Chills (25 page)

“Not recently, my lady. Shall I summon her for you?”

“No, Parkes. She is probably upstairs resting again. I’ll peek in later.”

Virginia’s footsteps faded up the stairs as Jack’s heavier tread disappeared toward the back of the house. His steps were slow and measured. He was calm today, she thought with relief. Since the pond incident, his steps had been hurried and loud as he moved about the house.

Constance looked toward the scandalous book again. It was calling her. It beckoned her to learn all that it could teach. Constance almost laughed aloud. She had only just learned kissing. Kissing was very good, thrilling. She wanted—no, needed—more kisses. She stopped pretending to read, and sat back thinking hard about the book and about Jack. Might he have done all the things depicted in that wicked book?

The thought worried her.

~ * ~

Constance managed to secret the wicked book upstairs later that night. Despite the fact she had danced two dances with Mr. Abernathy, she had barely thought of him at all. And he was not the reason she couldn’t sleep now. She held the page toward the candlelight and studied the pose. Certainly not ladylike. She doubted she could permit any of them, but the book had given her a tantalizing glimpse into her future.

Of course, she did not believe that only married couples behaved like this. She was not that naïve. But this new awareness proved a real distraction. She had not been able to concentrate on dinner, and had blushed harder when Jack had questioned her health. If he only knew the naughty thoughts swirling around her head, he would be ashamed to know her.

Constance accepted that men’s minds turned readily and easily to sex. She had not realized that a woman was as capable of the same thing. She found herself watching Jack’s movements, wondering what he looked like beneath his clothes. Of course, that caused a surge of embarrassment, and to excuse her high color, she’d coughed heartily.

Jack did look very good stripped of his coat. The curve of his rear, firm and well-muscled, encased in trousers drew her eyes. His broad back tapered to a trim waist. He was certainly strong enough for position thirty-four.

Constance leaned back, raised her legs high, and separated her knees. No, the space was still not wide enough. She parted her knees further. A pillow replaced the man and she wrapped her legs around it. Constance groaned. It would bring Jack so close.

Constance hugged the pillow to her. Jack, Jack, Jack. Her mind brought her continually back to him. He was the man she imagined. But it wasn’t possible—she couldn’t have him.

Rolling to her front, she wriggled up the bed, and reached for the book again. The next page was very similar to the last, except the man was standing. Constance wriggled until her bottom neared the edge of the mattress. Yet it didn’t seem right. She twisted back to the page, saw her mistake, and wriggled closer to the edge. When she twisted to view herself, her nightgown, bunched up at the top of her thighs and exposed white legs spread wide. The sight shook her, excited her. She pressed her head back to the mattress and panted.

The images in the book and her own imagination had inflamed her. But she had no idea what to do. Blushing, she rolled face-down into the mattress and groaned. She was depraved, wicked, and so very confused.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Yes?” she managed to squeak out.

“Is everything all right, Pixie?”

Jack’s voice.

No, it was not all right. But she could not answer truthfully. Jack would never understand. Constance tried to think of a plausible lie. But none came to mind before the doorknob turned. Why hadn’t she thought to lock it? Jack’s fingers appeared around the door.

“I am fine, really, Jack. Just having trouble sleeping, is all.”

He stood just outside the room, his fingers pressed white against the dark wood of the door. “Perhaps, if you blow out the candle?”

Constance squirmed then realized her knees were bare and visible. She hastily tucked them beneath her nightgown. “You are right, of course. Forgive me for disturbing you.”

“You were not disturbing me.” He seemed about to leave, but he glanced back at her once more. “You groaned. Is something vexing you?”

“Only a small matter.”

“I would be only too happy to help, if I can.”

Constance fidgeted, the hard edge of the book digging into her calf. She ignored the pain. Jack could not learn she had it. He was ridiculously proper sometimes. She risked a glance down. The book hid enough beneath her pillow that Jack would never see, yet she squirmed with embarrassment. She had just spent the better part of an hour imagining Jack in this very bed, doing a great deal more than sleeping this time.

He looked wonderful in candlelight. Then again, he looked amazing in daylight. His hair was loose, finally free of the ribbon that usually held it back. He looked altogether different, relaxed, yet tense at the same time. The ways that Jack might help her made her head spin.

~ * ~

Pixie fidgeted on the bed. She was up to something. The messy bed covers proved just how restless she was. The hills and valleys of coverlets couldn’t hide, however, that her nightgown was gathered at her knees, or that the ribbon at her breast had come loose to expose a tantalizing expanse of skin. And one freckle.

That spot caused more mischief in Jack’s mind than he realized at first. Blood swirled and pooled in one place, expanding his body in a way he had been fighting since they had kissed days ago.

Although Jack had judged her too sick to take things further, he was eager to explore just how well they might suit each other. Given their combined reaction to chaste kisses, he shuddered to think what it would be like to delve his tongue past those strawberry lips. He already knew a lot about Pixie—she was as hungry for kisses as he.

As her knees slid out of sight, her nightgown slid and exposed the plump curve of one breast. Jack’s breath hitched. What he wouldn’t give to press his lips there. He hastily raised his gaze, only to find Pixie’s face flushed amid the halo of dark curls.

She bit her lip.

“I would give anything to know what you are thinking right now.”

When her blush deepened to scarlet, Jack’s muscles locked, and then he was moving deeper into the room. She could not possibly be thinking along the same lines as he.

Her eyes dropped to the bed.

Jack didn’t need the reminder of where she sat. “Shall I snuff the candles for you?”

“I can do it.”

But Jack had already pinched her candle out, leaving firelight to illuminate the room. Pixie rose on her knees, and when he approached the edge of the bed, she came forward too. Jack touched her flimsy nightgown.

Pixie’s breath caught, her eyes widened.

When he touched her cheek, she swayed into his fingers.

Jack could not think of being proper. He could not make himself leave her side.

When Pixie’s eyes dropped to his lips, his erection throbbed. Leaning in, he drew in a deep breath. The scent of her perfume and another, deeper scent assailed him. He clutched her arm and she met his gaze. Firelight reflected off eyes glassy with passion. He dragged in another large breath. The unmistakable hint of aroused woman lingered on the air.

He forced himself to resist. He couldn’t act on his desires yet.

The existence of her suitor list, and his exclusion, still rankled. And there was one more name to have dismissed. He wouldn’t be happy until Pixie gave up her ridiculous plan to marry for money. He meant to prove by deed, by word, and by patience how good it could be between them.

Jack pressed a kiss to her temple. “Sleep well, little one.”

Jack retreated quickly. Yet the expression on her face was priceless. Her pout almost made him cross the chamber again. But he didn’t dare. He doubted he had the power to stop twice. He would join her on the bed and, in his current state, he would be hard-pressed to stop himself from taking things a great deal further than kissing.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CONSTANCE PLACED HER heeled slipper on the gravel drive, struggling to keep her balance. Jack had relented and grudgingly agreed she was well enough to attend a ball. And not just any ball—this was the annual Malvey masquerade she had heard so much about. She was so excited she almost danced without music.

The house before her was ablaze with light. Small fires lined the curved driveway, while moonlight streamed down from a clear sky to illuminate the gardens but leached away the colors. It looked like heaven. She couldn’t wait to slip inside to experience the decadence she expected.

Virginia tugged Constance toward the house, her spirits high too. They had sipped champagne as they bounced along London’s streets, gems flashing as they giggled like girls over the silliest things. It was good that Jack and Lord Hallam had decided not to accompany them for the short carriage ride. That stuffy pair would not have appreciated their antics during the trip. However, they had promised to meet them in the ballroom and be surprised by their costumes.

There was no receiving line, but champagne-bearing footmen waited on the broad, front stairs, directing guests. When Constance and Virginia passed through the entrance hall she caught their reflection in a large mirror and had to look twice. Virginia’s pale pink gown was so fine it appeared transparent. The sheath hung from a noose of diamonds and flowed loosely over her body without further ornamentation. Defying convention, Virginia’s blonde hair hung to her waist covering her back and parts of her ready to burst from the tiny bodice.

Constance’s own outfit was eye-popping. Two tiny, gold chains were all that stood between her and complete exposure. Sheer drifts of gold silk gathered beneath her bust and draped to her feet. She shimmied the fabric around her legs as she looked about, enjoying the decadent slide across her skin. She looked like a gold butterfly about to blow away in a strong wind, but she flowed with the tide, up the long flight of steps, and into the house.

Virginia gripped her hand tight in anticipation.

Constance did not recognize herself behind the safety of the mask and prayed no one else would. As she entered the ballroom already swarming with costumed guests, eyes turned toward them expectantly. Appreciation glimmered behind the masks, and courtly bows and curtsies were exchanged, but no one hailed them as yet.

Sipping champagne, Constance looked about at the other revelers. She and Virginia were not the most flamboyantly dressed. She spotted no one she recognized, and concentrated on balancing in her high-heeled shoes, a necessary novelty due to the length of her frail, antique dress.

When they moved deeper into the crowd, a voice hailed them, not by name, but with pretty words of poetry, and Virginia paused near a tall, dark stranger.

“What visions of delight I behold,

That makes a man feel bold,

To slip an arm around a pretty thing

And …”

The man spoke the last line directly into Virginia’s ear and she swiveled to face him, letting go of Constance’s arm. The caped, masked man touched Virginia’s arm, caught up her fingers, and placed a kiss on each knuckle. He looked to be making love to her hand.

Virginia sighed and the desperate edge to it surprised Constance. The man touched Virginia’s face and nudged her mouth closed before tugging her in the direction of the dance floor.

Constance made a move to follow discreetly, but hesitated. The air around the pair was alight with desire. She had no wish to interfere.

A hard presence fitted against her back. Fingers stroked above the gold cuff on her upper arm. Constance slapped her hand over the borrowed treasure and glanced toward Virginia’s retreating form. Her friend had stopped and was watching her. Virginia smiled and turned away, following her handsome escort through the crowd.

Strong fingers wrapped over her protective grip and another hand took away her champagne. Constance couldn’t breathe, couldn’t make herself turn around. Once a footman took the glass, the stranger curled his arm around her body.

She breathed deep. With all the conflicting scents, she couldn’t discern who held her. The man’s firm grip held her in place, but her pulse thundered in her ears. She slid her fingers to the back of his hand and when she found metal, she traced over the top.

The top was plain.

Disappointment thundered through her until the hand turned and her fingers found what she needed. She knew that signet ring very well. Jack had turned the identifying crest in to his palm, to keep his identity hidden.

Only then did she raise her eyes and turn. Jack smiled down at her, his blue eyes twinkling in amusement behind a mask. She breathed his name and his grip tightened. He leaned in, bending his head to brush his forehead against hers.

“You seem surprised to see me.” Jack’s face split into a grin. With lace at his throat, hair loose, he looked like the portrait of his father in the drawing room, but with a mask instead of face paint. He looked nothing like she expected.

The crowds melted away as she stared up at the gorgeous man.

“Can I stay in your company tonight, Pixie?” Jack asked.

“Don’t you have someone to meet?” Like a mistress? It was the perfect setting for a dalliance.