Chills (35 page)

He popped three more buttons, sure that he could wrestle the material down to expose her breasts. When he eased her back from his chest, Pixie resisted a moment before giving him what he wanted. When her eyes locked with his, he placed his finger at the base of her throat. He ran it down the center of her chest into the valley between her breasts, then he snagged the front of her gown, and jerked it down.

“Beautiful.”

Constance exulted in the hungry look on Jack’s face, and heard his rough groan as he lifted her, using his hand on her bottom to bring her breasts level with his face. As he took one nipple between his lips, fire shot directly to her core. Constance looked down at him suckling at her breast, his hair loose and disordered. This was right. This was where she should be.

She cradled his head, enjoying the feel of his mouth tugging and shaping her breast to please them both. The heat of his lips, the caress of breath over her skin, proved such exquisite torture that her body pulsed with longing.

He teased her nipple with his tongue.

Constance’s breath hissed out and she squirmed, settling lower and tighter against him. Jack kissed his way to her other breast and she thrummed in anticipation. He paused a moment, his eyes open, and stretched his tongue to the pointed nipple. Constance squirmed at the teasing touch.

Jack chuckled. “Like that, do you?”

“Of course I do. You know I do,” she replied softly.

His open-mouthed kiss swallowed her nipple and he tugged hard until she couldn’t stop the sounds escaping.

“I think you will like this, too.”

Instead of continuing his feast as she wanted, Jack kissed her lips fiercely, and swallowed her surprised shriek as his hand moved to the curls between her legs.

He cupped her mound firmly, then parted her lower lips, and stroked her aching flesh. She shuddered and he caught her moans with more kisses. Constance rested her head against his, breathing roughly while her body thrummed with desire. He kept his hand on her and stroked, spreading her wetness, running his hand down her back and driving her insane.

Constance shifted, struggling to use any of her faculties. His hand among her curls was maddening and created such a powerful ache. The invasion of his finger, she assumed it was one, made her want to push down. Jack appeared not to mind her restlessness and looked positively wild with his hands beneath her skirts. He was so very thorough at driving her crazy with lust that she could not help but voice her enjoyment.

Determined to explore him, she attacked the buttons on his waistcoat and pushed it aside. Next came Jack’s shirt—the crisp material was no match for her determined fingers. She touched his bare chest. His warm skin was so very pale, with a light sprinkling of golden hair upon it. Constance gulped, overwhelmed by the sight. She ran her hands over smooth, lean muscle, outward to his shoulders, pushing his shirt away from the heat of his skin.

Jack dragged his shirt over his head then returned to giving her pleasure.

Her hands slid lower, running over the crest of his chest, past nipples, pointed and hard with desire, down his ribs to his waist. She curled her hands inward to find a thin line of hair that traveled lower. Curious, she traced the line of hair to his waistband, slipped sideways to the button, and worked it free.

Jack’s belly sucked in. He ceased exploring between her legs and watched her fingers move over him. The folds of her gown obscured her view, but then he tugged at the material, pulling so her skirts hung behind her and out of the way.

He shuffled so she had better access and a better view. Her hands stilled. The outline of his penis, long, and very impatiently straining against the fabric of his breeches took her breath away.

He leaned forward to kiss her brow. “You don’t have to continue. You could stop. I want nothing more than to pleasure you.”

“That doesn’t seem fair,” she whispered.

“My wonderful, darling angel,” he began, but didn’t finish his thought.

He moved his hand again, stroking her, making her wetter, if that was possible. He kissed her neck and shoulder, then brought his other hand around to her breast and squeezed. He brought all of his attention back to her.

Jack was so focused that he did not appear to realize she opened the flap of his trousers, exposing him to the air and her eyes. Constance goggled. This was what made men so different. She watched in amazement as it moved without much dependence on Jack himself.

She had seen the picture book. Jack was touching her as in page thirty-three. But if she reached out, she could perform number six. Jack had said he wanted to pleasure her. He certainly deserved the same.

Nervously, Constance touched him.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” Jack’s voice burst from his lips and he looked down.

“I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”

“Christ, no. Do it again, love.” Jack kissed her hard. “Do it again.”

She ran her index finger along smooth skin. He groaned.

“Your skin is so soft and hot, Jack. Am I doing this right?”

“I won’t break. Hold me like this.” He wrapped her hand around his length, but he hissed out a breath against her neck then settled to kissing along her jaw. His hand guided hers, until she got the hang of it. He showed her how to stroke, how hard to squeeze, and the pace he liked.

When Jack released her hand, he returned his attention to her body, sending heat rushing to her face. This was nothing like the book. It was so much better.

Jack brought his second hand under her skirts and concentrated on driving her insane, his lips kissing anywhere they could reach. A short burn of discomfort pierced her pleasure haze and Constance thought he must have slipped a second finger inside her. But the incredible feeling of fullness as he pressed all the way in thrilled her, and then rubbed where she ached most.

Her body rocked against Jack’s hands as she strove to get closer. She found Jack’s lips and kissed him again, while he did something incredible to her body. Her breath caught, and then she sobbed, squeezing Jack’s probing fingers as every nerve ending on her body shuddered.

All the way through she held Jack’s length in her hand, instinctively pulling and stroking until he bucked and groaned loudly, too.

Warm, slick stickiness coated her hand as she concentrated on trying to breathe. Nothing had prepared her for the pleasure of making love to Jack.

Although she sat perched on his thighs, legs spread wide, his fingers still buried deep inside her, she wasn’t embarrassed.

She should be though.

As for Jack, he lay back on the lounge, head thrown back. His blue eyes had closed and his lips parted as he breathed hard. He looked done in. Satisfied. She had to bite back a happy smirk at her achievement.

“I need to get you into bed before the servants find us,” Jack said suddenly.

She winced as he removed his fingers from her body, then he reached for his cravat. He wiped off her sticky fingers first, then stroked up the long expanse of his bare chest, absorbing and cleaning away his release.

A tremor shook her leg, but she didn’t want to move.

Jack’s wide grin drew one from her. He lifted up until his chest brushed her nipples and kissed her, sending a warm glow all the way over her body. Making love to Jack defied description.

“Is it always like that?” Constance asked, puzzled and a little afraid that he did not feel as awed as she did. She would hate it if she could feel that way with someone else.

He kissed her nose. “No. Making love has never been that good. I've always said that you were special.”

“I thought you were just being kind,” Constance said as she frowned at how easily her perception of him had changed. Had he always been so sweet to her?

He hugged her. “Kindness is not the only reason we’re friends, love.”

He stood, taking her with him, and then dropped her to her feet. She grasped his hips as he buttoned his trousers. When he bent to collect his shirt from the floor, she skimmed her hands over his smooth back. He grinned and shrugged his shirt over his head, hiding his body from her sight.

Her gown had slipped low and, without the buttons fastened, threatened to continue downward. Jack redressed her, a gentle smile crossing his face as he did so.

He kissed her lips. “Come on. Time to get you into your bed before anyone finds us like this.”

They walked to the door of the secret passageway together, Jack’s arm around her shoulders. The doorway opened with a soft click. They climbed the stairs in silence and when Jack slid them into her bed, tucked the blankets tight around them, and kissed Constance’s cheek, she wondered how to bring up the change between them.

But the next instant, Jack’s heavy breath proved he’d fallen dead asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. Perhaps tomorrow she’d find out what he expected from his mistress.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

JACK STOOD BEFORE the mirror and wondered why he looked the same. He felt different—alive. His pulse pounded loud in his ears. Pleasuring Pixie had done that. He stirred at the memory of what they had shared last night. Dear God, it was the best fumble he had ever experienced. Pixie’s responses were so natural, so erotic and instinctive that they had indulged in mutual pleasure again this morning as they woke in her bed just before the sun rose. It was quick and frantic, both of them conscious that the servants would be stirring soon, but unable to part until the other was satisfied again.

Tonight would not be quick, tonight he would take her to new heights, take them both past the point of no return. Tonight he would have her bare and on her back in his bed, and nothing was going to interrupt them.

Jack pushed his anticipation down as his cock swelled, focusing on his reflection. He grimaced. He was tired of black, tired of being haughty, unable to smile, unable to show any sign of being warm or caring. He wanted to stay home, take Pixie to bed, and truly make her his.

Yet Jack had only managed a short time with her after breakfast. Just a few kisses and a deep inhalation of her fragrance. He’d pulled her into his study, pressed her back against the door, and kissed her until she’d panted as hard as he. Only Virginia’s querying voice had parted them. Since they had an appointment with the modiste again, Virginia had whisked Pixie away. Jack hadn’t seen her since, but he would pin her down after tonight’s ball and ask her to marry him, and he was not going to take no for an answer. The idea of not having to part come morning was intoxicating.

Tomorrow, by special license, they would marry. Tomorrow, Mrs. Grange should arrive with his uncle for the ceremony, and then they would move to Hazelmere where he could put a stop to Mrs. Grange’s incessant gambling. Jack had decided on a devious way to control his future mother-in-law: grandchildren—as many as they could manage.

With the effort to don the mask of the cold-hearted marquess, Jack arrived downstairs late, only to be informed that the ladies had left without him. God, his sister had such a bee in her bonnet about tardiness since Hallam had returned to the country.

Jack hurried after them, cursing Hallam’s influence on his sister. By the time he arrived at Lady Rosthorn’s townhouse, it was overflowing with the cream of London society and, quite naturally, every gossip possible.

As he stood beside the crowded dance floor looking for Pixie and his sister expectant eyes focused on him. He ignored them, anxious to see Pixie again. She hadn’t said a word about Abernathy, and Jack wanted to hear her say that she was done with the younger man and the stupid list.

Across the room, the inevitable cluster of women whispered furiously behind fans, all openly staring in his direction. He shrugged it off. He had better things to do than worry about their endless speculations. He moved on, spotting Miss Birkenstock in the crowd speaking with her grandfather. Her gaze flicked toward him, her jaw clenched, and then she glanced away. What the devil could that be about?

“Good evening, Lord Ettington,” a loud voice called.

Jack turned toward the voice, and found Mr. Scaling before him.

“It was,” he replied, not caring who overheard his remark. There were some benefits to having a reputation for indifference—he could be dismissive when he chose.

Jack searched the crowd for Pixie. He did not want her to see Mr. Scaling standing with him. Pixie might return her attention to the debts. He’d repaid them all without her consent. He didn’t want her to become prickly over how he should have waited for them to be actually married before he dealt with them. He enjoyed tussling with her in far more pleasurable ways.

Scaling cleared his throat. “It never ceases to amaze me how quickly secret alliances have a way of becoming known. I have asked around and it appears that quite a number of Miss Grange’s debts have been paid by a mysterious benefactor. Care to enlighten me where the young lady acquired the blunt to do it? I was led to believe she would have to sell Thistlemore before any of her creditors got even a shilling in payment.”

“Sell Thistlemore?” Jack asked, arrested by the gossip but trying not to show it. “Now who would tell you such a falsehood?”

“Let us just say that an acquaintance was overly eager for the property at any expense. He boasted over a drink or two that he almost had the property,” Scaling offered.