Once and Always (27 page)

“Lord Fielding!” she warned darkly, trying to pull back.

“A moment ago, you called me Jason. I heard you, don’t deny it.”

“That was a mistake,” Victoria said desperately.

His lips quirked in a faint smile. “Then let’s make another one.” As he spoke his hand went to the nape of her neck, curving around it and inexorably pulling her face down to his.

“Please don’t,” Victoria begged, her face only inches from his. “Don’t make me fight you—it will hurt your wound.” The pressure on her nape eased very slightly, not enough to let her up, but not forcing her closer either as Jason studied her in thoughtful silence.

Victoria waited patiently for him to let her go, knowing his senses were confused by loss of blood, pain, and a goodly quantity of liquor. Not for a moment did she believe he felt the slightest genuine desire for her, and she gazed down at him with something akin to amusement.

“Have you ever been kissed, really kissed, by anyone besides old Arnold?” he asked hazily.

“Andrew,” Victoria corrected, her lips twitching with laughter.

“Not an men kiss alike, did you know that?”

A giggle escaped before Victoria could stop it. “Really? How many men have you kissed?”

An answering smile tugged at his sensuous lips, but he ignored her quip. “Lean down to me,” he ordered huskily, subtly increasing the pressure of his hand on her nape again, “and put your lips on mine. We’ll do it my way.”

Victoria’s complaisance vanished and she began to panic. “Jason, stop this,” she pleaded. “You don’t want to kiss me. You don’t even like me more than a little when you aren’t foxed.”

A harsh laugh escaped him. “I like you too damned much!” he whispered bitterly, then pulled her head down and captured her lips in a demanding, scalding kiss that took everything and gave nothing in return. Victoria struggled in appalled, frightened earnest, bracing her hands on either side of him and shoving hard, trying to free her mouth from his. Jason swiftly plunged his fingers into the thick hair at her nape and twisted hard. “Don’t struggle!” he said through clenched teeth, “you’re hurting me.”

“You’re hurting
me,”
Victoria choked, her lips less than an inch from his. “Let me go.”

“I can’t,” he said hoarsely, but his grip on her hair loosened and his long fingers slid downward, curving around her nape while his mesmerizing green eyes gazed deeply into hers. As if the confession were being tortured out of him, he said raggedly, “I’ve tried a hundred times to let you go, Victoria, but I can’t.” And while Victoria was still reeling from that incredible statement, Jason pulled her head down and took her mouth in an endless, drugging kiss that stole her breath and stunned her into immobility. His lips moved against hers with tender, hungry yearning, tasting and shaping them, fitting them to his own, then sliding back and forth as if he wanted more of her. Something deep within her sensed his lonely desperation and, helplessly, Victoria responded to it. Her lips softened and melted against his. Instantly, the demanding heat of Jason’s kiss increased. His tongue slid over her lips, urging them to part, and the moment they yielded to the sensual pressure, his tongue plunged gently between them.

Jolt after jolt of wild sensation rocketed through Victoria as his tongue explored her mouth, until, in a fever of dazed yearning, she touched her own tongue timidly to his lips. Jason’s response was immediate; he groaned and wrapped his uninjured arm around her, crushing her breasts against his chest, his tongue plunging deeply into her mouth, then retreating to plunge again and again in a wildly exciting, forbidden rhythm.

An eternity later, he pulled his mouth from hers and slid his lips along her hot cheek, kissing her jaw and temple. And then, without warning, he stopped.

Sanity slowly came back to Victoria, bringing with it an awful realization of her shameless behavior. Her cheek was pressed to his hard chest and she was half-lying atop him like a—a shameless wanton! Shaking inside, she forced herself to raise her head, fully expecting to see Jason regarding her with either triumph or contempt—which was nothing more than she deserved. Reluctantly she opened her eyes and forced herself to meet his gaze.

“My God,” he whispered hoarsely, his green eyes smoldering. Victoria flinched instinctively as he lifted his hand, but instead of shoving her away, he laid his palm against her flushed cheek, his fingertips softly tracing the delicate bones of her face. Confused by his inexplicable mood, she stared searchingly into his sultry eyes.

“Your name doesn’t suit you,” he whispered thoughtfully. “ ‘Victoria’ is too long and icy for such a small, fiery creature.”

Completely captivated by the intimate look in his eyes and the compelling gentleness in his voice, Victoria swallowed and said, “My parents called me Tory.”

“Tory,” he repeated, smiling. “I like that—it suits you perfectly.” His hypnotic gaze held hers as his hand continued its seductive stroking, sliding over her shoulder and up and down her arm. “I also like the way the sun shines on your hair when you drive off in the carriage with Caroline Collingwood,” he continued. “And I like the sound of your laughter. I like the way your eyes flash when you’re angry. ... Do you know what else I like?” he asked as his eyes drifted closed.

Victoria shook her head, mesmerized by his voice and the sweetness of his words.

With his eyes closed and a smile on his lips, he murmured, “Most of all ... I like the way you fill out that nightdress you’re wearing. . . .”

Victoria lurched back in offended modesty and his hand fell away, landing limply beside his head on the pillow. He was fast asleep.

With wide, disbelieving eyes, she stared at him, not knowing what to think or how to feel. He really was the most arrogant, bold— The outrage she was trying to summon absolutely refused to come forth, and a reluctant smile touched her lips as she gazed at him. The hard planes of his face were softer in sleep and, without a cynical twist to his mouth, he looked vulnerable and incredibly boyish.

Her smile deepened as she noticed how outrageously thick his eyelashes were—long, spiky lashes that any girl would yearn to have. Watching him, she began to wonder what he had been like as a little boy. Surely he hadn’t been cynical and detached and unapproachable as a child. “Andrew ruined all my childhood dreams,” she thought aloud. “I wonder who ruined yours.” He turned his head on the pillow and a stray lock of crisp, dark hair fell across his forehead. Feeling strangely maternal and slightly wicked, Victoria reached out and smoothed it away with her fingertips. “I’ll tell you a secret,” she confessed, knowing he wouldn’t hear her. “I like you, too, Jason.”

Across the hall a door clicked shut and Victoria jumped up guiltily, straightening her nightdress and smoothing her hair. But when she peeked into the hall, no one was there.

When Victoria went down to breakfast, she was amazed to find Uncle Charles already seated at the table, long before he normally arose, and seeming absolutely overjoyed about something.

“You’re looking as lovely as usual,” Charles said, beaming, as he stood up and pulled out her chair for her.

“And you’re looking even better than usual, Uncle Charles,” Victoria returned, smiling as she poured her tea and measured in some milk.

“I’ve never
felt
better,” he declared expansively. “Tell me, how is Jason feeling?”

Victoria dropped her spoon.

“What I mean is,” he explained smoothly, “I heard him moving about in the hall early this morning and I heard your voice too. Jason sounded,” he paused delicately, “a trifle disguised. Was he?”

Victoria nodded cheerfully. “Drunk as a wheelbarrow!”

Instead of commenting on that, Charles said, “Northrup informed me your friend Wiltshire was here an hour ago, inquiring rather desperately about Jason’s health.” He gave I her an amused, speculative look. “Wiltshire seemed to believe Jason had fought a duel this morning and been injured.”

Victoria realized it was useless to try to keep the matter from him. She nodded, laughing. “According to what Jason told me, he fought a duel with Lord Wiltshire because Lord Wiltshire called me ‘an English bumpkin.’ ”

“Wiltshire’s been plaguing me to distraction for permission to formally pay his addresses to you. I can’t believe he called you that.”

“I’m certain he did not. For one thing, it doesn’t make the least bit of sense.”

“None at all,” Charles agreed cheerfully. “But whatever the provocation for the duel was, Wiltshire apparently shot Jason?”

Merriment sparkled in Victoria’s eyes. “According to Lord Fielding, he was shot in the arm by a
tree.”

“Oddly enough,” said Uncle Charles, amused, “that is
exactly
the story that Northrup had from young Wiltshire!” After a moment, he added, “No matter. I understand Dr. Worthing attended to Jason. He is a friend of Jason’s and mine, and an excellent physician. If Jason’s health was in any real danger, he would be here right now, caring for him. Moreover, Worthing can be depended upon to keep the matter quiet—dueling is illegal, you know.”

Victoria paled, and Uncle Charles reached across and covered her hand with his own, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “There’s nothing whatever to worry about.” An inexplicable tenderness shook his voice as he added, “I can’t tell you how—how profoundly happy I am to have you with us, my child. There is so much I want to tell you about Ja—about everything,” he amended lamely. “The time will soon come when I can.”

Victoria took the opportunity to again urge him to tell her about the days when he knew her mother, but Uncle Charles only shook his head, his expression turning solemn. “Someday soon,” he promised as he always did. “But not yet.”

The rest of the day seemed to drag as Victoria waited nervously for Jason to appear, wondering how he would act toward her after last night. Her mind revolved around the possibilities, unable to leave them alone. Perhaps he would despise her for letting him kiss her. Perhaps he would hate himself for admitting he liked her and didn’t want to let her go. Perhaps he hadn’t meant any of the sweet things he said.

She was quite certain that most of his actions last night had been induced by strong spirits, but she wanted very much to believe some sort of closer friendship, rather than their tentative one, would result from letting the barriers down between them last night. In the past weeks, she had come to care very much for him; she liked and admired him. Beyond that, she . . . Beyond that, she refused to think.

As the day crept forward, her hopes began to die and her tension continued to mount—a state that was only worsened by the two dozen callers who appeared at the house, all of them anxious to learn the truth about Jason’s duel. Northrup informed everyone that Lady Victoria was out for the day, and Victoria continued to wait.

At one o’clock in the afternoon, Jason finally came downstairs only to go directly into his study, where he remained closeted in a meeting with Lord Collingwood and two other men who came to discuss some sort of business-investment.

At three o’clock, Victoria went to the library. Thoroughly disgusted with herself for worrying herself to distraction, she sat there, trying to concentrate on her book, unable to carry on any sort of intelligent conversation with Uncle Charles, who was seated near the windows across the room from her, thumbing through a periodical.

By the time Jason finally strolled into the library, Victoria was so unstrung she nearly jumped to her feet when she saw him.

“What are you reading?” he inquired casually, stopping in front of her and shoving his hands into the pockets of his tight tan trousers.

“A volume of Shelley’s,” she said after a long, embarrassing moment during which she couldn’t remember the particular poet’s name.

“Victoria,” he began, and for the first time Victoria noticed the tension around his mouth. He hesitated, as if searching for the right words, then said, “Did I do anything last night I should apologize for?”

Victoria’s heart sank; he didn’t recall any of it. “Nothing that I remember,” she said, trying to keep her disappointment from showing.

The ghost of a smile hovered at his mouth. “Usually, the person who can’t remember is the one who overindulged— not the other way round.”

“I see. Well, no, you didn’t.”

“Good. In that case, I’ll see you later when we leave for the theater—” With a glinting grin, he added meaningfully, “—Tory.” Then he turned to leave.

“You said you didn’t remember anything,” Victoria burst out before she could stop herself.

Jason turned back to face her, his grin downright wolfish. “
I
remember everything, Tory. I merely wanted to know if, in
your
opinion, I did anything I ought to apologize for.”

Victoria’s breath came out in an embarrassed, choking laugh. “You are the most exasperating man alive!”

“True,” he admitted unrepentantly, “but you
like
me anyway.”

Hot color raced to her face as she watched him walk away. Never, not in her worst imaginings, had she thought he might have been awake when she said that. She sank back against her chair and closed her eyes, mortified to the very core. And that was before a movement across the room reminded her that Uncle Charles was there. Her eyes snapped open, and she saw him watching her, an expression of joyous triumph on his face.

“Very nicely done, child,” he remarked softly. “I always hoped you would come to care for him, and I can see you do.”

“Yes, but I don’t understand him, Uncle Charles.”

Her admission only seemed to gratify the duke that much more. “If you can care for him now, without understanding him, you will care for him a hundred times more when you finally do, that much I can promise you.” He stood up. “I suppose I’d best be on my way. I’m engaged for the rest of the afternoon and evening with an old friend.”

When Victoria walked into the drawing room that evening, Jason was waiting for her, his tall frame exquisitely attired in a wine-colored coat and trousers, a ruby winking in the folds of his pristine white neckcloth. Two matching rubies glinted in the cuffs of his shirt as he stretched out his arm, reaching for his wineglass.