Authors: Kate Worth
After a few moments, she kicked off her embroidered slippers and pressed her thumbs into her sore insteps, wiggling her toes. Her body was protesting every tense moment of the past several hours. Her cheeks were cramped from smiling and the muscles in her neck, shoulders, and back were tightly bunched. The pulse in her temples throbbed from trying to remember so many names.
FINN HESITATED NEAR the hearth, searching for something to say.
“Do you have a preference as to neighborhood?” he asked in his deep, velvety baritone.
“Pardon?”
“Bloomsbury,” he suggested. “Something on Bedford Square perhaps? Chelsea has become quite fashionable. It is convenient to Westminster, my club on St. James, and the Physic Garden. Oh, and Hyde Park of course. Pip loves to be out of doors,” he rambled.
“I don’t know. First you should…
we should…
” she hesitated then started over. “We may want to see our London properties first. I suppose Cousin Tom could be using one of the houses. I’m only guessing, but I know he prefers the excitement of the city over the quiet pursuits of the country.”
Finn arched a brow. “Our London properties? Who is Cousin Tom?”
“My cousin, Thomas Gray, inherited father’s title and family seat, Clairmont. The rest of the estate, everything that was not entailed, was left to me. Most of the properties came to my father as part of mother’s dowry and a later inheritance from my grandfather.” She saw no hint of understanding on his face. “Remember… the inheritance? I mentioned it to you yesterday.”
Finn dropped into the chair opposite her and regarded her with a blank expression.
“I thought you referred to personal trinkets of negligible value… your mother’s ring, a quilt or the like.”
Jane snorted. “You thought my inheritance was a quilt?”
“Or pots and pans.”
Jane laughed out loud. “Pots and pans. Very amusing.”
“Maybe that notion fixed in my mind due to your profession, although I grant you it makes little sense now that I think of it,” he laughed quietly then leaned back in his chair. He stared into the cold hearth, apparently lost in thought.
She felt compelled to fill the silence. “There is a manor home, The Willows, in Middlesex on the Thames. Is that far?”
Finn shook his head. “Not so very. An hour or so.”
“And the other is a town home near Westminster,” Jane nervously pleated her skirt between her fingers. “I have never seen it myself, but my family stayed at The Willows whenever we visited London, which granted was not often. Unlike my cousin, my parents far preferred the country life. I was quite young the last time I was there, but I have a handful of pleasant memories. I remember swimming in a pond surrounded by willow trees and watching shooting stars in the garden at dusk. The house is lovely if memory serves.”
Finn ran his fingers through his hair, a now familiar gesture. “I don’t understand. If you’re an heiress, then why…”
Jane sighed. “I promise I’ll explain everything in the morning. I suspect we will have to meet with my father’s solicitor soon to determine the disposition of my… forgive me… of
our
holdings. I fear Tom may not have had my best interests at heart these past eight years.”
She stood up and moved toward the door in the hope that he would follow her lead. To her relief, he did.
Just go,
Finn told himself, confounded by his own reluctance to leave her.
She is exhausted, that much is obvious. Linger any longer and she’ll realize you are just making excuses to remain in her company, if she hasn’t already.
At the threshold he paused, his mind scrambling to compose something sufficiently heartfelt or clever to draw out the moment. He turned to face her. “I have been searching for the proper words to thank you, Jane,” he raised her hand and brushed a light kiss across her knuckles. He felt her tremble as his lips touched her soft skin. The involuntary response warmed his blood and sent his pulse racing.
Throughout the day, Finn had found credible reasons to guide her by the hand or to place a casual arm around her waist under the guise of being an ardent, solicitous bridegroom. He told himself that he was playing a role, but in truth he had been indulging a rampant urge to touch her. Every sparkling smile, every veiled glance from her expressive brown eyes, and every shy blush, had captivated him and stoked his simmering attraction to her. Each had a growing, visceral awareness of the other, as if an invisible cord stretched between them. Now that he finally had her alone and a husband’s right to touch her, the impulse to explore the nature of her appeal was powerful.
Jane looked at their joined hands and seemed perplexed by his statement. “Thank me?” The words emerged with a squeak. “Whatever for?”
“You were the epitome of elegance and poise today. I was proud to have such a beautiful, self-possessed woman by my side,” he said softly. “And Pip was a delight, polite and beguiling as usual. She is a credit to you.”
Beautiful?
Jane had never thought of herself as such. No doubt meaningless flattery fell easily from the lips of a practiced rogue like Finn Wallace. She had read of his scandalous romantic exploits in the gossip columns; his brother’s were equally infamous. Her cheeks heated with the suspicion he was humoring her.
“Well, I… there is no… now
I
am the one at a loss for words. Th-thank you,” she stammered and pulled her hand from his.
She took a step backward.
He took one forward.
“Aunt Margaret was particularly taken with you. She scolded me at length for ‘hiding you away.’ I suspect you’ll receive an invitation to join The Ladies’ Benevolent Society before the sun rises, but I must warn you ere you accept, the median age of the membership is nine-hundred. She recruited me as a speaker once, and I lost my voice shouting into ear trumpets.”
“Wicked,” she scolded, but her eyes lit with humor.
“You don’t know how wicked,” he said, running his hands up and down her arms.
Her eyes narrowed speculatively at the sudden heat in his eyes. Surely he did not mean to… did not expect her… No. They had discussed it… perhaps in time, but not now. For heaven’s sake, she didn’t even know him. Not really. Her brain raced.
“Goodnight, my lord,” Jane’s said firmly.
He pretended not to hear the clear dismissal in her tone.
“Finn,” he corrected with a lazy, confident smile. She was nervous, blushing, stumbling over words. Even a green lad could read the signs, and he was no green lad.
Just one kiss… a friendly, brotherly peck,
he told himself. It was their wedding night, after all. A gesture of affection wouldn’t be completely untoward.
“Finn. Yes. Goodnight, Finn.”
He scanned her features as if memorizing every curve and hollow before coming to rest on her eyes. She read his intent and swallowed. Loudly.
“Goodni…”
“Hush,” he said softly, easing closer to gently take her face in his hands. Palms cradling her jaw, he softly rubbed his thumbs across the plump bottom lip that had tantalized him all day.
Weariness forgotten, adrenaline sharpening her senses, she slid her fingers around his wrists. For a moment he thought she would push him away, but she turned her face and pressed a kiss to his palm instead, then looked up at him with equal parts confusion, curiosity, and desire.
That bewitching combination of innocence and dormant passion inflamed him. Finn’s eyes darkened and his nostrils flared. He hesitated.
Finn would confidently wager any sum that Jane had no experience of men. He, on the other hand, had spent more years than he cared to admit building a reputation as an impenitent rake. Although he liked to think of himself as selective, not desultory, when it came to his numerous past liaisons, he knew few women would recognize the distinction.
Her purity, his depravity, her goodness, his profligacy, were considerations that flipped and tumbled through Finn’s mind as his better nature argued for restraint; she was a woman who should be afforded respect and forbearance. Would he be able to stop at just one kiss? Hell no.
Give her time, you selfish bastard.
That’s what he told himself, right before he took her in his arms.
JANE’S BODY RESPONDED with a flush of warmth and anticipation counterbalanced by a skirl of alarm. The air sparked with a turbulent energy that twisted through her, igniting a restless yearning deep in her core. She bit her bottom lip, drawing his gaze. With a soft growl Finn lowered his head and took her mouth.
She sighed as he pulled her tighter against the hard wall of his chest. The iron band of his arms enveloped her in masculine warmth. He smelled wonderful, like soap and leather and something woodsy.
Finn’s lips slanted across hers. Achingly slow and sweet, the kiss flowed through her like melted sugar. She had the sensation of drifting as he caressed her, pulled her closer. He tilted his head and ran his tongue along the seam of her mouth. Surprised, she sucked in a sharp breath and he slipped inside, probing the velvety depths with languid strokes. A bittersweet tension bloomed low in her belly and spread throughout her body.
Jane arched her back, pressing closer. He moaned low in his throat. She felt a thrill at her ability to arouse him, the contrast between their bodies, hers soft, his unyielding. She molded to his lean, slender hips, acutely aware of his hard thighs and solid torso, her breasts flattened against his chest. Her legs trembled, grew weak. She would have slid to the ground were it not for his support.
Finn dragged his mouth to her ear. “Hold me,” he whispered roughly, then caught her earlobe between his teeth. She shuddered. He swirled his tongue in the delicate shell of her ear, his breath warm on her cheek. “Put your arms around me, Jane.”
She hadn’t realized her arms were rigid at her sides, fingers clenched. She forced herself to relax and slid her palms up his chest, around his corded shoulders to thread her fingers through his hair. She gently tugged his mouth back to hers. The kiss grew more urgent; he slid his tongue deeper, plumbing her depths. His breath grew ragged as his hands began a restless exploration, caressing her breasts, squeezing her hips, sliding around to cup her bottom.
He lifted her against his erection and slowly rocked his hips. The pressure against her woman’s place made her desperate with need. Finn knew it was too much intimacy, too soon, but he was helpless to stop. It felt as if he had wanted her forever.
She was drowning in sensation, sinking into fathomless depths. An exquisite tension was building inside her, a pulsing need; she squeezed her thighs together in an attempt to relieve it. Finn felt her movement, understood it better than she. He slid his hand down between her legs, stroking her through her skirts.
With a sigh, she surrendered herself completely to his will. Adrift on a sea of desire and nameless longing, she could think of nothing beyond their embrace and the devilish delight he summoned with his mouth and hands. She felt drunk on pleasure, unable to think, only to feel.
A persistent sound gradually cut through the sensual fog that surrounded her. She was vaguely aware of Finn swearing softly. Her body felt chilled as he set her away from him. Slowly her mind cleared as she heard a muffled voice on the other side of the door and several diffident knocks.
“JANE, DEAR, ARE you still awake? May I have a word?”
Finn groaned at his mother’s wretched timing. He sent Jane a tight, apologetic smile and ran his fingers through his hair. He tugged at his waistcoat and linked his hands together to conceal the evidence of his arousal.
Embarrassed and nervous, Jane smoothed trembling hands over her gown and reached up to assess the condition of her coiffure. Satisfied that she was not too disordered, she took a deep breath and opened the door.
“Of course I’m awake, Your Grace, it is still early. Lord Wallace and I were just… discussing the wedding and how splendid everything was. Thank you again for your efforts. It was beautiful, simply beautiful,” she said with a wobbly smile and a quaver in her voice.
Justine was shocked to find her son in Jane’s room, even more surprised that her son’s new wife looked guilty and embarrassed. Her eyes were wide, cheeks flushed. The duchess squinted, her gaze darting speculatively between the newlyweds. They looked like young lovers caught tumbling in a hayloft.
How interesting! How unexpected! How marvelous!
Justine struggled to keep a knowing, self-satisfied smirk from her face. The atmosphere was thick with tension and she realized with immense relief that there might be much more than she realized to Finn’s marriage proposal. Could more than attraction… actual
affection
… for one Miss Jane Gray have secretly played a part in his brash offer? God knows Jane was not her rakish son’s usual type, but Justine had never cared much for his rakish ways nor his ‘usual type,’ for that matter. Light skirts, floozies, trollops, strumpets, and hussies, every last one, regardless of their pedigrees, she thought tartly. Quite literally, the sort of women that men did not bring home to meet their mothers, unless their mother ran a brothel.