Catch a Falling Heiress: An American Heiress in London (28 page)

Tufton’s efforts to capture her attention, he was happy to see, went nowhere. Whenever she was with the marquess, Jack could observe her leaning back or edging away, and though he did feel a bit sorry for the chap, he was of no mind, in the name of fair play, to advise Tufton to gargle eau de cologne or chew a bit of parsley.

And though Jack had demonstrated Hansborough’s abysmal lack of paternal capability, Linnet seemed of no mind to forgo his company. And though every time Hansborough danced with her or laughed with her or admired those low necklines of hers, Jack’s ever-inventive brain conjured up plenty of other ways to show up the viscount to his own advantage, he didn’t act on them.

No, though it was the hardest thing he’d ever done, Jack behaved himself. He made polite conversation with her and her mother over tea, and he tried not to dwell on all the devious ways he could have maneuvered Helen into leaving them alone. If there was dancing in the evening and he was lucky enough to have a waltz with her, he kept their bodies the perfect, proper distance apart and made polite, proper conversation. And if he happened to encounter her during a rare moment when she was alone, he bowed, said a few innocuous words, and moved on, just as a gentleman should.

His impeccable conduct didn’t gain him any favor, but he didn’t really expect it to do so. His main reason for maintaining his distance wasn’t for her benefit at all. No, his reason was much more selfish than that. Keeping his distance was the only way to keep his sanity.

As strict as his control over his actions was, he couldn’t seem to control his wayward thoughts. His memory reverted to that kiss in the boxwoods time and again, and the touch of her lips, the taste of her tongue, and the hot burn of her body seemed almost as vivid in his imagination as they’d been in reality. The part he treasured most was the astonished pleasure in her face after they’d pulled apart, because it reminded him that he’d succeeded in one goal, at least: banishing forever the unwillingness that had tainted her view of their first kiss. But in the days that followed, that was cold comfort, because he yearned to kiss her again, and he could not do it.

Kissing, of course, was just a delightful prelude to much more carnal imaginings which, at this rate, were never going to become reality. His mind came up with a myriad of ways to pleasure her, ways that matchmakers and chaperones could never approve, ways that slid into his thoughts during the day and invaded his dreams at night, ways that to his way of thinking would be far more effective at wooing and winning Linnet than polite conversation over sherry in the drawing room.

Nonetheless, he remained stalwart, adhering to all the rules though it baffled him how he could ever coax her into loving him back by talking about the weather and turning pages for her at the piano. By the last day of the house party, he despaired of ever finding a way to bring her closer without breaking the rules, and when he heard she’d gone for the afternoon, he decided that practicing golf shots by himself on the other side of the park was his wisest course.

His reprieve from civilized courtship lasted a mere two hours before the sound of hoofbeats interrupted him, and when he glanced over his shoulder and saw her riding in his direction, he knew fate had at last decided to reward him—or annihilate him—for being on such good behavior.

Desperate, he returned his attention to his ball, adjusted the grip on his midmashie, and swung. The ball sliced hard left and went into the woods. Grateful, he went after it at once, hoping she’d ride on and leave him in peace.

She didn’t, of course. Why would anything about Linnet ever be easy?

The hoofbeats came closer, slowed, then stopped. His mashie in one hand, he crouched down amid the shrubbery, pretending vast interest in locating his ball.

“Jack?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering what restraint he had, which was precious little, and looked up. The sun slid between the leaves overhead, illuminating her with dappled light as she dismounted and tied off her horse. Despite her black broadcloth riding habit, when she turned toward him, he was reminded of those wood nymphs of folklore that lured men into all sorts of temptation.

Christ have mercy,
he thought, and dove back into the shrubbery as she came toward him.

She paused by his side. “Looking for your golf ball?”

“Yes.” His answer was clipped, not the least bit welcoming, but he was in no frame of mind for civilized courtship. Not today.

She stepped even closer. “I can help you look.”

“It’s not important. I have others.” His fingers tightened around the mashie in his hand, and he stood up. As he did, his gaze traveled up the luscious curves he’d been dreaming about, along the slender neck he’d been kissing in his dreams for days, and into her face, but he couldn’t quite meet her eyes. That would do him in. He stopped at her chin. “Good afternoon. I’d best carry on.”

He bowed and started to step around her, but her voice stopped him.

“Jack?”

He stopped, prayed for fortitude, stared at her chin. “Yes?”

“Did—” She stopped and bit her lip. “Don’t we have a truce?”

“Of course we have a truce.” He strove to seem amiably puzzled. “Why do you ask?”

She licked her lips as if she was nervous. “Things haven’t been the same since that afternoon with baby Colin. You’ve become so distant. We haven’t played twenty questions for several days, and you haven’t cornered me on the terrace even once.” She laughed a little, but it sounded forced. “You haven’t given Lady Trubridge any reason to watch us like a hawk.”

“No, I suppose not.”

He fell silent again, and he knew he wasn’t helping her, but what did she want from him?

“I fear it’s because we quarreled. That’s why I came to find you.” She paused, faltering, then went on, “I wanted to patch things up.”

“That’s not necessary. There’s nothing to patch up.”

“I think there is.” She paused. “I just wish I knew what it was. If I knew what was causing this breach between us, maybe I could fix it. We’re friends, you said. Can’t friends talk about things? I know you feel that talking doesn’t accomplish anything, but I can’t agree with you.”

Despite the situation, he couldn’t help a smile. “You not agree with me about something? What a surprise.”

She smiled back, and he felt desire flicker dangerously inside him. He stirred, glancing around. “We shouldn’t be out here alone, Linnet,” he said. “Belinda will have my head on a plate if she finds out.”

“I know, but the house party is ending tomorrow, and I wasn’t sure I’d have another chance to speak with you. Everyone’s going tomorrow. Are you going, too?”

Just now, he wished he could. “Not tomorrow, no.”

Something came into her face; it might have been relief, perhaps even pleasure, but he knew that could just be wishful thinking on his part. When it came to Linnet, his perceptions could not be trusted. “I can’t go until I’ve seen Stuart—the Duke of Margrave. He and his duchess are arriving the day after tomorrow, and I must meet with him about a business matter.”

“And after that?”

Desperate, he sought excuses to go. “I ought to go home to Featherstone Gate for a bit. I haven’t been there since I was home in May. And I should have a look at the other estates, too, while I’m in the north.”

“Could you stay longer? We could have a bit more time that way, and—”

“I can’t,” he cut her off, his voice brusque even to his own ears. “I can’t do it. I know I’m supposed to be conducting a proper courtship, but it’s becoming rather a rough go for me. You see . . .”

He paused, but hell, what was the point of prevaricating? “All I want, all I think about is kissing you and touching you, and I can’t because I don’t have the right, and that’s driving me a bit mad. I need to get clear of you for a bit.”

“Oh.” Her face was crimson, her eyes wide. “Of course.” She pressed a gloved hand to her mouth, looking stricken. “I’m leading you on,” she choked. Her hand fell, and she ducked her head. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize. I’ll go.”

She turned as if to depart, and even though he knew it was best if he let her, suddenly, he couldn’t. Even though he’d been the one avoiding her for days, even though just being here alone with her was breaking every rule in the etiquette books, even though he just told her he had to resist her, he couldn’t do it. He dropped the mashie, reached out, and caught her by the arms before she could escape. “You’re not leading me on. It’s not that at all.”

She stilled. Her chin lifted to that proud angle he recognized, but her voice, when she spoke, was tentative, uncertain. “I thought perhaps after our quarrel, you had come to regret what you said the other night, and that’s why you were avoiding me. I thought . . .” She faltered, her chin lowered, and she stared down at the hat in her hand. “I thought you might want to take it back,” she whispered.

“I don’t want to take it back. I’ll never take it back.”

His hands tightened on her arms. He knew that if anyone saw them, he would be regarded as even more of a cad than ever, for not only was he detaining her when she was unaccompanied, but holding her this way when it was clear she was walking away could not be excused.

Let her go, he thought. But even as he gave himself that command, he glanced around to be sure the woods around them were thick enough to hide them from the view, and then, he pulled her closer. When he bent his head, the scent of heliotrope came to his nostrils, and the effect on his body was instantaneous. Desire came over him in a thick, hot wave.

“When I’m sitting across from you in the drawing room,” he murmured by her ear, “all I’m thinking about is what you look like without your clothes, and I’m imagining how it would feel to caress your naked skin.”

A tremor ran through her, and he pushed his advantage, for this was a form of courtship he knew and understood. “When I’m in bed at night, I imagine what it would be like if you were lying there with me, your body under mine, and your hair, loose and golden, spread across my pillows.”

His gaze skimmed her flushed cheeks, the long, graceful line of her neck, moving down past the pristine high collar of her riding coat and shirt, to the generous curve of her breasts. Her breathing was quick and shallow. He could see it and hear it.

He let go of one of her arms and slid his hand up along her rib cage to cup her breast, and even through the stiff layers of her clothing, the shape of it seemed a perfect fit to his hand, proving—not that he needed any convincing—that Linnet was his woman, that she was made for him. He shaped it, squeezing gently, and she gasped, her knees caving.

He slid his other arm around her. “I think about making love to you,” he said, his voice harsh to his own ears, a rasp of raw lust in the turgid summer air. He dipped his knees, nestling his erection against her bum. “I think about bedding you, and taking your virtue, and making you totally mine.”

She gasped, wriggling in his hold, sending teasing pulses of pleasure through his body. His arm tightened around her, keeping her in place as he pressed his erection even more deeply between her buttocks, and when he flexed his hips, the sensation was so exquisite, it almost sent him to the ground. He groaned, a primitive sound low in his throat, and he stifled it in a kiss against her hair.

This was beyond pleasure now. It was becoming pain. He was shaking with the effort of holding back, and he knew he was a prize idiot for ever thinking he could behave himself when she was in reach. When thoughts of shoving her riding skirt aside and opening the breeches beneath started going through his mind, he knew he had to stop.

Desperate, he dredged up a speck of will and lifted his head. “But I can’t do any of that,” he said. “Because you are not mine.”

“If I were,” she whispered, “would you kiss me again?”

She tried to turn around, but he grabbed her arms, knowing he couldn’t let her. One taste of her would shred any scrap of willpower he still possessed, and he’d take her virtue right here. In the shrubbery, for God’s sake.

His hands tightened on her arms, and this time, instead of bringing her closer, he pushed her away, and when she turned around, he said, “I’m not going to engage in hypotheticals, Linnet, and I won’t let you toy with me while you make up your mind. Yes,” he added, as she started to protest. “You’re toying with me, whether you realize it or not, because you don’t trust me.”

“Trust takes time.”

“I realize that, but we don’t have the luxury of a long, drawn-out courtship here. And even if we had all the time in the world, trust is what this is really about.”

“Trust is a lot to ask for, Jack.”

“Is it?” He considered, then acknowledged that with a nod. “Yes, I suppose it is, but I won’t take less. So it comes down to one thing: Will you choose to trust me with your future, or won’t you? It may not be an easy choice, Linnet, but it’s a choice you’ll have to make.”

“Is it a choice?”

“Trust is always a choice. But here’s the rub: Like all choices, you won’t know if it’s the right one until after you’ve made it.”

He took a deep breath and took another step back. “I’ll be away all day tomorrow, because as I said, I need to be away from you for a bit. While I’m gone, I want you to make that choice. I want you to send all those other chaps packing and make it clear you won’t be seeing them again. If you do that, then I’ll stay as long as it takes, and we’ll proceed at whatever pace you like. I’ll even give up the dowry,” he added wildly, desperate for an end to this torture. “But I won’t be alone with you. I won’t touch you, or kiss you, or make love to you, as much as I might want to do so. I won’t even hold your hand under the table, because just that could prove too much temptation for me. All that’s off the table until you agree to marry me.”

He stepped around her, picked up his club, then paused, unable to resist saying one last thing. “Just don’t make me wait too long, Linnet, for I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

He walked away, and this time, he didn’t look back. He caught up his golf bag and started down the long stretch of turf, but he abandoned any notion of golf. His body was on fire, and he decided what he needed was a swim though he suspected that even a good dunking in cool water wouldn’t be enough to restore his equilibrium.