Chills (37 page)

“Don’t listen to him, miss. Come inside.”

Parkes led her, unresisting, into the house, throwing a scowl behind him from the door. Once inside, he took her shawl, gripped her arm firmly and ushered her upstairs. Outside her bedchamber door, he stopped and bowed low, conveying a respect she had not anticipated. Or deserved. “Don’t think about that fool again. Some people cannot be happy for another’s good fortune.”

In a daze, Constance entered her room. She had anticipated losing the respect of others when she became Jack’s mistress. She just hadn’t expected it to happen so soon.

~ * ~

Jack took the stairs two at a time. Panic had long ago reduced his ability to think with any clarity. All he knew was that he had to get to Pixie. His butler’s hurried warning had only served to heighten his worry. She would be humiliated by the rumors and by Mr. Brampton’s loud and very public abuse.

He barreled into her bedchamber to beg her forgiveness, only to find it empty. He grabbed a bedpost and slumped against it. She was gone. Despair threatened him a moment before he snapped out of it, pivoted, and hurried to his own door.

Once he got rid of his evening clothes, he would search the city for her. Jack rushed through his sitting room, and then moved to his brightly lit bedchamber.

His valet was not normally so thoughtful—not in spring—but the room was warm and welcoming. Jack ripped out his cravat pin and struggled with his cravat, letting the diamond pin lay wherever it landed. He rubbed his hand around his neck and tried to think where she might have gone.

“Did your valet tie it too tight, or did you grow tonight, Jack?” A soft voice floated to him and Jack spun toward the sound. Pixie sat in a froth of white lace, watching him, a twinkle in her eyes and a smile on her lips. He staggered a few steps, overwhelmed by the relief of seeing her. A shocking lack of blood in his brain accounted for his inability to speak.

After a moment, he managed to put together enough words to produce a reply that made sense. “Too much starch, I believe.”

“Well, that can be easily taken care of.”

Jack’s brain was working now. “Will you speak to the housekeeper tomorrow?”

She smiled at him and his panic fled. “If you ask nicely, perhaps I could be persuaded.”

“Well then, I had better do just that.” Jack eyed her sitting there. “Give me a moment, will you?”

~ * ~

Constance was puzzled that things were not progressing quite how she had imagined. Although she sat alone on his big bed, she had hoped Jack would take that very large hint and come to join her.

When he emerged from his dressing room a moment or two later, Constance’s heart raced. He was perfect. He had changed. Gone was the scrap of ribbon in his hair. His coat and waistcoat were gone too. His shirt flowed free of the breeches on his hips, and best of all, no shoes or stockings—only bare feet.

Constance swooned at the sight, landing lightly on her back. Jack crawled up the bed after her. Delicious heat enveloped her as he hovered above, eyes twinkling with affection.

“My darling, Pixie, I almost swooned myself to see you here.” He swooped in to kiss her on the lips. His hair tickled and she giggled. “I’m sorry about tonight. Someone must have spotted us. As if I would dishonor you by making you my mistress. Come, sit up.”

He pulled her up with him and sank to his knees.

“What?”

“My darling Pixie, I could not bear it if you returned to Sunderland. Would you do me the very great honor of marrying me tomorrow, or is it today? I need you so very much.”

Tears stung her eyes. “Oh, Jack. Less starch in your laundry is not a reason to offer to marry me.”

“Forget the starch. I've been going mad. Please put me out of my misery. I want you so very terribly, little Pixie. I love you. Marry me. I want to spend the rest of my life openly adoring you.”

Tears fell; clouding her vision of the man she loved enough to suffer the scandal of becoming his mistress. “Jack, I would love to marry you, but you know I can’t.”

His brow creased. “Why ever not?”

“I realize you’ve kept the connection secret, but you are betrothed,” Constance sobbed. “All I can be is your lover.”

“Ah, Pixie, I’m such an idiot. I did not know you knew. Look at me.” Jack cradled her face. “I’m not betrothed, love. Not in any conventional sense.”

Jack grasped her hands tight in his. “Our fathers were foolish men, and terribly addicted to gambling. Do you remember how they were together? All in or nothing. But in a moment of weakness, my father crossed the line of honor and agreed to something that I cannot ever condone. As payment for your father’s debts, he acquired Thistlemore—and you.”

Constance gasped. “What do you mean me? He bought me?”

“They traded you.” Jack’s face turned an ugly shade of red. “I learned of it when my father died and I burned the document immediately. Then I came to Thistlemore to acquire the copy in your mother’s possession. She would not give it up easily.”

Revulsion churned in her belly. “That’s why she was angry with you?”

“At first she feared that I would toss you both out once I had the document. The lease appeased her somewhat. We argued—until I eventually got my way. But I remained your guardian until you came of age.”

“That’s why she calls you a cold-hearted beast?”

“Well, it wasn’t me who sold you,” Jack argued.

“Papa said you were betrothed,” she shook her head, unwilling to consider this was real. “He never said it was to me.”

“There was no stipulation that I had to marry you. You were to be my mistress or my property.”

The regret in Jack’s eyes drew more tears. She squeezed her eyes shut over the humiliation her father had dealt her from the grave. “You didn’t tell me. Why?”

“The whole agreement was an atrocity. I just wanted to forget that they could agree to such a thing,” Jack confessed, slumping beside her and lacing his fingers through hers.

By his expression he had lost respect for his father, and hers too. Not that there was much of Greedy Grange’s life to admire, but Constance had liked Jack’s papa. He had always been kind to her and now she knew why. “I’m sure he meant well.”

~ * ~

Jack scowled. He did not believe that. He still harbored great anger at his sire for buying a woman. “My girl, you are far too forgiving.”

Jack raised her hand to his face and held it there. “Tomorrow you will wish them both to the devil. I have thought that repeatedly for the last four years. So, was that a yes or a no to marrying me?”

“Yes, I will marry you. I love you so much it hurts.”

Gathering the folds of her nightgown Pixie turned toward him. She dropped the fabric and ran her hands up his chest to his neck, pulled his head to hers and kissed him soundly. She swallowed his groan as she flung herself over him.

Jack enjoyed her aggression. He kneaded her derrière, and then stroked the back of her thighs, all the while devouring her with deep kisses. Nothing else mattered.

He broke the kiss, but kept her tight against him. “I have something for you.”

Her eyes glistened in the candlelight and he didn’t want to tear his eyes away. “It can wait,” she said, pulling his shirt aside with impatient fingers.

From his smallest finger, he produced a ring—an exact match to the one he wore. “No. Wait. I want to do this right. Give me your hand.”

“Oh, Jack, I love it.” She allowed him to push it on her ring finger and she held it up to catch the light. “It fits perfectly too. How did you get the size right?”

“A man in love can do anything for his woman,” he boasted with a wide smile and kissed her cheek. “It is the original partner to the one I wear—my mother’s ring.”

Tears glistened in her eyes again and she hastily scrubbed them away. Jack sighed and rubbed his nose to hers, relieved and excited to have finally claimed the woman he loved.

Jack kissed her again, slow and hungry, and pushed her to the bed’s softness. Hovering over her, Jack did his best to keep his impulses under control, but he couldn’t help but try to kiss every part of her.

Lying beneath him, Constance’s hands were busy. She attacked his remaining buttons and stripped his shirt from him. Soft hands glided over his chest as he followed the trail of freckles to the neckline of her nightgown. Using his teeth, he snagged the ribbon that held it closed and lifted his head slowly, watching the bow loosen to expose more skin.

Pixie froze as he inched the garment from her shoulder and continued to kiss a path downward. His lips pressed to the soft swell of her breast and he impatiently slid the fabric aside, grazing the peaked pink nipple with the stitching.

Pixie gasped and then her hand curled around his waist, pulling at him with no clear sense of direction. Her other hand swept a line of fire, following the contours of his body, rubbing against the grain of his chest hair until her fingers found his nipple. Desire burned as she strummed over the peak and he did the same to her.

Jack caught her gaze and held it as he lowered his lips to her breast. He took the hard peak into his mouth. Pixie froze again until he suckled. The hands on his pulled him down against her curves, bending him to her will and her body.

As he suckled, Jack inched her gown lower so he had clear access to both breasts. Shaping them with both hands, he changed sides and the moan of desire she breathed against his face was another distraction to master.

She gripped his hair and pulled him up until he lay hard against her. Pixie appeared voracious, but he was not going to blunder and rush. She was a tiny woman. If he remained in control tonight, he would not have to wait long to make love to her again.

Anxious to keep her aroused, Jack returned to her breasts. Pixie’s hands wove into his hair and encouraged his ministration. But she undulated on the bed so much that Jack had to lift away, as blind desire clouded his mind. He let his lips slip from her breast. She stared at him with lust-shrouded eyes.

He grabbed hold of her nightgown and worked the thin material lower, her chest heaved as he exposed more of her skin. When her dark curls peeked above the linen, he ripped the material away and pressed his lips to her belly. Jack let his mouth wander lower, randomly kissing newly found freckles and the hard edges of her hips. He could not halt his downward progress if he wanted to. He kissed his way down her leg, over her knee, took the arch of her foot into his mouth, and pressed a heavy kiss there.

Jack settled back on his haunches and let his gaze travel along Pixie’s perfect body. She watched him, breasts jiggling as she dragged in frantic breaths. He raised her other foot to his mouth, pressed lingering kisses from her heel to her toes. They wriggled, and he chuckled but continued his reverent kisses along her other leg.

~ * ~

Jack was going to drive her insane.

Constance had never dreamed he would expose her like this. That he would carry out such an intense inspection before they made love. She had thought tonight would be more like this morning’s frantic rubbings. Her heart raced just the same. But Jack appeared in no hurry as his lips branded her skin.

Constance fought to hold still and not let the moans she wanted to utter break free. When he reached her breasts again, she threw him over onto his back and held him down.

Constance needed a moment to regain her sanity, but Jack laughed at her audacity and pulled her to him, sliding her skin against the heat of his. Dear God, she’d never be cold again. She wrestled his hands back to the mattress and kissed his neck. He gasped as she kissed a path to his shoulder, down to his nipple, and then kissed them too.

The encouraging groans he uttered were supremely satisfying.

He escaped her clutches and cradled her head against his skin. She nipped and kissed her way lower, sliding over the ridges of rib and the muscles of his stomach.

When he pulled away she grinned up at him. “Are you ticklish?”

“So it would seem,” he admitted, a touch of humor in his voice.

Constance wriggled lower and used her fingers to follow the trail of hair that disappeared into his breeches. She slipped her hands to the buttons and slowly undid them, looking up as she finished.

His chest heaved.

Smiling in complete understanding, she uncovered him. The rigid length pulsed and jumped as her breath stirred his blonde curls. His moan was tortured. She curled her fingers into the waist of his clothes, tugged them over his hard thighs, and tossed them off the bed.

Finding herself at his feet, she grasped both and raised them for her inspection. He had big feet, nicely shaped toes and, to her amusement, they were extremely ticklish.

Constance giggled as he drew his feet away. “Just how ticklish are you?”

“Too ticklish it seems. Come here.”

She had a full view of all of his endowments and what she saw made her mouth water. Images from the picture book caught in her mind and gave her a wicked idea. Grasping one of his restless legs, she lowered her mouth and kissed a curling path from the inside of his calf to his hip until her face was level with what she desired.

Before he could stop her, she pressed her lips against the smooth flesh. She had just enough time to appreciate how lovely his skin felt against her lips before he gripped her with both hands, and pulled her up his body.