Aching for Always (40 page)

He thought about the tiny slip of lace and wire he'd found under Reynolds's office couch and the look on Joss's face when she spotted it in his hand. He could almost feel her twist and move on his lap, taste the faint salt of her flesh, smell the perfume of her breasts as he brought his lips to them.

Would Hugh enjoy such an adventure? Aye, he would. And if she had searched a year for a more able man for the task, she wouldn't have found one. But he thought, perhaps, he had reached the time of his life when such interludes would be more than lustful joinings. Other women had used him as such, but none until Joss had led him to believe it would be something else.

He did not know what he would choose if she offered herself. In his heart, lust and pride did battle. If she wanted a stallion, oh, there were things he could do. He could slake his burning desire, but he also knew every kiss would be a blow, every thrust a humiliating reminder that he was no more to her than a carnal back scratch.

She moved. The wrap had fallen from her shoulders, and in the light of the moon he saw the snowy orbs of her breasts and the torturous shadow of her aureoles. Even in her sleep she taunted him. His belly ached for her, and his cock was casting a firm vote for action.

Tell me, Joss
, he thought.
Is it Rogan you want, or it is me?

Joss shifted and mewled, and Hugh hoped she was waking to pull him into a kiss, but instead she resettled herself, brought her fingers to that obnoxious diamond ring and sighed.

Blood roared in his ears. He knew whom she would pick. But he wanted her anyway

In Joss's dream, Hugh caressed her breast and she inhaled lustily. Only this wasn't a dream. His mouth was on hers and she kissed him in the dark, sleepy carriage, happy to feel the embers that had flickered between them for so long rise into flames. He tasted of desire and the duke's whisky, and she savored every morsel.

“I want you,” he whispered in her ear.

“And I, you.”

He kissed her again, gently squeezing where he'd grazed before, and as quiet as they were, she knew they were making too much noise.

“Not here.”

“Not here,” he agreed. “But as soon as we arrive.”

“Yes.”

“No breakfast, no basins of hot water. Just straight to your bed, do you understand?”

“Yes.” She could feel her heart pounding in her chest.

His fingertips brushed her peaked flesh casually. “You want an adventure, is that not so?”

“Not here. Please,” she said, though she had thrown back her shoulders.

“Ah, there is a point at which your courage fails you. 'Tis but proper, I suppose. From what else do you shrink? Let me hear.”

“Nothing,” she said boldly.

He chuckled. “Nothing, is it?”

“Nothing.”
Her determination rose, piqued by his
goading. She prided herself on adventurousness in this area, and if he didn't believe it, he would live to eat his words. With a skilled hand, she caressed the thickening length along his thigh. His groan made her smile. “Do you doubt me?”

“Shall we raise the stakes in this adventure, then?”

The touch of his fingers on her straining flesh was agony. “I don't know. How much are you willing to risk?”

“You have mistaken me, milady, for a man with something to lose. Count the dice,” he commanded.

“What?”

“Count the dice in the well.”

She removed her hand from his trousers and spread the dice on the lap tray. “Six,” she said.

“Six, eh? I have a timepiece that will chime every ten minutes if it is set so. Ten minutes is enough for a worthy adventure into pleasure, is it not? Let us imagine each die represents one-sixth of an hour. We shall roll the dice to see who commands the other for each ten-minute part. And the only rule is that there are no rules. Nothing is beyond the boundaries. Do you accept?”

“I want to be even,” she said, though what she wanted was to be on an even keel. His words made her dizzy.

“As you wish. Roll. One at a time.”

The first roll was a one, and he shifted his bulk, pleased. She could almost hear the machinations of his imagination. “That is one for you,” she managed to say without her voice cracking.

“Indeed.”

The next was a six. She exhaled, and in addition to relief, which she expected, several surprising ideas popped
into her head—ideas with which she would have never credited herself, almost certainly inspired by the vision of him on the security camera monitor. A delectable heat swept through her as she wondered if this might be how nights with Hugh would always be.

“We are even,” she said, and he made a low snort.

She rolled again. This roll was a five, and it was followed by another five. Her hands began to tremble. Twenty minutes of whatever mischief he could think of. . . .

He laid a finger on her knee, and in that touch she could feel the hold he would take of her and the triumphant plunge—Her heart stopped racing and jumped with a jolt.
He
would take her virginity.
He
would be the one for whom she'd saved this treasure. Had it been what she'd planned? No. Had it been what her mother seemed to have wanted for her? She no longer knew or cared. She wanted to feel Hugh's arms around her as she made this leap, and, more importantly, she wanted Hugh to carry this gift with him forever, no matter what happened to them next.

“Almost done,” she said.

“The sooner to begin.”

The fifth roll showed a two. She might be a virgin, but she was not unaccomplished. He would forget every other woman who had ever shared his bed.

He took the last die from her hand and tossed it himself. A three. He brushed the dice into the well and brought his mouth to hers. The scent of his hair and clothes was making her woozy. If they weren't careful, their hour's adventure would begin in full force on the finely upholstered seat of His Grace's carriage.

As if on cue, the duchess stirred, and Hugh and Joss jerked apart. Joss prayed their hosts hadn't seen anything. She leaned against the seat back, eyes shut, pretending she was asleep for what seemed like hours, and when real heavy-liddedness found its way through her agitated thoughts, the last thing she apprehended was Hugh staring out the window, tapping his hand distractedly against his thigh.

C
HAPTER
F
ORTY-FIVE
 

“Joss. Joss, wake up. 'Tis time.”

In her dream, the voice had been Hugh's, and Joss hoped Kit didn't see the disappointment on her face when she opened her eyes.

The sun was high in the sky. It was one of those unexpectedly warm fall days that make you regret not appreciating summer more while you had it, and Joss kicked off the carriage blanket. The fresh breeze coming in through the windows felt good on her skin.

“Where are the men?” The carriage was making its way up a long curved drive to a sweeping estate, and Kit, who looked to be newly awake herself, was her only companion.

“They got out at the other end of the park. Lord Quarley was there with a group of hunters.”

And Sir William, she hoped, which would keep Hugh busy for the better part of the afternoon. She found the notion of the liaison they'd planned more unnerving in the stark light of day.

“Unfortunately,” said Kit, who knew Joss's reasons for
coming, “Sir William does not arrive until later this afternoon. You will have to wait a bit for your meeting.”

Nonetheless, Joss thought quickly, Hugh would have some duties to perform with Lord Quarley—making introductions, commenting favorably on his dogs and estate, perhaps walking the grounds. Surely she would have a little time to collect herself.

Something on the floor caught a ray of the sun. It was one of the duke's dice. They lay scattered from one door to the other, and the little table lay overturned as well.

Joss bent to collect the items, and the duchess cleared her throat meaningfully. A wave of heat passed over Joss's cheeks. “I hope,” Joss said, still bent, “we did not wake you with our game.”

Kit laughed. “Perhaps a little.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry.”

The duchess's eyes twinkled. “Your fiancé is a very good player. I hope you did not bet too much.”

“I'm afraid I did. Oh dear, I'm so embarrassed.”

“Pray, do not trouble yourself. Have you not heard the story of my courtship with Silverbridge? You would have to run naked through the streets of Windsor to put a shine on that. What did you bet?”

“Oh dear. I really don't think I should say.”

Kit clapped her hands. “How wonderful!”

But Kit must have seen that the expression on Joss's face did not quite deliver on the merriment such frivolity deserved, and she touched Joss's arm.

“What is it?”

“I am engaged.”

“My dear Joss, I hope you do not think you are the first
woman who sampled the pudding before she finished the pork. There's hardly a woman in my circle who did not anticipate her vows. In truth, there's hardly a woman in my circle who did not anticipate the second ball.”

“I am not engaged to Hugh.”

Kit's smile transformed instantly from one of pleasure to one of deeply felt sympathy. “Oh, Joss. That does make it more difficult.”

Joss gazed at her ring forlornly. “I don't think I love him, but I'm not sure.”

“The man of the ring or the man of the seas?”

“The man of the ring. I'm sure I love Hugh.” She was surprised to hear herself say it, but she knew it was true. When he'd taken her in his arms after she'd nearly drowned, and she could feel the raw relief in his every muscle, she'd felt treasured and protected. It was a wonderful feeling, and the first time in her adult life she'd felt like she could let go and someone else would be there to catch her.

“Then you must return the ring. Or,” the duchess added with a pragmatic shrug, “at least send a note.”

“He has done nothing, really, to make me stop loving him. He is just not Hugh.”

“But a more earth-shattering fault you could not have named. Have you and Hugh . . .?”

Joss shook her head. “Not yet. Today, I think.”

“The dice, aye.”

“It's worse than that.”

“I have heard of Hugh's reputation. Perhaps you don't know the definition of ‘worse.'”

“I am a virgin.”

Kit jerked upright. The carriage was drawing to a stop,
and footmen leapt on the outside steps and opened the doors. “Close these at once,” Kit commanded. “Do you not know when to knock?”

The horrified men, who had surely never thought to knock on a carriage, shut the doors and retreated.

“I don't know why I jumped,” Kit said. “It's not as if it's the yellow fever, after all. Many survive virginity. It's just that I assumed that if you were with Hugh . . .”

“I know.”

“Hugh Hawksmoor is one of the best men I know—though, now that I know you're a virgin, I might wonder at your rather reckless challenge last night. I believe you had him dry swallowing. I know I was.”

“But—”

“I understand. 'Tis a momentous thing. I think a large glass of whisky might be in order.”

The doors reopened, but this time it was the duke.

“What, might I ask, are you at, my love?” he said, frowning. “The footmen are cowering in fear. They warned me to approach at my own risk.”

“They did no such thing. 'Tis a tête-à-tête. We are nearly done.”

“Good. Hugh has sent word for the lady to meet him at the stables. 'Tis a matter of a stallion, he said.”

Kit met Joss's eyes. “John,” she said to her husband, “give me your flask.”

“Might I point out it is barely noon.”

“No, you may not.”

He withdrew it immediately and handed it to her.

“Thank you.”

He gave an easy nod and waited.

“As I said, we are nearly done.”

Silverbridge ducked his head in pardon and exited the carriage.

“Drink up,” Kit said, putting the flask in Joss's hand. “And no more betting. The stakes are high enough.”

“Yes. Thank you. Thank you for everything.”

“I would say to put yourself in Hugh's hands, but that seems inevitable.”

Joss laughed. She pulled off her ring. “Would you hold this for me?”

The duchess slipped it on her finger, directly above a sapphire about as large as Joss's knuckle. “Happily.”

C
HAPTER
F
ORTY-SIX