Jade Lee (15 page)

She looked at him, seeing his intense expression. “Always so serious, Will.” She trailed her finger across his cheek, outlining his tight jaw, then abruptly pushing up on her toes to kiss his mouth. She meant it to be a quick press, but he tightened his arms, holding her there. Then he kissed her again, as thoroughly as before, but this time more slowly. Intimately. And when he pulled back, she whispered. “Anything you want, Will. Right now.
Anything
.”

His eyes widened slightly as he figured out what she meant. Then he abruptly scanned the area. She knew what he was thinking. They were outside in the sunshine. Anyone could walk up on them at any moment. But no one was around. His mother wouldn’t interrupt them. Most everyone else was working at their farms or at the canal. The only reason he wasn’t with them was because he was cleaning up this room for her.

He looked down at her, his eyes searching her face. “Are you sure?”

She grinned. “Oh yes.”

Then he lifted her up. She squealed in surprise, but he was so strong that he carried her easily into the room. There was a heavy stone worktable against one wall. He set her gingerly on top of it. Or he tried to, but she was busy kissing whatever part of his body she could reach. His face, his jaw, his neck. And when she slipped her hands behind him and squeezed his bottom, he nearly dropped her.

He didn’t, of course, and when she was finally set down securely, he pushed back from the table. “One minute, Jo. Please.”

She smiled, then leaned back, striking as seductive a pose as she could manage. She wasn’t very good at it, or rather she didn’t think she was. But as she put her weight on her hands and lifted her chest higher, she heard Will groan.

With a muffled curse, he walked to the opposite corner of the room and grabbed a satchel. Pulling out some papers, he quickly offered them to her.

“What is it?” she asked, straightening up on the table. She looked down at the documents, trying to sort through the legal language. She understood the words individually, of course, but the meaning would not sink into her brain.

“It says that upon our marriage, I will sell the land to Montgomery. Every last inch of it for the amount of ten pence.”

“Ten pence?” Josephine cried. “But it’s worth—”

“Less than you,” said Will. He touched her face, pulling her gaze up to his. “I’m going to give it to the damned Scot. He only wants the land anyway. I want you.” His expression grew fierce. “Do you understand, Jo? I want
you
.”

She looked down at the document, her mind piecing together facts. “You had these made in London. But that was before…”

“Before we made love, before I dishonored us both.”

She shook her head. “I don’t regret it. Not for a second.”

“I wanted to court you openly, Josephine. I always have. But your father forbade it—”

“I cried off.”

“I’ve tried every way I could think of—”

“Alastair’s gone.”

“And this will make it very hard. I won’t have a job, Jo—”

“Will! I cried off.”

He blinked, a frown creasing his brows. She didn’t like it, so she stroked her fingers across his forehead to smooth it. “Mr. Montgomery and I have gone our separate ways, Will. I have no interest in marrying him. He is probably leaving Yorkshire at this very moment.”

“But—But he and your father had an agreement.”

She shrugged. “But I am the one who must say I do. And I don’t. Not with him.” Then she lifted the papers and casually tossed them to the wind. “We don’t need these.”

“Jo, your father—”

“Do you love me, Will?”

His hands gripped her thighs, tightening hard before gentling. “With all my heart. With my body, my soul, my honor—”

“Just say the words, Will.”

“I love you.” Then he abruptly dropped down to one knee before her. “Miss Josephine Powel, will you do me the greatest honor and become my wife? Will you let me love you and cherish you every day for the rest of my life?”

She leaned down and kissed him. It was a quick kiss, but in it she tried to tell him of the joy that was soaring through her heart. And in case he didn’t understand the message, she pulled back and said loudly and clearly. “Why yes, Mr. William Benton. It would be my greatest delight to marry you.”

He straightened up. “Because you love me?”

She grinned. “Because I love you with everything I am.” And this time when they kissed, there was nothing delicate about it. And as his tongue was claiming every inch of her mouth, her hands were unbuttoning his pants and pushing them down his hips.

He hiked up her skirt. And when it caught on her bottom, he lifted her up. Within moments, she was bared to him, and he was holding her spread and open but not yet impaled.

“Will,” she whispered. “God, don’t keep me waiting.”

“Promise me we’ll marry soon,” he said, his voice a husky rasp.

“Yes. Yes, yes, yes!”

He lowered her down slow and easy. She was so slick that he filled her by incredible inches. A little here, a little more, a slow descent that had them both groaning with delight. And then they just stood there like that—her held tight in his arms, him gripped strong inside her.

She grinned. “I shall like being married, I think.”

He didn’t answer except to kiss her. And when the duel of their tongues was not enough, he braced her half on, half off the stone table. She held onto the wide expanse of his shoulders and then she gripped him with her legs.

She didn’t have to tell him what she wanted. Their eyes were locked together, communicating silently as he finally—blessedly—began to move. A slow withdrawal, a faster thrust. His face grew tight, his teeth bared and his breath grew short. But he was no different from her as she gripped him with every sweet impact. Harder. Faster.

So close!

“I love you, Jo.”

Yes!

Her ecstasy brought on his. Together they gripped each other, their bodies contracting as their hearts soared. And she watched every moment of his flight just as he held her gaze throughout hers. And when they finally settled back on Earth, she found the breath to whisper back.

“I love you too, Will.”

His eyes flashed with joy. “Oh sweet Jo, I swear to you—”

“That you love me too?”

He nodded. He was still catching his breath. “Of course. But there is one other thing.”

“Yes?”

“I swear that I will not always bed you outdoors. There is much that can be done inside. In a bed.”

She frowned. “In a bed? How novel.” Then she looked about her. Not just at the stillroom, but at the sky and the land. At Yorkshire in general. She knew that she had finally found a home. Not only land, but a place where she fit: right here in Will’s arms. “I care not where it happens, Will. So long as it is with you.”

“Always,” he said, the word half promise, half demand.

“Yes,” she said. “Always.”

Josephine returned home hours later. After all, she had to wait until after Will had washed and dressed in his best clothing. And it had taken some time before he even started on that process. A wonderfully wicked amount of time, and she had loved every second of it.

So tea was cleared by the time they walked into the house. She’d barely opened the front door when Megan came at her, squealing in delight as she threw herself into Josephine’s arms. Jo would have fallen from the impact, but Will was there steadying her against the onslaught.

“Megan! What are you—”

“I’m so happy for you! Engaged to Will! You two are going to be so happy!”

She dropped out of Josephine’s arms only to turn and embrace Will. “I shall simply adore having you as a brother. Welcome, welcome to the family!” Then she dropped back and grabbed Josephine’s hand. “Come on. We have to plan the wedding. Mama has already decided it’s going to be a grand affair in London. Doesn’t want people to think we’re ashamed—which we aren’t!” She shot a brilliant smile at Will who appeared about as dazed as Josephine felt.

Fortunately, Josephine had more practice quieting her sister. The woman was normally completely composed but when she was exuberantly happy, she tended to make up for lost time.

“Megan! Megan, stop! What happened?”

Her sister frowned, looking oddly back and forth between them. “Mr. Montgomery packed up and left a few hours ago. Told Papa that Yorkshire didn’t agree with him and that you had cried off.”

“I did, but—”

“Papa was right furious at you, but then who should appear but Lady Crowle.”

Will’s mother had been here?

“Yes,” answered Megan though Josephine hadn’t asked the question. “Stomped right in and demanded to speak with Papa.” She leaned in, her eyes flashing with delight. “She told Papa a thing or two, I shall tell you! Really, Will, you should have mentioned that you’re descended from William the Conqueror. Anyway, it might not have worked except for Mama. She has that way of speaking without even saying a word. Your mother has it too, Will, because I saw the two of them look at each other. Not a word exchanged, but then Mama—our mama—nodded. She declared herself in favor of the union and Papa had no choice but to agree.”

“Mama came out in our favor?” Josephine asked, her voice a bare whisper.

“Well, of course she did. You’ve been happier these last weeks than we’ve ever seen you. And it’s not like we didn’t know you were sneaking out.” She dropped her voice to a very low whisper. “You’re not nearly as crafty as you think.”

Josephine gasped. They knew what she’d been doing? They knew? She glanced at Will and saw equal horror on his face.

“Shhh!” Megan hissed. “I said
we
knew. As in Mama and me. We just didn’t know
who
you’d been spending time with. And really Will, did you have to wait five years to declare yourself? Why do men always leave things until the last moment? But never mind that now,” she said waving her hands. “Will, you and Josephine need to go see Papa right away. Declare your intentions and all that. Salvage his pride while Josephine looks radiantly happy. There’s nothing Papa can say against it now. And then the men will share cigars while we…” She grabbed her sister’s hand and gave a little hop. “We can start planning the wedding!”

Josephine looked at Will, who simply shrugged.

“Are you ready then?” she asked him.

“It doesn’t matter if I’m ready,” he answered. “Whether your father likes it or not, I will marry you. After all, Gretna Green is not that far away, and I have already arranged for the horses.”

She blinked. Horses, the contract with Alastair, even the stillroom that he’d cleared for her—he’d had it all prepared.

“I love you,” she said.

“I love—”

“
Hsss!
” Megan interrupted, waving her hands. “Yes, yes, you’re in love. We
know
! Now go in there and make it all official, so we can start planning!”

And so they did.

The End

Read on for a sneak peek at

Available August 2013

From Sourcebooks Casablanca

After five years of long, hard labor, Grant was finally going to have his moment.

Oh
lord, are we back to this again? I thought you’d learned.

Grant ignored the voice of his madness. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and imagined his coming moment. It was crystal clear in his head because it was the one vision that had kept him going these last five years. And now, it was here. A great day built on nights spent hunched over books and days sweating over broken machinery at his textile mill. He’d gone without food as he poured money into the new dying process. Many nights he’d slept on a cot in his office, and for a time, he’d just lived there because it was cheaper. He’d sweated and bled for today, and now, it was here. His Great Day when everything paid off.

My
God, you’ve become a bloody bore. And, in case you haven’t noticed, you can’t have your glorified Moment, if you don’t sell your cloth.

Grant grimaced, knowing his madness was right. Mr. Knopp, purchaser for A Lady’s Favor dress shop, had been scheduled to arrive ten minutes ago. Grant was waiting for him in an inn parlor on the outskirts of London. He’d placed bolts of fabric on five chairs set strategically about the room. And in the forefront of his mind was a number, the exact number of pounds he needed before he had his Great Moment. That money would come from Mr. Knopp today. Grant intended to take every penny the man had by selling the idiot all his merchandise for triple the cost to make it. But he couldn’t do that unless the man showed up!

Five years ago, Grant would have called for a drink and set about killing time in the only way he’d known how: numbing himself insensate. But he wasn’t Grant Benton, the dissolute Lord Crowle today. He was the patient and cunning Mr. Grant who would enjoy his Great Day as soon as Mr. Knopp showed.

Fortunately for his sanity, a moment later he heard a soft knock at the door. Grant put aside his papers—he was always studying papers and their neat columns of numbers—then straightened his jacket and put on a congenial smile.

“Enter,” he called.

The door opened, and a woman stepped in. She was tall with soft skin and black clothing. The dress was out of date and somewhat shabby, but her smile was warm, though very tiny, like a bud of new growth on a dark stick of tree. Meanwhile, he stifled a sigh as he pushed reluctantly to his feet.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but you’ve got the wrong parlor.”

No, she doesn’t! Bring her in! Take off her dress!
Grant didn’t even wince as his madness suggested all sorts of filthy things. Sometime in the last five years, his madness had shifted from the grumbling, annoying voice of conscience to the grumbling, annoying voice of temptation. As Grant learned how to spend every day and night in toil, his madness pushed for debauchery. At first he’d found the change disconcerting. Now, he just pushed it to the back of his mind. He’d gotten better at that too over the last five years.

Meanwhile, the woman didn’t so much as blink. “Are you Mr. Grant?” she asked.

He nodded. “I am, but—”

“You’re waiting for Mr. Knopp, I presume?” she said as she untied her bonnet with quick movements. “That’s me. Well, not the mister part, obviously. I’m Irene Knopp. Mr. Knopp was my late husband.”

A
widow! Make her merry!

Grant stared at her, his mind struggling with the woman in front of him. Mr. I. Knopp was a woman? A
woman
! And a widow still in mourning, given her black clothing. He stifled a curse and tried to find a way out. There wasn’t one. The deadline was today, and he needed her money to have his Great Moment. His conscience would give him hell for taking advantage of a widow, but what choice did he have?

Take
advantage
of
her! In at least four different positions!

Mrs. Knopp gave him another small smile. “Please, sir, I find myself somewhat fatigued. Do you mind if I sit down for a moment? Might we order tea?”

“Uh, of course,” he said. That’s what one said when a widow said she was tired and wanted tea. He rang the bell and made the order, while she set her coat aside. Her hair was a glossy black, the exact color of a foal he’d once coveted as a boy. And though her clothing was shabby, he noted a grace in her movements as she stripped off her gloves and settled on the couch. Lord, she looked so tragic. How could he put his family’s need before hers?

Then she turned to him and smiled. It was a brief flash full of tragedy and quiet perseverance. At that moment, he had a revelation: it was all a lie. The widow’s weeds, the tragic air, even the way she perched like a delicate, frightened bird on the edge of the couch—all of it was a carefully constructed lie.

He sat in his own chair, relishing the coming moments. He didn’t care if she was a thief, charlatan, or just a smart salesgirl. Whatever her true nature was made no difference. She was about to make his last five years worthwhile.

Get
her
drunk
first.

He felt his lips curve. Drinking wouldn’t be the most subtle ploy, but it often worked anyway. “Instead of tea, I could order wine. More bracing, I think. They have an excellent brandy here too or—”

“Oh heavens!” she said with a flash of white teeth. “Tea is fine for me. But please, feel free to order some for yourself.”

Step number one: ineffective. On to step two: establishing a friendship.

Kiss
her
senseless!

“I don’t mean to offend,” he said. “Your attire suggests you’re still in mourning. That must mean your loss was recent. Please allow me to express my deepest sympathy.”

She nodded, holding his gaze for perhaps a moment too long. “Thank you,” she said, before dropping her eyes. “In truth, it’s been some time since Nate’s death, but I still feel it.”

There was true emotion in her eyes, so the loss must be real. He felt a twinge of sympathy, but immediately quashed it. Outside, though, his expression was tender concern as he leaned forward.

“So was he the purchaser? Are you taking over his job?”

Her expression shifted to stern, as if she were preparing to do battle, which he supposed, she was. “I think that the best purchaser for women’s clothing is a woman, don’t you agree? A man couldn’t possibly understand things as well.”

He nodded slowly. “Naturally, you have advantages. But in the world of business, there are some drawbacks to your gender.”

“Spoken like a gentleman,” she said, obviously not meaning a word. Then they both fell silent as the tea tray arrived. She reached for it immediately.

“Shall I pour?” she asked, as if she were a matron in a society parlor.

“Of course. Just add a little lemon for me.” He hadn’t allowed himself sugar or milk for the last five years. In fact, the lemon would be a treat.

Boring! Get on with the naked part!

She nodded and poured, her hands steady, her every movement graceful. There wasn’t anything special in what she did. Thousands of women throughout England did the same thing every day. And yet the sight stopped his breath. His belly tightened, and his chest squeezed painfully. And, worst of all, his cock reared like a thing coming alive for the first time in five years.

Finally!

What the hell? She was just serving him tea!

He narrowed his eyes, trying to judge the situation dispassionately. He noted each item individually, like marks on a tally sheet. First, she was lovely, but she didn’t dress to emphasize that. If anything, her attire was modest and old. Second, she moved with the inborn class of a lady, and yet everything about her told him she was of the working class. He’d known this already, so what had changed in the last second?

It was the way she served tea, he realized. As if she were born to something better, but had fallen on hard times. Terrible times that he couldn’t fix.

And there was his answer. His mother had served tea like this, and his sister too. With an innate dignity and a silent grief. Not for a man, but for a dream that was lost. A possibility that would never come to fruition. That was how the women in his family served tea. And now, Mrs. Knopp too. It roused his protective instincts. It reminded him that women should be cherished. And damn, it made him long for a better way.

Of course, none of that explained his thickening cock. He had no interest in bedding anyone. And if he did, it certainly wouldn’t be this tragic figure before him, especially since it was probably a well-constructed lie! And yet, nothing he said had the tiniest impact on his imbecilic organ.

Don’t question it. Use it! Repeatedly. And in a thrusting motion!

“Mr. Grant? Is something amiss?”

He swallowed then reached for his teacup. “Nothing at all,” he said. He took an obligatory sip then held the cup and saucer in his lap to hide his embarrassment. “Perhaps we should get to business. You are purchasing fabric for A Lady’s Favor dress shop, and I have the best wools in England.”

“My goodness, that’s quite a statement.”

“It’s true nonetheless.” Then he leaned forward, deciding that he might as well use his discomfort to his advantage. If he was attracted to the woman, then he should let it show and flirt. “In fact, I have the most gorgeous bolt just for you. It’s a little heavier—meant for late fall—but the color would be spectacular on you.”

“On me? But I assure you, I have no need—”

“You’re coming out of mourning soon. You must be.” He set aside his tea and crossed to the nearest pile of fabric. Sorting through them, he lifted then discarded his choices. He knew what he was looking for. So where was it? “Oh yes! I set it aside for a different customer,” he lied. In truth, he’d meant to bring it out later as a temptation. After the primary order was made, he would bring it out as a last temptation to increase her order. But now that she was here, he knew that it had been made just for her.

He lifted it up, feeling the exquisite softness and seeing the design. He had been the one to first draw this pattern, not that he’d tell her that. But when he turned and held the fabric up to her face, he knew he’d done it all just for her.

“This is it,” he said softly.

He angled her toward the mirror and let her see. The fabric was a dark rose, light enough to be joyous, but still not a full pastel. It brought out the color in her skin. But what made the piece truly stunning was the intricate pattern embroidered on top. Nothing so girlish as flowers. This was a design in abstract. He’d been looking at a candle flame, and the pattern had come to him. Yellows, oranges, and red burned on the area that would be the bodice. There were matching flames for the skirt. The end result would make her appear to be wreathed in candlelight.

“Touch it,” he said. “It’s a special wool that we make mixing in the fur from a thousand rabbits.”

“Rabbits!”

“Angora rabbits, in fact. Go ahead. Feel it against your skin.” He didn’t wait until she complied. Instead, he brushed it across her cheek.

She gasped, as he knew she would. The first feel of angora wool was always the best. Wool from sheep was one thing—and his factory had some of the best—but nothing could compare to his angora blend.

“Imagine yourself walking into a ballroom wearing this. The chandeliers are above you, but the crowd parts seeing only you. Like a living flame among them.”

“Mr. Grant, I am not a woman who likes flattery.”

“Every woman likes flattery, Mrs. Knopp,” he countered. “But in this, I only speak the truth. I’ll show you. But first cover your eyes.”

“Mr. Grant!”

“Shh!” He gently set his hand over her eyes. She closed them, of course, and he told himself the caress across her brow was only in the service of his sale. Still, he couldn’t help but note how soft her skin felt or that there was heat in her face. When was the last time she blushed? he wondered. Not lately, he’d wager.

Meanwhile, he draped the fabric about her, covering her ugly black dress with ease.

“Shall I look?”

“Not yet,” he said. He quickly crossed to the window and pulled the curtains shut. Then he lit two candelabra, setting them on either side of her. Just as he’d thought, the dress picked up the dance of the flames. When she moved, she would draw every eye in the room.

He smiled, proud of his creation. But more, he was awed by her beauty. “Now,” he said. “Open your eyes and see.”

He watched as her impossibly long lashes lifted, and she looked into the mirror. She blinked then she frowned, but not in disappointment. She seemed more startled than anything. As if she had forgotten what she looked like in anything but black.

“Your skin is flawless,” he said as he stepped behind her. “A gown made from this will bring out the color of your lips and the blush across your… cheeks.” The hesitation was deliberate as his gaze dropped lower to where the soft curve of her breasts might show.

“The design is so pretty,” she murmured, touching the precise stitches. “It’s like…”