The Debutante Is Mine (19 page)

He released her breast with a gasp of his own, his head tilting back, his eyes closing. “You’re drenched for me.”

If it wasn’t for the blatant satisfaction on his face, she might have blushed with embarrassment. Instead, she flushed with understanding. This was how he wanted her, wet and writhing beneath his touch.

Boldly, she rose up and kissed him, crushing her mouth to his, tilting her hips against his hand. He pressed against her, stroking the swollen seam of her flesh and then gliding into its warmth, his finger traversing a slow path from beginning to end and back again, over and over until she could hear the wet slide and anticipate the sensation of each touch.

Mouths never separating, his other hand reached for hers, drawing it down to the fall of his breeches. Instinctively, she knew what he wanted. Both of her hands deftly plucked at the fastenings until the flap fell free and a thick column of flesh jutted forth, falling heavily into her palm. That velvety flesh was so hot that she pulled her hand away automatically.

Jack issued a gruff sound, somewhat amused and somewhat pained. “Do you want to stop?”

Yet he chose that moment to slide his finger into her depths, teasing her with slow, languid thrusts.

“Oh, Jack”
was all she could say for a moment. She could tell by his knowing grin and the challenging lift of his brows that he already knew the answer anyway. Even so, she needed certainty and honesty between them. “I want to know what you feel like inside me.”

The heat in his gaze flared. He growled again, slanting his mouth over hers. He shifted between her thighs. Taking her hand, he curled it over his hard length and guided him to her sex. With his hand over hers, he mimicked the slow up and down slide from a moment ago, slipping in between her wet seam, gliding over her flesh, building a sense of urgency that made her back arch and her hips tilt in invitation.

Then he paused at her opening, hesitating in a way that he hadn’t with his finger. She wondered if he was waiting for her anticipation to build, and it was. She could feel her body swell and contract in a need she’d never known before. When he released her hand, she settled it over his heart. Their gazes locked. He broke their kiss, his breath against her lips.

“I love you,” he said and then plunged inside, stretching her, driving into her body with one hard thrust.

The shock left her stunned. Too stunned to cry out. Her mouth opened but no sound came forth. She gripped his shoulders, pushing him away, then pulling him closer, nails biting into his flesh. Tears stung her eyes, filling them and making his face a blur before she blinked, and they forged a path down her cheeks. She didn’t know it would hurt so bad. That she would feel as if her hips were being separated from her body. And yet, he told he loved her . . .

“Your love is painful,” she scolded, blinking away her tears.

He kissed the dampness from her cheeks tenderly. “Yours is as well. Achingly—exquisitely—snug. Your body issues these tiny tremors, gripping me tighter, pulling me deeper. I don’t know if I can bear it.”

On a groan, he withdrew from her body. She frowned, worried. “But there is more, is there not? It is not just pain. That would be rather unfair.” Sort of like her life.

He chuckled and nipped at her lips, traversing down a familiar path to her breasts, suckling and rousing them to ecstasy, making her forget her question as his hand cupped her sex once more. He teased her flesh until she fell back against the pillows, her hips arching wantonly. His kisses trailed down over her stomach and lower still, brushing against the dark curls that shrouded her. Curious, she lifted her head.

He grinned at her. “Do not tell me you love me, Lilah. I forbid you.”

She smiled. But the laugh rising from her throat suddenly turned into a moan when his mouth opened over her. His tongue slid between her swollen flesh, devouring her with long, greedy licks. A whisper of decorum filled her head, asking if this was appropriate. Surely not. And she most certainly should not be so eager for every flick of his tongue. She shouldn’t be writhing, pushing herself against his mouth.

Jack stilled her frantic movements. Gripping her hips, he murmured those low carnal words to her sex, forcing her to endure the wickedness of his talented mouth. Then his finger slid deeper, thrusting faster, matching the fevered flicks of his tongue. Ten thousand sensations flooded the surface of her skin, tingling, tightening. She wanted to buck her hips, to move with him, but he held her still as his onslaught continued. She gasped for breath, her exhale coming out as a whimper. A plea. He growled, harsh and commanding. The vibration spiraled through her, pulsing deep, fast, consuming her, until . . .

She fractured, crying out in sharp surprise and then in a low moan of ecstasy.

Pleasure surged through her. His thick flesh was there between her thighs, nudging inside as the wave rippled, following it deep, filling her. This time there was no sudden, searing pain, only fullness, along with that reverberation of rapture still spiraling through her. He matched each wave with languorous thrusts, prolonging her pleasure.

“Yes,” he hissed, approving. His thrusts quickened, deepened. With his body grinding against hers, he refused to let her pleasure dissipate but urged her onward as her back arched and her entire universe became the place where their bodies fused.

She cried out again, the sound choked, her tongue repeating his name again and again until she heard him shout. Suddenly, he withdrew and hauled her against him, clutching her, as hot, thick fluid slicked the space between them.

Breathing hard and boneless, she collapsed against him, pressing her face into his neck. “I love you, Jack.”

She could hear him grin. Arrogant man.

J
ack sat in the tufted chair near the hearth, with Lilah curled on his lap and one of her shawls draped over their naked bodies. They drank tepid tea from the same cup and nibbled on cold, stale toast, brushing the crumbs away with kisses.

It was the best meal of his life.

Lilah blinked slowly, a grin on her lush mouth as she twirled her fingertips into the hair at his nape. “Making my own choice has been a revelation. Had I known about all of . . . this, I would have made demands upon you much sooner.”

“Hmm . . . that first day in the garden? Or later, in Mrs. Harwick’s parlor?”

She giggled, sloshing tea over the rim and dripping it on his shoulder. She bent her head, chasing the droplet down the length of his collarbone and licking him clean for good measure.

He groaned. Her wriggling and attentive ministrations roused his desire, engorging his flesh, making him ready to take her once more. Then again, he hadn’t lost his desire for her at all. How could a man feel sated and yet yearn for more at the same time? For that matter, how could a man feel so content and yet restless?

Likely the latter was because he knew he couldn’t force her to leave with him. But that was all he wanted. She was his, after all. The sooner she accepted it, the better.

“No, indeed,” she said, an impish light in her gaze. “I was thinking of that first moment, right outside of Hyde Park, with you on your Destrier.”

The image filled his mind, and it took all of his control not to lift her up and settle her down onto his eager flesh. He knew she was tender, her flesh pink and swollen, and he would not allow himself to indulge again until she was healed. “I imagine we would have caused quite the scandal.”

“I wonder if such a position would be possible . . . ” She pursed her lips in thought.

His heart, brain, and erection fought for blood. Her curiosity might kill him, but he was willing to make the sacrifice. “We will have a picnic at my country estate when the weather is fine and discover the answer.”

She lowered her gaze down to their teacup and sighed. “That would be lovely, Jack, but I am not altogether certain what the future holds.”

Their futures were now fused, bonded forever. She should already know that. “Where is the young woman who is determined to make her own choices?” he asked.

“She’s here, within this skin, but you have to understand this is all new to me. For years, I cringed when I even thought of disobeying or stepping outside the rules of propriety. My parents demanded perfection—my father, in particular. Whenever Jasper or I caused an embarrassment, even in front of the servants, he would punish us.”

Jack’s hands tightened to fists, a terrible violence clawing at his heart.

Lilah covered his hand with hers and lifted it for a kiss. “Not by raising a hand,” she continued, “but with shouts and belittling words that struck a deeper blow. I buried mine so deeply that even after my father’s death, I strove to be perfect. I never spoke out against my mother, I never fought against the rules of decorum, and I never railed against the codicil in my father’s will. I accepted it all out of a longstanding fear that if I was not perfect, then I did not deserve love.”

“You
are
perfect,” he said fiercely, taking her face in his hands and kissing her brow, her lashes, her nose, cheeks, and lips. “You could yell obscenities in public, spill your tea on the king, break every rule, don a nest for your hat, wear a burlap sack as your dress, and you would still be perfect to me.”

She beamed at him, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. “That is the secret I never knew until now—that love is the only thing that can conquer fear. Love is the only thing that makes me feel powerful and willing to take a risk.”

“What risk?” he asked, hoping she was about to tell him that she would leave here with him this very moment.

She reached over and set their teacup down on the small side table before facing him. Tilting her head down, she looked up at him beneath her lashes. “Will you promise me one thing, Jack?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Anything.”

Yet in the next moment, he wished he would have.

“Do not do anything to save me. I need to fight this next battle alone.”

“What?” He shook his head, not sure if he’d heard her correctly. But when he saw her look at him with tender expectation, he knew he had. “Lilah, you don’t know what you’re asking of me.”

She kissed him softly, his mouth firm and unyielding. “Oh, my dear warrior, I know very well, and I know this will be difficult for you. However, I cannot go from never speaking up, out of fear, to hiding behind your shield. I have to try this on my own.”

“Whatever your plan is, we both know there is no guarantee that the outcome will be favorable. How can you expect me not to interfere? You are mine. You have just proven it.”

She drew back, a frown on her lips. “No. What I have proven is that I am my own person. I thought you, more than anyone else, understood this.”

Damn it all!
Why wasn’t she asking for his help? “Any other woman would be using her wiles to tempt me into marriage. Instead, you seem determined to make it clear that what we shared was little more than an assertion of your independence.”

She winced and scrambled off of his lap, leaving him cold and bare. Then she jerked her shawl around her. “Do you really take me for a manipulative sort of woman, even after
what we shared
?”

“Of course not—”

“I thought you valued honesty.”

“I do.” He stood and reached for her, ever glad when she didn’t resist. But she didn’t uncross her arms either. He folded her into his embrace nonetheless and was rewarded by the feel of her relaxing against him. Closing his eyes, he pressed his forehead to hers. “You are strong, brave, and determined. I love this about you. But I will hate keeping this promise.”

The worst part was that he knew she could survive without him. Yet he wanted her to need him, to want him, so much that she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think of a life without him. Because that’s how he felt about her.

“What do you expect of me?” she asked softly, her warm breath fanning out over his lips. “There are things I must do myself, not the least of which is speaking to my mother about Father’s will. And I would feel much better if I knew we shared this understanding.”

“And I would feel much better if I could tuck you into my pocket and take you away with me.”

She smiled and unfolded her arms, slipping them around him. The supple pillows of her breasts pressed against him, the heat of her sex nestling against his. “If I were in your pocket, then I could not give you a farewell kiss.”

Then she rose up on her toes and did. Only he didn’t want it to be farewell. He wanted to remain with her always. Leaving her demanded more strength than he possessed. And he hated feeling this weak. This . . . vulnerable.

Now, he knew why he’d never wanted to fall in love.

J
ack called upon Lilah the following morning, wanting to settle matters with her.

He did not like the way they’d parted, a few hasty kisses and him slipping away through the garden. He’d left too many things unsaid. In the very least, she should have known his intentions. Yes, he would honor his promise, but that did not mean he wouldn’t try to interfere. And the only way he saw that he could was through marriage. A plan that he accepted with open arms. Yet he wasn’t certain she would.

Unfortunately, at the door, the butler informed him that Miss Appleton was not at home for callers.

Jack drew in an impatient breath. “I understand that she was not at home to me previously, but I believe, if you would inquire, she will receive me now.”

“I’m afraid, sir, that Miss Appleton is not at home,” the butler repeated crisply, enunciating each word.

Jack clenched his teeth and his fists. “You haven’t even told her who is calling.”

“Marlowe, is that you?” Vale came up the stairs behind him. “Why ever are you here?”

“I am calling upon Miss Appleton.” He made an impatient gesture to the man who hindered his efforts.

The butler bowed to Vale. “Miss Appleton has gone to Surrey this morning, Your Grace.”

Jack growled and glared at him.

“Ah, then my wife won’t be much longer with her visit,” Vale said, inclining his head. “Please inform the duchess that her carriage awaits.”

“Very good, sir.” And with that, the butler stepped back into the foyer and closed the door, leaving Jack to wonder why Lilah hadn’t told him that she planned to leave London.

He knew she’d mentioned a need to speak with her mother, but he hadn’t thought she would have gone so soon. A keen sort of panic shot through him at the idea of her traveling alone. He would have gone with her, watched over her . . .

Vale placed a hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps in the meantime, we could have a chat. There wasn’t much time during Tillmanshire’s event, not before the unfortunate announcement.”

“Yes,” he said, distracted as they walked down the few stairs to the pavement. “I came to see if I could offer my assistance.”

“Mmm . . . yes. Which brings me to our topic and how you are under the mistaken assumption that I placed Miss Appleton in your charge.”

Jack shook his head in disagreement. “There has been no mistake. You did. Though perhaps you’ve forgotten. You were rather insensible that night.”

Vale stopped, his jaw tight. “I recall the night perfectly, and I believe I asked you merely to send Miss Appleton flowers in order to—”

“Yes, to pique my interest,” Jack interrupted, recounting their conversation from Tillmanshire’s party.

“No. It was to ensure that Viscount Ellery would take notice.”

“Ellery? Why him?” Suddenly, Jack had a sinking suspicion but he hoped he was wrong.
Please don’t say the
Marriage Formula.

“The
Marriage Formula
.” Vale retrieved a card from a pocket inside his coat that displayed two sets of numbers. “The results of his equation matched perfectly against Miss Appleton’s. I’m still hoping that once Ellery finds out about Haggerty’s announcement, if he hasn’t already, that he will be smitten enough to fight for her.”

Jack stared at the card and put his hand over the one in his own pocket. Then, without a word, he turned from Vale before he did something he would regret.

T
he four-hour trip to Surrey had not prepared Lilah for the wealth of memories that assailed her as she walked into her family home. She could still hear Jasper’s irreverent laughter ringing out, like a merry taunt to the dust motes sifting through the air. She could still hear her father’s bellows, creaking with each step, demanding to know why the foyer was not in perfect order. She even noticed the letters on the salver, a collection of at least a week. Though they were likely notices from creditors who would never be paid.

Winthrop had let most of the servants go last year, leaving only a maid and a cook for this large house. With the tenants paying no rent and earning a meager income themselves, there was little hope that circumstances would improve.

Leaving her bonnet and reticule in the foyer, Lilah walked upstairs to her mother’s sitting room. No matter what state either the house or Mother’s life was in, she always maintained her own schedule, which included waiting in her sitting room during calling hours.

As she’d been taught, Lilah rapped quietly on the door. Her mother’s cultured voice rang out clearly. “You may enter.”

Opening the door, Lilah saw Mother sitting on the edge of her tufted chair, her posture straight as a board. She blinked several times without offering a greeting. Mother was too vain to wear spectacles, and her eyesight had been failing, even before Father died.

“Good day, Mother. You are beautiful, as always.” And it was true. Her mother was even lovelier than Aunt Zinnia, her blonde hair still untouched by silver, her eyes a watery blue, and her features perfectly proportionate. Lilah had inherited her coloring from Father’s side of the family, but Jasper had taken after their mother. And he’d always looked the part of the perfect son. Some of the time, that had been all that mattered.

Mother frowned. “Lilah, why have you come? Has Zinnia finally abandoned her nonsensical endeavor?”

Of the two sisters, Aunt Zinnia had been the only one who’d read Father’s will and saw a different possibility for Lilah’s future. She’d taken it upon herself to ensure that Lilah had a chance at a better life. “No, Mother. I have come to visit. Aunt Zinnia sends her best and hopes that you will return with me.”

“She knows that I do not travel,” Mother said under her breath and then shook her head. “However, the nicety is appreciated. And I imagine she allowed use of her own carriage? I would hope you do not require coin for a hired coach.”

As of yet, there had been no single word of affection or gladness that Lilah had come. Then again, she didn’t know why she’d expected something more. Holding back her disappointment, Lilah settled into an adjacent chair.

Between them, a needlework square poked out of the top of the narrow basket on the floor. Mother’s embroidery had always been exquisite, perfect. Yet this sample did not depict her usual skill. Instead, it revealed the havoc wrought from poor vision. The stitches were large and uneven, the knots tangled at the back. Likely, she wasn’t aware of this. Mother never wasted her time on anything other than perfection.

She required beauty and flawlessness in all things, herself included. Her clothes were unwrinkled. Her complexion unblemished. Even her hands were elegant and posed, just so.

Lilah looked down at her own hands, resting in her lap but hidden by gloves. They were identical hands and the only part of Mother that Lilah had inherited.

“Yes, my aunt was gracious enough to loan her carriage,” Lilah said. After meeting with the local barrister, she’d given Nellie leave to visit her own family and, quite possibly, Mr. Shalley at the neighboring farm.

Mother bristled. “Surely not alone. Surely you have adhered to the rules of propriety I taught you.”

Her mother wasn’t worried about her safety, not the way Jack would have been. Those
rules
were—and had always been—more important than Lilah’s overall well-being. “My maid accompanied me.”

“That sharp tone is unbecoming. I’m certain Winthrop will not tolerate it once you are married.”

And here it was—Lilah’s moment of reckoning. She drew in a deep breath. “I am not going to marry Cousin Winthrop. That is the reason I have come.”

Mother laughed and clucked her tongue in a way that was all too familiar, like the time when Lilah was a little girl, wearing a crown of daisies and preening before her.

“Aren’t I pretty, Mother? Ivy says that I am the queen of the forest and will surely marry the king of the meadows.”

“Ivy was being kind, dear—which any friend ought, of course,” Mother said, her voice pinging sharply with amusement before she shook her head and tsked. “It is a shame, however, that she is so pretty. You would do much better if you were seen next to an ugly girl. Then, you truly could become an imaginary queen.”

Mother had never understood the purpose of imagination. Perhaps that had been the reason Lilah had found so much solace in it.

“Of course you will marry Winthrop. The agreement was set in place by your father and is binding.”

Lilah’s visit to the barrister’s office had reaffirmed this. There was no way for her to break the terms of the will as it stood. The barrister informed her that a well-connected husband with a title could do so. As soon as the banns were read, however, such a violation would cause nothing short of a scandal, from which the parties involved would never recover. “If that is true, then why did the codicil offer me three years and the hope of finding another gentleman?”

“Your father did not want you to do something foolish like your—” She stopped short before she said the word
brother
. Since Jasper’s disgrace, Mother had never once referred to him or said his name. “You needed time to understand that Winthrop is your only hope of having a husband at all.”

“That is not true. If it weren’t for Father’s demands that I marry a titled gentleman, I could have found a husband on my own. In fact, I believe I have.” She made the declaration more out of rebellion than actually knowing it. Jack had never proposed marriage or even suggested a short future together.

Although he had told her that he loved her. That certainly must account for something.

Mother made that irritating sound again with her tongue and smiled patiently. “You needn’t invent stories. Marrying Winthrop is the best option for you and, in turn, you will have a home. The baron has been gracious to allow me to remain here all this time. Now, it is up to you to repay him for his good deeds by upholding expectations and producing an heir.”

Lilah grimaced, bile rising up her throat. She swallowed it down and straightened her shoulders. “I am not marrying Winthrop. I am making my own choices.”

That smile fell. “You were not born to make your own choices. A young woman adheres to her parents’ wishes. Especially one with no . . . other . . . options.”

“I am not without options!”

“Had you been beautiful, your circumstances might have been different,” Mother continued, paying no heed to Lilah’s outburst.

“I
am
beautiful . . . in my own way. I have many admirable qualities. I have even taken to wearing my hair differently. My forehead is not so vast and unbecoming. Have you not read Aunt Zinnia’s letters? The
ton
is following my example—” Or at least they had been until Winthrop’s announcement. Now, she was uncertain and hadn’t been able to bear reading the
Standard
this morning.

Tears gathered along the lower rims of her eyes. She hated having to validate her own worth to her mother. She didn’t even know why she was trying. Just once in her life, she would have liked to hear those same words from the woman who bore her.
You are beautiful.

Yet as Mother had said a moment ago, having children had merely been
upholding expectations
on her part and nothing more.

Mother’s gaze narrowed. She angled her head as if seeing Lilah for the first time since her arrival. “Tell me you have not done something foolish and irreversible.”

“Like what, Mother? Dreamed of a different life for myself and fallen in love with a man who sees me for who I am?”

“You have lain with him,” she accused, recoiling in an apparent mixture of disgust and outrage.

Even though she never would have altered her moments with Jack, Lilah still felt a small amount of guilt. She’d had twenty-three years of instruction on propriety, and it was a hard-etched rule that a woman remained chaste until her wedding. “I have.”

“Is he a footman in your aunt’s employ? A gardener? Did he promise to marry you if you would lay with him?” She scoffed as she stood and walked toward the window. “If there is one thing you should have learned from your”—Mother broke off and quickly amended—“learned by example, it is that men will say or do anything to slake their lust. They think nothing of ruining entire families, let alone one unmarriageable girl.”

“This man did not promise me anything,” Lilah admitted with vehement defiance. “I made my own choice.”

“That was not your choice!” Her mother’s raised voice revealed a crack in her composure. “You only had one thing to offer your cousin and that was your chastity. I doubt he will have you now.”

“I would not have him, regardless.”

“I cannot bear the disgrace of this. If you were to die in a carriage accident, it would be better for us all.”

Lilah sucked in a breath. Anger and hurt sliced into her heart. Still, her mind tried to reject that her mother actually preferred her death to a scandal.

Mother continued. “At least then I would be able to hold my head with some dignity.”

“Dignity for whom?” Lilah stood and moved to the window as well, taking hold of her mother’s shoulders. “Do you care so much what your neighbors think of you and care so little for your own child—children? Jasper and I deserved more from you and father. We deserved a chance to make mistakes and still find welcome in our parents’ bosom.”

Lilah embraced her mother, holding on to one last hope of finding the affection she’d always wanted. Perhaps if she just breached this one barrier, the terrible façade would finally fall away and reveal her mother’s love.

But it did not come. Her mother remained stiff, unyielding.

After a moment, Lilah released her and stepped back to wipe tears from her cheeks.

“You may leave my presence,” Mother said with cold finality, her gaze out the window. “If there is any keepsake in the room that was once yours, you may take it with you.”

In other words, this was the last time they would meet. As it had been after Jasper’s death, from this point forward, Lilah’s name would not be spoken in this house. To her mother, she was dead.