Susan Johnson (26 page)

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G
eorge looked easily over her head to scrutinize the scene. “I say. It appears Lord Westfield is heading this way.”

“Are you quite certain, Mr. Stanton?”

“Yes, my lady. Westfield is staring directly at me as we speak.”

Tension coiled in the pit of her stomach. Marcus had literally frozen in place when their eyes had first met and the second glance had been even more disturbing. He was coming for her and she had no time to prepare. George looked down at her as she resumed fanning herself furiously.

Damn Marcus for coming tonight
! Her first social event after three years of mourning and he unerringly sought her out within hours of her reemergence, as if he’d been impatiently waiting these last years for exactly this moment. She was well aware that that had not been the case at all. While she had been crepe-clad and sequestered in mourning, Marcus had been firmly establishing his scandalous reputation in many a lady’s bedroom.

After the callous way he’d broken her heart, Elizabeth would have discounted him regardless of the circumstances but tonight especially. Enjoyment of the festivities was not her aim. She had a man she was waiting for, a man she had arranged covertly to meet. Tonight she would dedicate herself to the memory of her husband. She would find justice for Hawthorne and see it served.

The crowd parted reluctantly before Marcus and then regrouped in his wake, the movements heralding his progress toward her. And then Westfield was there, directly before her. He smiled and her pulse raced. The temptation to retreat, to flee, was great, but the moment when she could reasonably have done so passed far too swiftly.

Squaring her shoulders, Elizabeth took a deep breath. The glass in her hand began to tremble and she quickly swallowed the whole of its contents to avoid spilling it on her dress. She passed the empty vessel to George without looking. Marcus caught her hand before she could retrieve it.

Bowing low with a charming smile, his gaze never broke contact with hers. “Lady Hawthorne. Ravishing, as ever.” His voice was rich and warm, reminding her of crushed velvet. “Would it be folly to hope you still have a dance available, and that you would be willing to dance it with me?”

Elizabeth’s mind scrambled, attempting to discover a way to refuse. His wickedly virile energy, potent even across the room, was overwhelming in close proximity.

“I am not in attendance to dance, Lord Westfield. Ask any of the gentlemen around us.”

“I’ve no wish to dance with them,” he said drily, “so their thoughts on the matter are of no consequence to me.”

She began to object when she perceived the challenge in his eyes. He smiled with devilish amusement, visibly daring her to proceed, and Elizabeth paused. She would not give him the satisfaction of thinking she was afraid to dance with him. “You may claim this next set, Lord Westfield, if you insist.”

He bowed gracefully, his gaze approving. He offered his arm and led her toward the dance floor. As the musicians began to play and music rose in joyous swell through the room, the beautiful strains of the minuet began.

Turning, Marcus extended his arm toward her. She placed her hand atop the back of his, grateful for the gloves that separated their skin. The ballroom was ablaze with candles, which cast him in a golden light and brought to her attention the strength of his shoulder as it flexed. Lashes lowered, she appraised him for signs of change.

Marcus had always been an intensely physical man, engaging in a variety of sports and activities. Impossibly, it appeared he had grown stronger, more formidable. He was power personified and Elizabeth marveled at her past naiveté in believing she could tame him. Thank God, she was no longer so foolish.

His one softness was his luxuriously rich brown hair. It shone like sable and was tied at the nape with a simple black ribbon. Even his emerald gaze was sharp, piercing with a fierce intelligence. He had a clever mind to which deceit was naught but a simple game, as she had learned at great cost to her heart and pride.

She had half expected to find the signs of dissipation so common to the indulgent life, and yet his handsome face bore no such witness. Instead, he wore the sun-kissed appearance of a man who spent much of his time outdoors. His nose was straight and aquiline over lips that were full and sensuous. At the moment those lips were turned up on one side in a half smile that was at once boyish and alluring. He remained perfectly gorgeous from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. He was watching her studying him, fully aware that she could not help but admire his handsomeness. She lowered her eyes and stared resolutely at his jabot.

The scent that clung to him enveloped her senses. It was a wonderfully manly scent of sandalwood, citrus, and Marcus’s own unique essence. The flush of her skin seeped into her insides, mingling with her apprehension.

Reading her thoughts, Marcus tilted his head toward her. His voice, when it came, was low and husky. “Elizabeth. It is a long-awaited pleasure to be in your company again.”

“The pleasure, Lord Westfield, is entirely yours.”

“You once called me Marcus.”

“It would no longer be appropriate for me to address you so informally, my lord.”

His mouth tilted into a sinful grin. “I give you leave to be inappropriate with me at any time you choose. In fact, I have always relished your moments of inappropriateness.”

“You have had a number of willing women who suited you just as well.”

“Never, my love. You have always been separate and apart from every other female.”

Elizabeth had met her share of scoundrels and rogues but always their slick confidence and overtly intimate manners left her unmoved. Marcus was so skilled at seducing women, he managed the appearance of utter sincerity. She’d once believed every declaration of adoration and devotion that had fallen from his lips. Even now, the way he looked at her with such fierce longing seemed so genuine she almost believed it.

He made her want to forget what kind of man he was—a heartless seducer. But her body would not let her forget. She felt feverish and faintly dizzy.

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“N
othing to see. The lights are off. I don’t hear the air-conditioning, so I’m guessing we blew a circuit breaker or something.”

“You’re trying to say your kisses were so good that we blew a fuse? Try again, stud.”

Zach’s chuckle rumbled against her chest. He flicked back the edge of the curtain and let the light from the Strip stream into the room. “Probably from the construction. Though think how impressive the kiss thing would be.”

Dumb didn’t begin to describe how Jenna felt at the moment. She’d made every professional misstep imaginable. Lose control? Check. Let her desires overwhelm her good sense? Check. Let her consulting client go one step too far on the floor of her office? That was new, but still a check.

Damn hormones.

What she needed was a little decorum. Getting off the floor and out from under him would be a good start. “Okay, fun time is over.”

“Most people would look at the lights being out as a message.”

He felt so right there with her body curved into his. “Right. The message being to get up.”

He frowned at her and managed to look adorable doing it. “I was thinking more like the opposite conclusion.”

She tried to concentrate on his argument, lame as it was, but his firm body kept dragging her attention away. From the impressive bulge pressing against her thigh to his hard-as-granite everything else, she wanted him.

His pretty-boy face and easy charm had attracted her from the beginning. With every day that passed she wanted him more.

“Shouldn’t you get back to your kitchen?” she asked.

“Sam has it under control. He’s my second in command. He could run his own kitchen and is totally qualified to take over in my absence.”

Common sense didn’t seem to be working, but she tried again. “Yeah, well, we should be out there checking on the guests.”

“Unless you plan to hand out flashlights, I’m not sure what you could do.”

“I could…” Something.

“We can’t do any work. We’re all alone. It’s dark. I’m on top of you.”

“I notice you’re not getting up,” she muttered under her breath.

“Think of the darkness as the universe’s sign we should keep on doing what we’re doing.” His hand rested on her breast and showed no sign of moving, so it wasn’t hard to figure out what the “what” was.

“We need to go,” she insisted.

“Most people wouldn’t view the lights going out as a reason to stop having fun.”

Then it hit her. She was having sex with Zach. On her floor. In her office. She’d even touched his ass. So much for professionalism. Nothing prepared her for Zach.

“Zach, I’m serious.” More like embarrassed, but he didn’t need to know that.

He lowered his head until his forehead touched her breasts. The move sent an ache spinning from her chest to the damp space between her thighs.

“You’re actually going to do it,” he mumbled into the thin material separating them.

Her breath caught in her throat. “Do what?”

He skimmed his finger under the edge of her camisole and flimsy bra and outlined her nipple until it puckered. “Call a halt. Go right to the edge and pull back.”

“I didn’t—” She gasped when he slipped the two layers of silk down, exposing her breast.

Then he palmed her, his hand warm against her chilled skin. “Man, you’re beautiful.”

She couldn’t speak.

“I wanted time to do this.” He licked her nipple, flicking his tongue across the tight bud.

She tried to remember her name. Bartholomew something…

“And this.” He placed his hot mouth over the tip and suckled her. Twirling his tongue over her, wetting her skin.

Someone moaned. She feared it came from deep inside of her.

“So pretty.” His reverent whisper tickled against her breast.

Two more seconds and her skirt would be over her head. “Stop!”

“You still want that clipboard?”

“Yeah, so I can beat you with it.”

“Well, honey, I’m not usually into that, but I’m game.”

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T
he mantel clock began to chime.

Jessamyn’s head flashed around to stare at it before she looked back at Morgan.

She forced back her body’s awareness of him. “I needed him as my husband, you fool! For two hours, starting now.”

“Husband?” Jealousy swept over his face.

“In a lawyer’s office,” she snarled back. “I have to be there with a husband in fifteen minutes, or all is lost. Damn you, let me go!”

The clock chimed again.

His eyes narrowed for a moment, then he pulled her up to him. His grip was less painful but just as inescapable as before. “A bargain then, Jessamyn. I’ll play your husband for a few hours, if you’ll join me in a private parlor for the same span of time afterward.”

She gasped. A devil’s bargain, indeed.

“Nine years ago, before you married Cyrus, I promised you revenge for what you did, and you agreed my claim was just. Two hours won’t see that accomplished but it’s a start,” he purred, his drawl knife-edged and laced with carnal promise.

Her flight or fight instincts stirred, honed by seven years as an Army wife on the bloody Kansas prairies. She reined them in sternly: No matter how angry he’d been, surely Morgan would never harm a woman, no matter what preposterous demands he’d hurled nine years ago when she’d held him captive.

Her fingers bit into his arms, as she tried to think of another option. But if she didn’t appear with a husband, she’d lose her only chance of regaining Somerset Hall, her family’s old home…

The mantel clock sounded the third, and last, note.

She agreed to his bargain, the words like ashes in her throat. “Very well, Morgan. Now will you take me across the street to the lawyer’s?”

Morgan escorted Jessamyn across the street with all the haughtiness his father would have shown escorting his mother aboard a riverboat. It was a bit of manners ingrained in him so early that he didn’t need to think about it, something he’d first practiced with Jessamyn when she was five and their parents first openly hoped for a wedding between them. Such an ingrained habit was very useful when his brain seemed to have dived somewhere south of his belt buckle as soon as she’d agreed she owed him revenge.

What was he going to do first? There were so many activities he’d learned in consortium houses, of how to drive a woman insane with desire. How to leave her sated and panting, willing to do anything to repeat the experience. More than anything else, he needed to see Jessamyn aching to be touched by him again and again.

A black curl stroked her cheek in just the way he planned to later. He smiled, planning, and reached for the office door.

Ebenezer Abercrombie & Sons, Attys. At Law
announced the sturdy letters on its surface.

Morgan stiffened. Her lawyer was that Abercrombie? Halpern’s friend and Millicent’s godfather, who Morgan had dined with last night? Who’d beamed approval as Halpern and his wife had shoved Morgan at their daughter and he’d made no mention of a wife?

Damn, damn, damn.

Jessamyn, who’d never been a fool, caught his momentary hesitation and glanced up at him.

He shook his head slightly at her and put his hand on the doorknob. Suddenly it turned under his fingers and swung open to frame Abercrombie’s well-fed bulk. The man’s eyes widened briefly as he took in both of his visitors.

Jessamyn leaned closer to Morgan and squeezed his arm, with all the assurance of a long-married woman. God knows he’d seen her do it with Cyrus before.

Morgan shifted himself so she could fit comfortably, as he’d seen his cousin do. She settled easily within a hand’s-breadth of him and tilted her head at Abercrombie expectantly. The entire byplay took only a few seconds.

The lawyer’s eyes narrowed and his mouth tightened before a polite professional mask covered his face. “Good afternoon, Evans. What an unexpected pleasure to see you here today.”

Morgan smiled with all the smooth charm he’d polished as one of Bedford Forrest’s spies. “The pleasure is entirely mine, Abercrombie. I’ve the honor of escorting my wife. Jessamyn, my dear, have you met Mr. Abercrombie?” He could have kicked himself. His Mississippi drawl was slightly heavier than usual, a telltale sign of nervousness.

Jessamyn took Abercrombie’s hand, with all the charm of her aristocratic Memphis upbringing. “Yes, Mr. Abercrombie was my uncle’s lawyer for years. I’ve known him since I was a child. Hello, sir.”

Abercrombie kissed her cheek. “My dear lady, I’m so glad you were able to bring your husband.” His eyes flickered to Morgan but his countenance was impassive. “Your cousin Charles and his wife are seated in my office, waiting for the reading of the will to begin. Please come with me.”