Only Mine (2 page)

A soft hand closed around Jessica’s chin. “Stubborn little Scots lass,” Victoria said. “But in this I am more stubborn even than you. You have enjoyed the perquisites of aristocracy. A common woman your age would have been tumbled and set to breeding years ago by the first lout who got beneath her skirts.”

Jessica’s mouth flattened.

“You were protected by my second husband and raised as gently as though you were a child of his own loins,” Victoria continued, her voice cool and relentless. “You were educated in managing a great house and a great fortune. Despite that dreadful American maid whom you imitate, you were taught to speak proper English and to be a proper lady. Now you must repay the generosity of your upbringing by producing an heir who will forever
bind together the fortunes of the Viscount’s family and the wealth of Baronet Gore’s shipping empire.”

Long auburn lashes swept down, concealing the revulsion in Jessica’s eyes. “My lady, please—”

“No,” the older woman interrupted. “I have heard your pleas for much too long. I have spoiled you, but that is at an end. Your engagement to Lord Gore will be announced at midnight. You will marry within the month. If the old drunkard can coax his staff into readiness, you will produce an heir within a year and your duty will be fulfilled. Then you may live as you please.”

“O
H
, Lady Jessica,” Betsy said unhappily, “I don’t think you should go to Mr. Lonetree’s rooms.”

Jessica pushed away from the vanity where Betsy had been at work undoing her mistress’ elaborate jewelled coiffure and brushing out the long, silky hair. Normally, the ritual soothed Jessica, but tonight it had made her impatient. She began pacing the room like a caged cat. As she moved, the lacy peignoir which she wore while attending to her toilet billowed and rustled in pale shades of blue.

“There’s no choice.”

“But—”

“I won’t hear any more,” Jessica interrupted sharply. “You are forever telling me how women in America have more freedom in the choosing of their husbands and the living of their lives. If I must marry, I will choose my husband and live my life as it pleases me.”

“You aren’t American.”

“I shall be.” Jessica tied the peignoir’s robe around her waist with a firm yank. “American men
don’t have titles or great wealth, so they don’t need heirs. I won’t have to endure revolting marital duties or ruinous pregnancies with an American husband.”

Hesitantly, Betsy said, “American men do like a warm bed, my lady.”

“Then they can sleep with hounds.”

“Oh dear. I fear I’ve led you astray. Just because American men aren’t titled doesn’t mean that—”

“No more arguing,” Jessica interrupted, putting her hands over her ears.

For a moment she stood very still, fighting the fear that threatened to choke her. The feel of Lord Gore’s sweating palms closing over her hand was too fresh, as was the memory of the lechery in his bloodshot eyes. The thought of those same hands touching her in the marriage bed made bile climb in Jessica’s throat.

A nightmare prowled just beneath her awareness, chilling her even as it strengthened her determination. She lowered her hands, straightened her spine, and headed for the door.

“My lady,” the maid began.

“Sweet Betsy, do shut up.” Jessica smiled at her maid with trembling lips. “Wish me well. If I succeed, you’ll get that trip to America I promised you three years ago.”

Jessica opened the door and stepped into the hall. Betsy’s low sound of distress was cut off by the soft thump of the closing door. Gathering the flyaway layers of silk in her hands, Jessica hurried toward the wing of the house where Wolfe’s rooms were. Fragrant oil lamps burned in stone niches in the hall, for Lord Robert was a great lover of tradition in the home. The illumination was dim, but that didn’t worry Jessica. She knew every alcove
and corner of the great house.

Flinching when she passed windows where the storm beat in merciless demands for entrance, Jessica hurried through the huge stone house. She didn’t expect anyone else to be about, for she had waited until even the servants had gone to bed. She did avoid the library, however, for she knew the lord often gamed there until dawn with his friends.

Jessica hurried down another hall and ran lightly up a stairway. Just as she gained the top, she overran Lord Gore, who was considerably under the weather from port.

“Dear God,” she said, righting herself frantically.

Gore staggered, then caught himself by grabbing Jessica. Though drunk, he wasn’t beyond telling the difference between male and female flesh. Nor was he weak. When Jessica tried to twist free of him, his hands tightened. One hand dug into her breast. The other bruised her shoulder.

“Damn, but ‘tis my little lady.” Gore’s eyes narrowed as he dragged himself erect and focused on the silk and lace confection Jessica wore. “Very fetching, sweet. I’d not hoped to find you so eager for the marriage bed. Had I known, I’d have put less port under my hatches and got under yours sooner.”

“Let go of me!”

Gore ignored Jessica, intent only on getting closer to the soft, fragrant creature who was finally within his grasp. Part of Jessica’s peignoir ripped in her struggles to be free. He stared at her exposed breasts and tried to understand his good fortune at having found a fiancée who was so eager for
him she sought out his rooms while the house slept.

“Just look at those bubbies, by God,” he said heavily. “Lord Stewart drove a mean bargain for you, but it was worth it to the ha’penny.”

Gore bent down to Jessica’s breasts, staggered, and ended up shoving her against the wall with a force that knocked her breathless. That was the only thing that kept her from crying out in pain as his teeth closed over one breast. Grunting with growing excitement, he ignored her struggles as he flattened her against the wall and fumbled to undo his pants. Desperately, Jessica remembered what Wolfe had taught her just before they parted four years ago. With a silent prayer she brought one knee up hard between Gore’s legs. Instantly, his hands fell away and he staggered backward.

Clutching her ruined peignoir around her body, her hair streaming like dark fire behind her, Jessica fled to Wolfe’s room. The door opened easily beneath her shaking hands.

Wolfe came out of the canopy bed in a single flowing movement. He had just enough time to recognize Jessica and drop his knife on the bedside table before she threw herself at his chest. Her arms locked around his bare waist and she shook as wildly as she had when he had found her huddled within a haystack.

Automatically, Wolfe lifted Jessica onto the bed and sat holding her close, trying to soothe her. A few feet away the storm beat mindlessly against stone and glass.

“Gently, little one,” Wolfe murmured. “You’re safe with me. The storm can’t get you now. You’re safe. Here, I’ll light the lamp so that you can see. The storm is out there and you’re in here.”

Wolfe leaned over, lit the lamp one-handed, and resettled Jessica in his lap.

“There, elf. Is that better? You can see that you’re safe, can’t you? You can see…sweet Jesus Christ!”

Wolfe fell silent, unable to speak. Jessica’s breasts were bared and shockingly beautiful despite the bright drops of blood and blue-black bruises forming on her skin.

From somewhere in the house, raised voices could be heard. Wolfe barely noticed. The realization that a man had broken Jessica’s soft skin with his teeth and bruised her delicate flesh with his fingers enraged Wolfe.

“What bloody bastard did this to you?” he asked savagely.

“Lord G-G—” Jessica took a long, shuddering breath and tried to still the shaking of her body so that she could speak. “Lord Gore.”

Very carefully, Wolfe pulled the torn ends of Jessica’s peignoir in place, covering her breasts. “Hush, elf.” He kissed her hair gently. “Hush, little one. You’re safe. I won’t let him hurt you again.”

“P-promise?”

“Yes.”

Jessica let out a broken sigh. For a few moments there was no sound but that of the wind and Jessica’s slowly calming breathing.

Gore burst into the room through the open door. His face was sweaty and he was somewhat less drunk than he had been, for pain could temporarily sober a man.

“You need a taste of the rod, you little baggage,” Gore said coldly, stalking toward the bed, “and
you shall have it. Get your arse out of that savage’s bed.”

Wolfe put Jessica aside and stood up in a single motion. For the first time she realized that Wolfe was naked from the waist up—and from the waist down, as well. Lamplight ran over his body, outlining the power that ran through him like leashed lightning.

“I take it you’re the bastard who mauled my Jessi?” Wolfe asked in a soft voice.

Jessica forgot Wolfe’s nakedness as his voice sank into her. She had never heard that tone from him. She shivered and realized that Wolfe could kill—and he would, to defend her.

Before Gore could answer, Lady Victoria came rushing into the room, followed by a distraught Betsy.

“I’m sorry,” Betsy said, looking at Jessica. “I just couldn’t let you come to Mr. Lonetree’s room. The man has a wicked reputation with the ladies.”

“Fully earned, from the look of it,” Victoria said dryly, her gray eyes taking in Gore’s fury, Jessica’s deshabille, and Wolfe’s nakedness. “Do cover yourself, Wolfe.”

Wolfe ignored Victoria. His hand snaked out and fastened around Gore’s throat. From the hallway came the babble of excited voices. Lord Robert Stewart’s was foremost.

“My dear lady, would you mind explaining what in the devil is—
Wolfe
! Good Christ, man!”

Robert slammed the bedroom door behind him, but the damage was already done; five lords of the realm had gotten a look into Wolfe’s bedroom. The scandal would be all over London by dawn.

Grimly, Lord Robert turned back to the five people
who remained in the room. “Release Lord Gore.”

“I don’t think so,” Wolfe said evenly. “The man attacked Jessi.”

“You are a liar as well as a bastard,” Gore said.

He would have said more, but Wolfe’s hand had contracted. Powerful fingers shut down Gore’s carotid arteries, rendering him unconscious with brutal efficiency. Reluctantly, Wolfe opened his hand and let Gore fall heavily to the floor.

“Dear God, Wolfe. You have killed him!” Victoria said in a horrified voice.

“In America I would have. Unfortunately, I’m not in America.”

“You shall be soon,” Robert said. “Damn! You have a gift for scandal, son.”

“It doesn’t come from my mother’s side,” Wolfe said coolly. “Scandal is a civilized notion.”

He turned back to see if Jessica was over her fright. He saw her eyes widen as her glance went down his body. She turned scarlet and looked away so quickly she almost lost her balance.

Calmly, Wolfe went to the dresser and pulled out a nightshirt. He hated the things, but he didn’t want to distress Jessica any further.

Gore began snoring. Robert spared him an irritated glance before he turned his attention to Jessica. He meant to make his voice kind, but he was too angry at losing his son again to be anything but blunt.

“Is Wolfe your paramour?”

The question brought back Gore’s drunken onslaught. Jessica went pale, then flushed with a force that made her feel dizzy. She put her burning face in her hands and shuddered, fighting for control, wondering if she was caught in one of her
nightmares where the wind screamed with a woman’s voice and dawn was an eternity away.

“I can’t—Lord Robert—I—” Jessica said desperately, trying to make him understand that she couldn’t marry Gore. “Dear God. You have been so kind to me. I’m sorry.”

Her voice broke and she trembled. Her distress astonished both Stewarts, for Jessica had never shown anything but composure, even when she was a newly orphaned child.

“What Jessi is trying to say,” Wolfe said coolly as he buttoned the shirt, “is that we aren’t lovers.”

“But you would have been, if Betsy had not come to me,” Victoria said. “You have wanted Jessica since her fifteenth summer.”

Even as Wolfe opened his mouth to deny it, he knew it was true. The sudden realization that he had wanted Jessica for years made it impossible to speak.

“Wolfe…” Victoria sighed wearily. “If you could not keep your cock in your breeches out of respect for your father, the least you could do is limit your attentions to married women and whores.”

“Enough, wife,” Robert said. “Wolfe is my son. He knows his duty.”

“Which is?” Wolfe asked quietly.

“You seduced Lady Jessica. You shall marry her.”

“There has been no seduction. Gore mauled her, she ran to my room in hysterics, and Gore followed. A minute later, Lady Victoria arrived.”

“Jessica?” Robert asked sharply. “If you are a virgin still, the engagement can be saved. Lord Gore is quite keen on you.”

Jessica held out her hands to Wolfe and whispered,
“You promised…”

There was a shocked silence followed by Wolfe’s curt command. “Leave me with Jessica for a moment. And take that drunken swine with you.”

When Victoria started to protest, Robert simply grabbed Gore’s feet and dragged the man into the hall. Gore didn’t awaken. Victoria stepped over him. Betsy hurried after her employers. The door closed firmly. Before Wolfe could speak, Jessica sank to her knees in front of him.

“Please, Wolfe. I beg of you. Marry me. Don’t let that man have me.”

“Are you a virgin?” Wolfe asked tightly.

Jessica’s head snapped up. “Good God, yes! I can’t bear being touched by a man. It makes my stomach heave.”

“Then why were you coming to my room dressed—or rather, undressed—as you are?”

“It was what I was wearing when I realized I had to talk to you,” she said, perplexed. She held out her hand to him in silent plea. Despite the rigid control she exerted on her voice, her fingers trembled. “I came to ask you to save me from Lord Gore.”

“Consider yourself saved. No matter what my father thinks, I doubt that Gore will have you after tonight.”

“But another man might. Victoria will contract another marriage for me.”

For a moment Wolfe said nothing. He hated the thought of another man having Jessica, but there was nothing to be done for it. Even if the Stewarts permitted Wolfe to marry her, the match would be a disaster for him. No matter how much Jessica’s body tempted Wolfe, he knew she simply was all wrong as a wife for him.