to wager on the outcome.

The day before, Thursday, had tried his temper to the limit. He rarely felt moved by the emotion but Lenore prodded it effortlessly. Despite his extensive experience, she had succeeded in avoiding him throughout the long day. He had spent the hours in a fruitless endeavour to come up with her, learning in the process that Lester Hall was extremely large, its grounds more so. He had stumbled on numerous couples in his wanderings, Frederick and Lady Wallace included. That discovery had made him pause, but only for a moment. It was Lenore he wished to find, but he had not found her.

She had entered the drawing-room, serene as ever, and had remained coolly aloof throughout dinner. Hampered by the eyes about them, knowing no one had yet seen anything odd in his attentions to his hostess, he had yielded to the promptings of caution and kept a rein on his tongue. But his plans for her evening had been dashed. When he returned to the drawing-room with the rest of the gentlemen it was to find she had flown. She had pleaded a headache and left her cousin to tend the teacups.

That had been the last straw. He had spent the evening here, in his chamber, examining the reasons for his overwhelming desire to marry her and her alone. They were sound. Aside from satisfying all his needs, he was convinced that marriage to him would be, very definitely, in her best interests too. He had carefully studied the matter from every angle. There was a cloud over her future which she was refusing to see. The idea of leaving her to her fate as an unwed spinster in a household run by her brother's wife was not one he viewed with any favour. What joy would she have then, stripped of the position she presently held, no longer the driving force in the family, the central cog about which they all turned? He was determined to make her face that fact. And allow him to rescue her from her fate.

He had told her she was wasted outside marriage—he had meant every word. She was born to rule a large household, just as he had been born to head a large family. She had the makings of a matriarch, a strength to match his own. And while he was not proud of his behaviour on the dance-floor, the exercise had confirmed his rake's assessment that she was as attracted to him as he was to her. If he had come to Lester Hall with her seduction in mind, he had no doubt he would have attained his goal by now.

Slowly, Jason stood and stretched his long limbs, conscious of the tension rippling beneath his control, determined, today, to keep it suppressed. Her very vulnerability on that front, the quivering response of her slender frame every time he touched her, rendered any further approach by that route ineligible. Not until they were wed. Desire was all very well but it was no acceptable reason for marriage.

She was in the library, alone. He intended to talk with her frankly, show her what her future held in unequivocal terms. She was, first and last, an intelligent woman.

Settling his cuffs, Jason headed for the door and the library in the old wing.

When he reached the library the door was ajar. Quietly, he entered and saw her, standing by the open window, her arms wrapped about her, deep in thought. He considered the door, deciding to close it, the latch making no sound as he eased it home. Then, silently, he crossed the room, pausing before the desk beyond which she stood.

It was pleasant inside the library, the stone flags warmed by the sunshine. She had discarded her pinafore; it lay neatly folded on a nearby chair. A fine silk blouse moulded to her curves; the embroidered waistband of her brown velvet skirt encircled her tiny waist while the skirts fell in soft folds to the floor. Jason studied her face. Her expression was pensive, her fingers picking restlessly at the material of her sleeves. It occurred to him that she was an inherently calm woman—and he had seriously disrupted her peace. An urge to close the space between them and wrap her in his arms, to assure her that he had no thought beyond ensuring her future free of care, rose up, so strong he had to close his eyes to will away the impulse. Opening them, he shifted, as restless as she. The ring on his right hand struck the desk.

Lenore turned with a gasp, her eyes widening as they confirmed the belated warning of her senses. Instinctively, she moved to place the desk between them, struggling to summon her habitual mask to conceal her recent thoughts. They, alone, had left her weak. “Are you interested in a book to pass the time, Your Grace?” To her relief, her voice was steady.

Jason studied her, then shook his head. “I'm interested in you, Lenore. You and nothing else.” Slowly, he moved to come around the desk.

Instantly, Lenore drifted in the opposite direction. “My lord, your pursuit of me is senseless.” Ignoring the erratic beating of her heart and the dizzying acceleration of her pulse, she glanced at the door. It was too far away. Her fingertips tracing the edge of the desk, she rounded the end, her eyes lifting to his face. The calm implacability she saw there sent a
frisson
of apprehension through her. “There must be countless women who would welcome the chance to be the next Duchess of Eversleigh.”

“Scores.” Jason advanced without pause.

“Then why pick me?” Lenore threw the comment over her shoulder as she hastened past the front of the desk.

“For a host of excellent reasons,” Jason ground out. “Which I'm perfectly willing to share with you, if only you'll stand still! For God's sake, Lenore!
Stop
!”

Passing the back of the desk for the second time, Lenore did, swinging to face him. In a single lithe movement, Jason vaulted the desk, landing in front of her. With a stifled shriek, Lenore put up her hands to push him away. Jason caught them in his, taking a single step to swing her back against the desk. Deliberately, he placed her hands, palms flat, on the desk behind her, trapping them under his, leaving her leaning backward while he leaned over her.

It had been his firm intention to discuss the reasons for their marriage with his infuriating bride-to-be, calmly, logically. Instead, as he looked down at her, all logic went winging from his head.

Lenore stared up at the stern face above hers, coherent thought suspended. Her senses were in turmoil. Bare minutes before she had been deep in dangerous dreams, demonstrating to her rational mind just why Eversleigh was such a threat to her. Now that threat had materialised, in the flesh. A frightening anticipation streaked through her. Eyes wide, she shivered.

The silk of her blouse rose and fell with every agitated breath she took.

The sight held Jason transfixed. He had been fighting his inclination for days—he had no reserves left to fight hers as well. Slowly, almost dreading what he would see, he lifted his gaze. To the slim column of her throat, and the pulse that beat wildly at its base. To her full lips, parted slightly. To her eyes, wide, peridot-green, filled with a potent blend of virginal hesitancy and raw desire.

Lenore sensed the struggle he waged but was powerless to help. The tension in the muscles of the arms brushing hers, in his thighs where they pressed hard against hers, told a clear tale. Held by a fascination older than time, she could do nothing to aid her own release. In that instant she did not know if she wished to escape. Instead, she watched, mesmerised, as the eyes holding hers changed from grey to silver, then to a shade that shimmered.

With a strangled groan Jason gave up the unequal fight. And lowered his lips to hers.

It was not a gentle kiss, but in her innocence, Lenore didn't care, held in thrall by the turbulent passion behind it. Her wits, already half seduced by her own dangerous imaginings, were swept away by the reality. Untutored, she sought to appease the hard demand of his lips, her lips instinctively softening, then parting under his.

Any vague idea Jason had possessed of a single, short, salutory kiss—to appease his demons and to demonstrate unequivocally the unwisdom of her looking at him with desire in her eyes—disappeared, drowned beneath the tide of passion her unexpected invitation evoked. He took instant advantage, slanting his lips over hers, confidently taking possession of her soft mouth with a slow, plundering relentlessness that shook him as much as it shook her.

Lenore shuddered, her senses reeling. She felt his hands leave hers, his arms lifting to enclose her, drawing her against him. His strength surrounded her, seducing her more completely than his kiss. Free, her hands lifted, hovering uncertainly before settling on his shoulders. She felt the muscles beneath his coat shift restlessly at her touch. Immediately she splayed her fingers, gripping hard, amazed and then enthralled by the response she drew forth, the tension that wound suddenly tighter, tautening the muscles of his large frame. Hesitantly, she kissed him back, thrilled to feel his soaring response, startled to find a similar reaction coursing her veins.

The sensation was addictive. Her senses, so long reliably content, revelled in the magic they wove. Like pagans, they swirled to the rhythm and demanded more. Wantonly she leaned into his embrace, delighting when his arms tightened, crushing her breasts against the hard wall of his chest. Cast into a realm beyond reality, Lenore had no defence against the power that engulfed her, no reason to fight the tide. Instead, blinded to the tenets of wisdom, her upbringing and society's mores, she followed where her senses led, freely responding, meeting every demand he made of her and wanting more.

Which was considerably more encouragement than Jason's frayed control could resist. He shifted his hold, one hand dropping to the small of her back, drawing her hips against his. Lenore shivered in his arms, her body pressing against his in flagrant invitation. The last vestiges of Jason's once vaunted control cindered. He felt her fingers tangle in the soft hair at his nape. Slowly, he eased her back, bringing one hand up to cup her breast.

Shivery pleasure cascaded down Lenore's spine; heat swelled her breasts. She responded immediately, her kisses more urgent, her mind, her body eager to experience more. Infuriatingly slow and patient, Jason's long fingers caressed her, drawing forth a gamut of sensations she had never felt before. As her nipples tightened to painful little buds, Lenore felt a curious heat unfurl deep inside. Entranced, she made no demur when Jason's fingers slid down the row of pearly buttons closing her blouse. It felt deliciously right when he brushed aside the fine material, searching for the ribbons of her chemise. A gentle tug and the bows were undone. If she had not been kissing him, she would have caught her breath. As it was, she felt her senses slide over some invisible precipice as her silk chemise slithered to her waist. The cool caress of the air on her naked breasts was dispelled by his fiery touch.