After only a brief hesitation, Claire nodded and silently said goodbye to her former self.
E
ntering the assembly room, the servants from Aldgate Hall were greeted with stuffy air and the scent of sweat. Dancing had already started; flushed faces were testament to the heat, exertion and excitement. The sight and noise was unlike anything one would see in a London ballroom; there, ennui and detachment reigned, not this enthusiastic participation.
Jacob turned to ask Claire to dance, only to find her being whisked away from the group by a fresh-faced fellow. He watched in disbelief as Claire laughed and smiled at the young man. An uncomfortable annoyance began to build in his stomach as Jacob continued to watch the man with his—
his
—Claire. He didn’t even look like a fully grown man, more of a boy trying to look like a man, with slicked-back hair and tight cravat. He doubted the boy was even old enough to shave; there were still spots on his face, for Christ’s sake. Why would Claire consent to dance with him, let alone smile at him in such a way?
A tug on his sleeve managed to pull his attention away from the dance floor. Lucy raised her eyebrows at the ferocity of his glare when it was turned on her. She gave him a lopsided smile. “C’mon Mr. Knightly. Dance wit’ me instead of glarin’ at Thomas.”
Jacob scowled even more. “His name is Thomas?” Claire’s dead betrothed’s name was Thomas. Perhaps she had a penchant for men with that name.
“Come on,” Lucy insisted. This time Jacob allowed himself to be dragged onto the dance floor. They joined the dancers mid-set. Jacob tried to keep his eyes on Claire and Baby Thomas, but it was difficult with all the whirling bodies crammed into such a small space.
“Mr. Knightly,” Lucy said, “see tha’ man over there?” She indicated a tall, strapping man with curly blond hair that resembled a mop standing on the edge of the dance floor, arms crossed, feet set apart in a fighter’s stance and glaring at him so fiercely that Jacob wouldn’t be surprised if the air between them burst into flame.
“Who’s he?” Jacob asked, turning his back on the potent glare. “And why is he trying to kill me with his eyes?”
Lucy grinned and looked at the man. “Alfie. He’s a stable boy at the Beecham estate. He’s sweet on me.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Cos’ he’s lookin’ at ye the way ye be lookin’ at Thomas. He don’t like me dancin’ wit’ other blokes neither.”
Jacob looked at Lucy and raised a brow. “I do not look like that.” He looked over the dancers, trying to spot Claire again.
“Yes, ye do. Yer the one who didn’t ask her to dance fast enough. Jes’ like Alfie.”
“That is a mistake I will never repeat,” Jacob said, still scanning the crowd. The music had ended, and the dancers were beginning to dissipate. Jacob caught a glimpse of Claire’s pink dress making its way to the refreshment table on the arm of Baby Thomas. “Come,” he said, taking Lucy’s arm and tugging her in the same direction.
Lucy resisted. “Mr. Knightly, I think I’ll be goin’ over to Alfie now.”
Jacob stopped and glanced between the maid and the scowling stable boy. The man hadn’t moved with the ending of the music. Knowing he was taking a risk, he leaned over and whispered in Lucy’s ear. “Never go to him; make him come to you. Now smile like I said something sweet and flirtatious.”
Lucy smiled at him like she was born to the stage. She slipped her arm through Jacob’s and said, “Yes, lemonade would be lovely.”
R
ight. Enough was enough. The first dance, he had been too slow to ask her. He understood that. The second dance—he could allow even that. It was crowded, after all. But the fourth dance? Unacceptable. For four dances, Jacob had to watch Claire spin and sashay and smile at her dance partners. All at her dance partners, not at him. At the rate this was going, his scowl was going to freeze onto his face.
Even Alfie hadn’t made Lucy wait long into the second dance. And here he still was, cooling his heels on the edge of the dance floor, watching Claire spend her time with other men. If he didn’t know better, he would think she was deliberately taunting him.
He didn’t like it. Not one iota. Even now, halfway through the fourth set, his teeth were aching from the grinding. And he still had at least ten more minutes until the set ended. He was considering forgetting his gentleman training and striding onto the floor to claim what was his.
“She has always been popular at assemblies and other gatherings.”
Jacob turned to the soft, cultured voice at his elbow. A woman who could not be much more than twenty stood beside him, gazing out onto the dance floor. Her blond hair was swept up into a simple yet elegant coif that accentuated her slender neck. Glancing at him with intelligent brown eyes, Jacob was given a clear view of her gently rounded face and classic nose. His gaze involuntarily swept downwards, taking in the quality of her dress, despite its age. Returning his gaze to hers, Jacob was sure of one thing: she was out of place here.
“I beg your pardon?” he asked.
She smiled. “Miss Bannister. She has an innate kindness and vivaciousness that draws people to her, both men and women. She never lacks for partners in whatever she does.”
“You know her well?”
“I have known Claire for over two years. We see each other regularly for tea, so yes, I would say I know her well.”
Jacob looked back at Claire on the dance floor. Good, she was still there. “You must be a member of the Governess Club.”
“And you must be the new tutor,” the young lady rejoined.
Jacob bowed to her. “Mr. Jacob Knightly, at your service.”
“Do you not approve of our endeavor, Mr. Knightly? Your tone indicated you do not.”
“Does my opinion matter to you?”
“Men seem to be threatened by things they cannot control. Soon there will be four women beyond the control of men as much as they can be. Does that not threaten you?”
Jacob turned to face the young lady fully. “Who are you?”
She gave him a half-smile. “A friend of Miss Bannister’s. I will not stand in the way of her happiness, but neither will I countenance her being hurt.”
“What makes you think I am going to hurt Cla—Miss Bannister?”
Her smile turned sad. “It is difficult to act contrary to our natures, Mr. Knightly. I pray that you prove to be different, but only time will tell.” She glanced out at the dancers. “The music is ending. You will not want to move too slowly this time.”
Jacob turned to look for Claire as well; sure enough, the set was finishing. He looked back to impart one final comment to the young lady, but all he saw was her moving away and disappearing into the crowd.
Without another thought, Jacob plowed onto the dance floor, to where Claire was curtseying to her partner. He grabbed her wrist. “You must be hot from your dancing. Come outside and cool down.”
“Mr. Knightly,” Claire began.
“Claire.” Both his tone and the look in his eyes held a warning. Claire quickly thanked her partner and succumbed to Jacob’s tugging.
“What has gotten into you?” she asked as they left the assembly room. Their footsteps echoed on the wooden steps leading down to the public room. Jacob didn’t say anything as he led her outside.
“Is there a garden nearby?” he asked, his tone brusque.
“Yes, just behind the church.” Claire pointed the way. She gave a little squeak as he tugged on her wrist again and strode in the direction she indicated. She scrambled to keep up. “Could you please shorten your strides?” He did so infinitesimally.
Jacob didn’t seem able to draw an easy breath until he had led Claire into the small garden. It was difficult to see everything in the moonlight, but a small circular pathway around the flowers was visible, including a pair of benches. When he finally stopped, Claire pulled her wrist out of his hand.
“What has gotten into you?” she asked again.
Jacob turned toward her. “I don’t like being ignored,” he growled.
“I wasn’t ignoring you.”
“No? Then how many dances have you shared with me? None. And how many with that groom of yours? Two, Claire. There’s only been four dances so far, and half have gone to the upstart who can’t grow a beard.”
“Thomas? I suppose you may be right. I’ve never seen him with any facial hair, but that is no cause to disparage him.”
“I will disparage whomever I please.”
“And if you had asked me to dance, I would have said yes,” Claire pointed out.
“I tried to.” Jacob was still growling at her. “But I can’t seem to get close enough, thanks to your male harem.”
“My what?” Claire gasped.
“Every boy in the country who is old enough to know what’s what is slavering after you. And you encourage it, with your smiles and your laughter and your dancing.”
“How dare you?” she breathed.
Jacob began to advance on her. “Even your blond friend deemed fit to comment on your popularity and how you never seem to lack for partners, whatever the activity.”
“Louisa?” Claire asked confused, instinctively moving away from his approach. “She would never insinuate—”
“She didn’t have to.” Jacob continued to advance on her. “I saw it with my own two eyes. The way they look at you. The way they want to touch you. And it’s all because of what you do.”
Claire felt the back of her legs hit one of the stone benches. “What do I do?”
Jacob threaded his hand into her hair, grasping her head firmly. “You smile at them. You talk with them. You laugh with them. You dance with them. You make them feel like they are the most important man in the room. All this you have been doing tonight. But not to me.”
Claire stared at him, dumbfounded. “Are you jealous?” she asked in a whisper.
His eyes narrowed. “I dislike you dancing with other men,” he muttered before crushing his lips to hers.
This was not like the other kisses they had shared. There was no teasing, no gentleness, no seduction. This kiss was pure domination. His lips pried hers open and his tongue invaded her mouth. Claire couldn’t catch her breath from the force of his attentions. She tried to twist her head to rectify her lack of oxygen, but it only resulted in his tightening the arm around her waist and the hand in her hair.
Claire did the only thing she could think of, the thing her body began to urge her to do. This was Jacob after all, the man she had come to respect and care about. She knew him, knew that this behavior was out of character for him. She had no qualms doing what needed to be done.
Claire began to kiss him back, moving his lips against his, trying to match his movements. Despite his grip, Claire managed to press her hands against his chest. She could feel his heart beating hard through the layers of his clothing. Was it from anger or passion?
A small moan escaped him, and Claire slid her arms up to his shoulders and around his neck, pressing her body against his. Jacob’s kiss began to gentle, reducing the painful pressure on her mouth and eliciting small tendrils of pleasure in her lips that swirled down her throat.
“Claire,” he murmured.
“Jacob,” she sighed as he moved away from her lips and began to trail kisses along her cheek and down her throat. She tilted her head to give him more access. His hands trailed along her back before settling on the cheeks of her bottom, cupping them and pulling her hips into his pelvis. There was no mistaking his reaction to her.
Claire’s throat went dry. Thomas, her former betrothed, had taken some liberties, but nothing like this. Her body was discovering sensations it had never known existed before this moment.
And then his hand moved upward to cup her breast. Her eyes flew open and slid half shut again. “Jacob,” she croaked.
“Claire.” She felt his voice against her skin.
With a final nibble where her neck met her collarbone, Jacob captured her mouth again, inhaling her gasps. Lord, but he was quickly becoming addicted to her.
He guided her down to sit on the stone bench, following her down to kneel on the ground in front of her. He nudged her legs opened with his hips and moved in closer. With a growl, he tugged her skirt up enough to settle in completely in the cradle of her thighs. Even this close felt like heaven.
But a dark church garden was not the place. With strength of will he hadn’t known he possessed, he broke the kiss and pressed his forehead against hers.
“Don’t do that again.”
“What?” He could see the glaze lingering in her eyes.
“Not dance with me.”
Claire cupped his cheeks, running her thumbs over his cheekbones. She could feel the small hairs of a new beard tickle her palms. It was a new experience she wouldn’t mind having again and again. Just like his kisses. Just like being with him.
Oh heavens, she had done gone and fallen in love with him, to borrow Lucy’s phrase.
She smiled at him. “Was that your way of asking me to dance, Mr. Knightly?”
“Just don’t do it again. You are mine.”
Claire leaned into him and kissed him again. This time it was her tongue that pushed into his mouth. This time it was she who drank in his deep moans, she who pushed her pelvis into his. Heavens, what pleasure.
One hand caressed a breast, kneading and shaping it, his thumb teasing her nipple. His other hand went to the hem of her skirt and disappeared underneath it. He didn’t stop to stroke her thigh, he didn’t stop to play with the undoubtedly sensible drawers and chemise. No, he unerringly found the juncture at her thighs and cupped it, pressing his palm in hard.
Sweet Jesus, but she was responsive. He had expected her to panic and close up. Instead, the pressure from his palm tore a little squeak from her and her legs opened wider. He slid a finger inside of her, feeling her wetness coat his hand.
Claire jerked against him and moaned.
“You are mine, Claire. Say it.”
“Jacob.”
“Say it.”
“I am yours.” Her head fell back and her body arched into his hand. Jacob put his free arm around her back to support her. Jacob increased his pressure and motions. Her body began to convulse, her inner muscles tightening around his fingers. A few moments later, small cries came from her in tandem with the pulsing of her release. He captured her cries with his mouth, swallowing each sweet taste.