The Wedding of the Century & Other Stories (23 page)

He felt it so acutely, this desire to possess Blossom. It had been growing swiftly and steadily since the moment he read his brother's telegraph. Before, he had not allowed himself to think in such terms. She had been his brother's betrothed and therefore forbidden. But now—everything had changed. Every thought, every feeling. And while he was just beginning to accept such feelings, he was realistic enough to know that she had never felt this way about him. What he wanted was singular—for now.

“I've seen her.”

There was no reason to elaborate. His mother would have most certainly told his father about Jase's unrequited lust for their neighbor. There were no secrets in their marriage, and while Jase wished his mother had not told his father, he respected the fact that they held nothing back from each other. One reason their marriage had been so prosperous.

“Sit,” his father murmured. He waved to the empty chair that sat across from them. Too keyed up to sit and stay immobile, he paced the perimeter of the room.

“You must know what has brought me home.”

“I would like to think it was to see your family, but I can tell from the way you are pacing the floor, that it was to see someone else entirely.”

“What the devil was my brother thinking?” he suddenly exploded. “By God, her reputation! Did he not have a proper thought or care in that direction?” Bloody hell, how could Samuel not want her, when every fiber of his being cried out for her.

“Your brother followed his heart,” his father began, and was interrupted with Jase's outburst of “Hang his heart!”

“Dearest, you must sit and take some tea. It will revive your spirits.”

“Forgive me, Mama, but my spirits are rather invigorated. In fact, they might even be oversensitized.” Good Lord, he was coming unglued—utterly unhinged. His mind was in a muddle, and his heart…well, he did not possess the courage to glimpse inside.

His mother's gaze followed him as his boots, dusty and battered, left dirt on the Oriental carpet. “Tell me,” he murmured, “everything. I…I need to know.”

Squeezing his wife's hand, his father took over. “Your brother took a commission this winter in the south. He was gone some weeks, and evidently, while there, he met and fell in love with Cherise, a ballet dancer.”

“You'll adore her,” his mother cooed. “Such a lovely French accent.”

“Cherise!” he exploded. “God, she isn't even a proper English girl!”

His parents shared a glance, and his father's expression turned to a scowl. “She is a very nice young lady, and you'll like her, and accept her just as we all have.”

“Bloody hell, am I the only one present who realizes how reprehensible his actions were?”

“He didn't love her.”

Whirling around, he confronted his parents. “How the hell couldn't he? My God, I would—” Jase stopped and let out an aggrieved breath. His parents looked at him expectantly, their expressions knowing, his father's daring, challenging him to confess his deepest, darkest secret—that maybe, somehow, in some strange twist of fate, he might actually be in love with his brother's former fiancée. Had been in love with her for years. No. Impossible. He had lusted after her, for certain. But love…

“Well, it's just not done,” he said instead. “Her reputation, the gossip, not to mention the legalities involved in a breech of contract.”

“There has not been, nor will there be, any legal ramifications,” his father announced. “And her reputation has not been withered by this—in fact, it has been renewed.”

Jase narrowed his gaze. “What do you mean by that?”

“Blossom is even now entertaining possible suitors,” his mother said. “The duke and duchess are hosting a country house party as we speak. They're having a dinner tonight. You'll have to come along—I'm certain Jane and His Grace will be desirous to see you again.”

His brain shut down after hearing the word
suitors.
He heard nothing else, only saw Blossom in a ballroom surrounded by slathering piranhas in gentlemen's clothing.

“Ah, here is the tea,” his mother said. “Won't you have a cup?”

Without a word, Jase left the room. In the hall, he stalked, heading to the front door. Beetle reached for his hat, and held it out to him, but Jase ignored him and wrenched the door open.

He had no idea where he was going, he only knew he couldn't stay here. Couldn't sit and take tea and make
polite conversation with his parents. His mood was not polite. It was volatile. What he needed was a bruising ride through the woods, and a plan.

“D
O YOU LIKE THE SOUTH
country, Lady Blossom?” Lord Halston inquired as he sprinkled a generous amount of salt on the fillet of trout that graced his plate. Thankfully, their somewhat tenuous meeting at tea that afternoon seemed far behind them. Halston had been eagerly talkative this evening, appearing as though he had quite forgotten the matter of her paint-stained fingers and apron. She might have been far more relieved by that if Halston would begin talking of something other than his own merits.

“Indeed, I do, my lord. Lovely scenery in the south.”

“I have a grand estate on the ocean. Oh, and one in Ireland, near Cork, and another in the Peak District, and am looking to purchase some land on the coast, near Blackpool. Land, you know, particularly property which can be developed, is the best investment. Wouldn't you agree?”

They were on the third course and already Blossom had a blistering headache. How was it she had not realized how talkative his lordship was? Since they had been seated side by side at dinner, his gums had not stopping yammering on. He talked a great deal—about himself. His houses, his estates, his stocks, his mounts and the pack of hounds he was breeding. She was rather sick of him. Was this but a taste of what it would be like being married to him? She found herself wondering exactly how long it took to completely know another. She was quite
taken aback by this change in him. After their few meetings and dances she thought him to be a polite, refined gentleman, not a pompous braggart. She truly loathed men who boasted about themselves and appeared self-important. That failing she could not, and would not, ignore. She had liked Halston—before this evening. With a sigh, she realized that it was time to rethink things.

“Have you been to the Peaks?” he asked, not waiting for her answer. “Lovely country, just lovely. My estate there, you know, is nearly a thousand acres—well wooded, and stocked with pheasant and deer. Rivals Scotland's grounds for hunting. Coveted, my hunting invitations are. Always have more guests than rooms and I hate to dash anyone's hopes, but I'm afraid disappointment is inevitable when it comes to one of my hunting parties, for there are always so many eager for a chance to hunt in my park. What do you think of the hunt?”

“I do not—”

“You'll have to come this fall. Spectacular scenery. And I have just the right mare for you to ride to the hounds. Smashing time we'll have of it.”

“I think you'll find that Lady Blossom does not care for blood sports.”

The deep voice from across the table broke through Halston's pomposity.

“Eh?” Halston glanced at her, and then at the man seated across from him. “How would you know, Raeburn?”

Jase's smile was part cynicism and part disgust. Above them, the chandeliers cast a golden glow on the table, and bathed in such light Jase's black curls shone. The light also made his moss-green eyes glow, lending him a rather mysterious aura. There was no denying that Jase Markham was extraordinarily beautiful for a man. He had the face of a romantic poet, but the body of a sportsman.
Tall, broad, well muscled. There was nothing soft about that body. Nor the look he was giving Lord Halston.

“Well?” Halston challenged.

Jase tossed his napkin aside and sprawled back in his chair. Blossom was positive she heard the Sommerton twins sigh in simpering awe at the picture he presented—all handsome, indolent rogue.

“I know, Halston, because I have known her all my life. The lady does not care for bloodshed. She is a gentle soul, and would far rather embrace the woodland creatures than shoot them dead.”

“Oh.”

Jase shared an amused smile. “Is that not right, Lady Blossom?”

The fish suddenly seemed tasteless in her mouth. He was making a scene. Numerous people, including her father, had ceased their own conversations and were now watching intently.

Intent on putting a halt to Jase's mischief, she graced Halston, who sat to her right, with a polite smile. “Indeed it is, I'm afraid. Although I will say that I greatly admire the woods in the autumn. Such marvelous colors, and wonderful inspiration for painting.”

Halston grunted, clearly not as appreciative as her to the changing seasons. Halston would not notice anything but a flock of pheasant, and deer. Good Lord, she wondered if he was the sort of sporting man that would bring home his kill, parading it about for everyone to admire, only then to have it served that night at dinner.

Her stomach soured, and she reached for her wine. She had never thought of Halston like that, but she knew that many peers and rich merchants found great pleasure in hunting and killing.

“Well, then, perhaps the south would be better,” Hal
ston mumbled. “Nothing there to offend your sensitive feminine sensibilities.”

“Yes, the ocean,” Jase murmured as he lifted his wine-glass to his lips, “perfect inspiration for Lady Blossom to paint.”

Halston's face flushed the tiniest bit, and Blossom sent Jase a warning glare. He was teasing her by goading Halston. The bored rake, amusing himself. He arched his brow, challenging her, and they sat in silence, each staring at each other until, thankfully, her father interrupted the quiet.

“Never been one for the hunt. I consider myself a lover, not a hunter.”

Amusement rang out loud and a few men lifted their goblets in toast to her father, who, with that one well-placed line, was able to set the table at ease again, and the discourse flowing freely.

Halston, fortunately, turned to his plate and ate, leaving her in silence. Jase, however, continued to stare at her from his place across the table. Just what the devil was his purpose here tonight? To humiliate her? When he had accepted her invitation to dine with them, she had thought it a marvelous idea. He was a friend—albeit, it had been a long time since they had been on intimate speaking terms—but that hadn't mattered. All she could see when she looked at him was a sanctuary of sorts. He would save her from all her zealous suitors, free her for a dance or two so she could think of nothing but the dance, not outmaneuvering her suitors. Perhaps he could escort her out into the gardens for a moment of fresh air and quiet. She had thought all those things, but now she wondered if it was wise to have invited him. He seemed more a nuisance than a savior.

“How is your painting?” Jase inquired. “I seem to recall hearing you had accepted a commission.”

“Yes,” she replied, conscious of the fact that Halston was watching her with curiosity. “It is a series of vignettes to be included in a retelling of
The Lady of Shallot.
”

“Ah,” he murmured, his eyes glistening wickedly. “I adore Tennyson. What of you, Halston?”

The earl mumbled a reply, one Blossom did not hear clearly. She had no idea if Halston's interests ran to the arts.

“I assume you still enjoy reading?” Jase asked. “Are the Brontë sisters still your favourite? I recall a spirited debate we had once, about whether Heathcliff was a villain, or an antihero.”

Smiling, she bit her lip, remembering that hotly debated thought. She, of course, had believed the brooding, insolent Heathcliff a misunderstood man. Jase had accused her of romanticizing the villain.

“Ah, I see you do, too.” He smiled. “You presented your side with such enthusiasm.”

She had been a harridan. And he had laughed at her, making her punch him in the arm in frustration.

“I remember it fondly,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a seductive purr. “In fact, I can still see you, your cheeks glowing pink with indignation.”

Halston's gaze volleyed between them, making Blossom aware of the intimacy that seemed to crackle between her and Jase. She wondered if Halston noticed, or if anyone else did.

“That was a long time ago, my lord,” she answered quietly. Their gazes met across the table, and Blossom looked away, lest anyone notice how they had conversed without any thought to the others at the table.

“It was not that long ago, Lady Blossom, I still vividly recall it—and you.”

His voice was like a caress, and she shivered in response to the way his voice seemed to glide along her.

“I understand you've been in the north this past year,” an aging viscount asked Jase, breaking the tension. “Breeding Arabians, I've heard. A spunky breed. Must be a handful.”

“Indeed. But I believe that anything in life with spirit is worth the effort. Wouldn't you agree?”

The viscount laughed and tipped his fork at Jase. “And taming that spirit, eh? I've heard you're a master at it.”

Jase's gaze once more found hers. “Not fully tamed. I would never change a creature's temperament or bend them to my will for my own amusement or personal gains.”

Her father, Blossom noted, had suddenly taken an extreme interest in her end of the table, particularly Jase. “Spirit is a marvelous thing,” her father stated. “It is up to a man to harness it, to keep it free from danger, but never to snuff it out completely. Men feel the need to tame because they are not confident enough to allow such spirited freedoms. It is a rare man who is strong enough to, say…allow a woman such spirit.”

“Agreed, Your Grace.”

“Oh, ho!” The viscount laughed. “Now we have left the topic of horses and have turned the conversation to something bordering on shocking!” The table laughed, even the women. But Halston, she noticed, glared at Jase.

“Trust my husband to introduce such a unusual topic of conversation,” her mother said graciously. “But it would not be a Torrington country house party without a little something shocking.”

“To Your Graces, then,” the elderly gentleman toasted. “For your gracious hosting, your unpretentiousness and refreshing outlook. I always enjoy myself here.”

They drank a few more toasts, and three more courses were served before dessert arrived. A chocolate-and-cream concoction that happened to be her favorite. Once
the dessert was over, her mother rose and suggested the ladies retire and allow the gentlemen their cigars and port. Blossom had never been more eager to escape in her life. Her response to Jase unnerved her. In fact, she was so keen to put distance between her and Jase that she left half of her dessert!

 

T
HERE WAS NO FIRE LAID
in the hearth, but Jase stared down into the empty grate, anyway. Closing his eyes, he thought of Blossom wearing that lovely soft pink gown. What a startlingly contrast to all that ebony hair that was wound up high on her head. And that fresh-as-cream skin that made him want to lap at her. What a dichotomy she was—an innocent little frock, covering a body made for sin. He hadn't been able to take his eyes from her. He'd thought her lovely before; tonight he thought her utterly breathtaking.

“Not so subtle in there, were you?”

His father came to stand beside him, and they kept their backs to the other men as they conversed in low tones. “Subtlety is for sneaks and weaklings,” he replied. “I'm neither. I want her. And I will have her.”

“So you decided to give notice to every unattached male present.”

“What would you have done if you knew the woman you desired was being surrounded by venomous snakes? I at least give fair warning before I strike.”

“I admire your doggedness, but you're going about it a bit strong, aren't you? You've only just arrived back home.”

Jase stared incredulously. “What? You'd have me wait, and allow Halston more time with her? You're mad. No, I'm staking my claim—tonight.”

His father smiled. “I can see myself in you. I guess
you could say that I went about wooing your mother in the same fashion, with single-minded tenacity.”

“I wasn't trying to be rude,” he mumbled, “well, perhaps bordering it. But damn it, Halston doesn't know a bloody thing about her. She was pale and fidgeting when he was droning on about the hunt. I couldn't allow it to continue.”

“Nevertheless, you cannot come barging in and make such a blatant claim. People will talk no matter how veiled you might have thought that comment was.”

Sighing, Jase pressed his eyes shut. Christ, he hadn't the patience for social politics. It made no damn sense to him.

His father looked at him assessingly. “It is wooing you are about, isn't it?”

The mere hint that Jase was being less than sincere riled him. Yes, he desired her, but there was so much there, more than he had ever thought possible. Just seeing her seated beside Halston had made him as dangerous as a taunted lion. He had known by his reaction that much more than desire had made him return to her.

“Here.”

A new voice was beside him, so was a hand, holding out a crystal glass of whiskey.

“My thanks, Your Grace.”

Blossom's father nodded, then proceeded to look him over, from the top of his hair, which he wore a bit too long for fashion, to the tip of his boots, which he'd made certain his valet had shone to a high gloss.

“Nice to see you back,” the duke said. “It's been a while.”

“It has.”

“What is the enticement?”

There it was. The thing he most admired about the Duke of Torrington. He cut to the heart of the matter. He
played the politics of politeness only so far. In this matter, Jase was absolutely relieved.

Taking a sip of the whiskey, he let it slide down his throat, savoring the heat of it. “I believe you already know, Your Grace.”

“I suspect. Let's put it that way.”

“Perhaps I'll take my leave.” His father patted his shoulder and departed for the others, which were thankfully a safe distance away.

“You've made the right first impression,” the duke began. “I believed you, back there at the table, when you spoke of spirit. I also know you weren't speaking of your damned Arabians, but my daughter.”

Their gazes met, and Jase held the duke's cool blue eyes. He would not back down. He fleetingly wondered if Halston could hold his own against Blossom's father.