Tempting the Marquess (13 page)

“Well done, Jace!” Charles exclaimed, miming applause. “You’ve led Miss Weston right under the mistletoe, you sly dog. That’s a trick I shall have to remember.” He winked at Olivia.

Livvy looked up. Sure enough, she and the marquess were standing directly beneath a chandelier to which was tied a spray of evergreens. A nervous twitter escaped her.

“Don’t just stand there, Jason,” Aunt Kate chided. “It’s bad luck to disregard the mistletoe.”

Livvy closed her eyes.

This was it.

Her first kiss.

How long had she waited for just this moment?

Well, her entire life, not to put too fine a point on it.

She had always wanted her first kiss to mean something. She had wanted it to be special. And now she knew it would be. Jason Traherne had set her heart racing from the moment she’d laid eyes on him.

No, before that actually.

Her heart had been aflutter from the instant she had realized what was contained in the scrap of paper she’d found in the library at Haile Castle so many months ago. But what woman would not be intrigued by a man who invented puzzles for his wife’s amusement? What woman could remain unmoved by a man who gave his wife jewelry engraved with romantic prose? She thought of the quote on the back of the brooch. “So we shall be one, and one another’s all.” That was a man who was deeply, irrevocably in love.

A man like that was the sort of hero books were written about. She hadn’t believed such a man truly existed. Oh, her parents were devoted to each other, and she knew her sister and her sister’s husband, James, had a Great Passion. It was obvious to everyone—well, everyone except them—how much they adored and needed each other.

Still, as much as she loved her brother- in-law, Livvy had to admit that James was a bit lacking in creativity. She had been the one to come up with a plan for James to woo Izzie back after he’d made a mess of things. Of course, he was a man, she had reminded herself, and thus was bound to need assistance when it came to romance.

The existence of Olivia’s niece indicated that James had the other side of things well in hand, which was fortunate, really, as Livvy knew she could be of very little help there. Izzie had once tried to show her a book of lurid engravings she had found somewhere in their brother’s room, but Livvy hadn’t paid much attention, as the subject hadn’t interested her at that age. A few years later, when the relations between men and women had become a matter of the utmost importance, the book was nowhere to be found. And her sister had become annoyingly vague and tight- lipped about important details once she was married.

Isabella had said that kissing in real life was even better than it was in novels. Now Livvy was finally,
finally
going to experience it. She would feel light- headed. Her knees would go weak. The world would narrow to the place where their mouths joined. He would grumble about—

No, that was not supposed to happen. He should not be grumbling. Dear heavens, the stupid man was going to ruin her perfect first kiss!

Her eyes flew open to tell him so, but his face was already descending on hers. He looked quite strange so close up; his eyes seemed to fuse into one giant eye in the middle of his head like a Cyclops. She squeezed her eyes closed, trying to block out the alarming sight, and then she felt his lips touch hers.

A brief pressure, warm and soft, which then turned into . . .

Nothing.

That was it.

Her first kiss was over.

She didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry or to kick the man who had managed to mess up so simple a thing as a kiss under the mistletoe.

Then an awful thought struck her. Perhaps he hadn’t done anything wrong. Maybe that kiss had been quite usual and there was something wrong with her for not liking it.

She opened her eyes as the marquess urged her forward. Her aunt and Charles were up and leading the way to the dining room. Such order went against the rules of precedence that had been trained into Olivia almost from birth, but no one else seemed to mind. So many strange things had happened to her since arriving at Arlyss, she accepted this deviation from the rules without comment.

But she didn’t like it. Her sister Isabella enjoyed flaunting convention and making up her own rules. Livvy preferred to follow the rules already in place. She thrived on order, on lists, on planning for every possible contingency. That kiss—that spectacular failure of a kiss—had not fit with her plans.

She was so altogether unsettled, Olivia only half listened to Charles and Aunt Kate’s discussion about proper presents to give on New Year’s Day. With a start, she realized they would be celebrating New Year’s Eve on the morrow. Suddenly, a hint of a plan began to form in her mind.

“Is it customary to exchange gifts here on New Year’s Day?” she interrupted.

“Oh, yes!” Her aunt launched into a description of what was indubitably yet another eccentric Welsh tradition.

Livvy paid her no mind. She had her answer, and she knew what she needed to do. Two days hence she would get the answers to the rest of her questions.

Damn Katherine. He had warned her that she was being lax in her duties as a chaperone, but she had laughed and said there was nothing but friendship between Charles and Olivia. Jason was not so certain, and since he couldn’t trust his stepmother not to leave them alone together, he had stuck close.

Close enough to drive him mad. He’d been without a woman for too long. ’Struth, it was the only acceptable answer.

The knocking grew more urgent.

With a curse, Jason pushed his chair back and moved to open the door. When he saw who was on the other side, he was tempted to shut it.

“Miss Weston, come in.” He tried to sound pleased to see her. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

She came into the room, her expression at once nervous and determined.

“Might I have a moment of your time?”

“Of course.” He gestured to the chairs by the fireplace. “Won’t you sit—”

She looked at the door, which he had left open for propriety, and shook her head. “May we speak in private?”

Jason knew closeting himself in the room with Miss Weston was a bad idea.

Worse than bad.

More like horrible, idiotic, and bound to get him into trouble.

And yet he found himself nodding and pushing the door shut.

He noticed she kept one arm slightly behind her.“What are you hiding back there?” he asked suspiciously.

“It is customary to exchange gifts today, is it not?”

“Ah, you mean
calennig
. I suppose Katherine taught you the rhyme as well. Do you wish to recite, or shall I just hand you some coins?”

She looked at him as if he’d grown a second head.

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about. I brought you a gift.”

“Yes, I know,” Jason said impatiently. “Apparently my stepmother failed to explain the custom properly. To begin with, the children who take part are generally a bit younger than you are, but I’ll make an exception as you’re a
Saesnes
and don’t know any better. Now, you say the little verse you’ve been taught, wish me a happy new year and show me the skewered apple you’ve got behind your back, and I’ll reward you with a few coins. Come along, then, for I’ve enough bad luck without you collecting
calennig
past noon.”

“A skewered apple? Is that what you wanted? And you wish me to recite? Perhaps I
should
have consulted my aunt.”

Jason frowned. “Katherine didn’t put you up to this?”

“No.” She chewed nervously at her lip. “I’m afraid I hadn’t realized impaled fruits were in fashion this year.”

He couldn’t contain his laughter. When he had himself back in control he explained. “In Wales the traditional offering is called
calennig
, an apple with three twig legs, studded with cloves and stuck on top with a sprig of evergreens. Children carry them from door to door, offering good wishes for the coming year, and in return, they are given a bit of food or some money.”

“Well, I imagine it must smell nice,” Miss Weston said, “but it seems a silly sort of present. I suppose it’s not sillier than mine, though.”

She handed him an exquisite watercolor sketch of Edward and Charlotte dressing up the dogs. The excitement and pure childish joy of the moment was captured perfectly on their faces, and yet it was not a sentimental piece. She was a true artist with a remarkable ability for capturing the essence of her subjects.

He could not help but wonder how she would draw him.

“You are very talented. This is beautiful.”

“Thank you.” She ducked her head as if embarrassed by his compliment. “It’s nothing really, just a hobby of mine.”

“It is I who should thank you, but I am afraid you have me at something of a loss. I have nothing to give you in return.”

Her cheeks turned a glorious shade of crimson.

“There is actually a favor I wanted to ask of you.”

He should have known. In his experience, women rarely bestowed gifts without expecting some sort of recompense. He stifled a sigh.

“So you have a gift in mind, do you? Well, what’s it to be? The family jewels? No, wait, I know! You want permission to reorganize the library here.”

“As a matter of fact, that wasn’t at all what I wanted, but if you’re going to poke fun at me, I’ll be on my way. I’m pleased you liked the drawing.”

She marched resolutely toward the door, her chin held high.

Jason caught her slender wrist in his hand and halted her departure. “I beg your pardon, Miss Weston. I’m in an odd mood today, but no offense was meant. Please, tell me what you would like and I will do everything within my power to see that you get it.”

She raised her eyes to his. Today they were a stormy gray blue. What shade would they be at the height of passion?

She drew in a breath, then released it, letting the words tumble out of her.

“I want you to kiss me.”

Jason took a step backward, shaking his head. That was the problem with letting his mind wander where it should not. For a moment he’d thought she’d said . . .

“I know it sounds forward, asking you to kiss me—”

Oh, dear God, she had said it.

“—but under the mistletoe, that was my first kiss—”

Jason half listened to her, focused more on the odd feeling of pleasure stealing over him. He didn’t think he had ever been a girl’s first kiss. That was the sort of nonsense women remembered forever. He felt a measure of satisfaction that he had, however unintentionally, left his mark on her.

“—so you must see how dissatisfying it was—”

“Eh?” Jason knew he had missed an important point. Surely she was not still speaking of their kiss.

“Well, it wasn’t exactly the sort of kiss one reads about in novels, you know.”

He cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Oh.” Her disappointment was palpable. “I did so want a real first kiss.” She gave a wistful sigh. “Perhaps Sir Charles will know more about it.”

Over his dead body, Jason thought. “Perhaps you could explain it to me. I’m not sure how first kisses ought to differ from regular kisses.”

“Would you describe the kiss under the mistletoe as a regular kiss? Because it wasn’t at all how the books describe kissing. My stomach wasn’t fluttery and my knees didn’t go weak. I didn’t feel the least bit like swooning.”

“I see,” he mused, wondering how to go about this situation. He was going to have to kiss her. If he didn’t, she would go to Charles, and that puppy would never be able to stop with a kiss. Then Jason would have to call him out to defend Miss Weston’s honor or (and somehow this seemed the worse scenario) Charles would refuse to fight him and choose instead to marry Miss Weston. No, Jason must be the one to kiss her.

He knew how he wanted to kiss her, but it wasn’t how he ought to kiss her. Her first kiss should be sweet and tender. He cupped her face in his hands and tilted her head back.

Her skin was soft as silk under his fingertips. He wanted so badly to run his hands over her body. To trace the lush curves of her breasts, down past the gentle indentation of her waist and over the swell of her hips.

He ached to crush her to him.

To force her to feel the hunger she aroused in him.

To awaken a matching passion in her.

He could do none of those things.

Not here. Not now.
Not ever
, he reminded himself.

She had asked him for a kiss. He was a grown man. A widower. Surely he could handle one innocent little kiss without too much difficulty.

“Close your eyes,” he instructed.

Her lashes fluttered closed, forming dark crescents against her pale skin, and she pursed her rose pink lips as tightly as she could.

He wanted to laugh, but the sight of her, so vulnerable and trusting, made it difficult to breathe. His hands shook with need and lust and other, deeper emotions he wanted desperately to ignore. She was trembling, too.

Was it fear? Anxiety? The same gut-wrenching need consuming him? He was tempted to ask her. All in an instant he wanted to know what she was thinking, what she was feeling. He wanted to know what she’d had for breakfast that morning and whom she had inherited her artistic talent from. He wanted to know how she took her tea and what she was afraid of and every last detail about her, from her favorite color to her middle name.

The thoughts tumbled over each other in rapid succession, overwhelming him. He couldn’t handle this. Couldn’t handle her. But he couldn’t let her go.

He brushed a thumb across her lips. “Easy, now.”

He didn’t know whose benefit the words were more for. He lowered his head and kissed her. It was like no kiss he’d experienced before. This was like a prayer, a benediction, reverent and holy. His blood heated and energy crackled in the air around them. This meeting of lips was simple and innocent, yet earthy and elemental.

It was . . . sweet.

Her lips were soft but firm beneath his, matching his light pressure. She slid her hands up around his neck, threading her fingers through the hair at his nape, pulling him closer. A little sigh of pleasure escaped her, and he quickly took advantage of her parted lips, gently catching the bottom one between his teeth. He sucked and nibbled, pausing now and again to run the tip of his tongue over the satiny flesh of her inner lip. She tasted like elderberry wine, sweet with a tantalizing hint of spice, and every bit as heady. . . .

Jason wrenched away, breathing hard. He didn’t know what had just happened to him, but he sure as hell hadn’t liked it. All right, he had liked it. He’d liked it so much his body felt ready to explode, but such a loss of control could not be countenanced.

He would not lose his head over a woman, no matter how desirable she might be. Nor would he lose his heart, or whatever bits still remained of it. And now he was condemned to a torturous hell of wanting and watching but never having.

He didn’t fool himself that he’d forget her as soon as she left Arlyss; the memory of that kiss would be seared on his lips and memory for much longer. He hoped it had damn well been worth it.

“Oh!” Her fingers came up to touch her lips. After a long moment, she asked, “Was that a real, proper first kiss?”

“Yes,” he said, pleased with his restraint. At least one thing about that kiss had gone right, even if the rest of it had turned his whole world the wrong way up. “That was a proper first kiss.”

“Thank you very much then. I had best be going.” Her voice sounded a bit wobbly as she turned to leave.

Jason sighed. “Livvy, what’s the matter?”

She turned back to face him and he saw that her eyes were bright with tears.

“That’s the first time you’ve called me that.”

“Now that we’ve kissed, using your Christian name seems a fairly light transgression,” he remarked.

“No, I like it . . . Jason.”

“Won’t you tell me what has upset you? I fear I am responsible.”

“Oh, no, it isn’t you. It’s me. I know kissing is supposed to be pleasant, and now I’m worried there is something wrong with me. Maybe I have some sort of defect. . . .”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m afraid I don’t enjoy kissing,” she exclaimed.

Perfect. While he’d heard choirs of angels singing hallelujahs, she’d felt nothing. She might as well have picked up the letter opener from his desk and stabbed him in the gut . . .

“I don’t mean to say that it was
unpleasant
exactly—”

And then twisted the knife.

“—it just . . .”

“—wasn’t like the books,” he finished for her.

She nodded and wrapped her arms about her middle, looking dejected.

Christ.

“Maybe you aren’t attracted to me,” he suggested, though the thought was depressing. “Physical desire is surely a required element for one of these book kisses.”

“Of course it is, but I am hardly in the habit of seeking out kisses from men I find undesirable.”

Her admission was a salve to his wounded pride, but salve was a poor remedy for a knife wound.

“I know it must sound stupid to you,” she said, “but I always imagined kissing would be magical.”

Whereas he had never really thought much about it. Until today. Until she had shown him how special a simple kiss could be.

“Other people certainly seem to enjoy it,” she continued. “I know I have no right to ask, but . . .”

“But?” he prompted.

“Maybe two people have to be in love for the magic to happen.”

“I don’t think so.” No, he
knew
so. Because there was no way he was in love with Miss Olivia Weston.

“But was it different with your wife? Different than kissing me, I mean.”