Seven Years to Sin(56)
“It pleases me to lay claim to you,” she murmured, thinking of Masterson and how foolishly prideful the man was.
Alistair caught her by the waist. “I wonder if you’ll feel that way in London,” he murmured, “when surrounded by those who may judge you harshly for your choice.”
“Do you think I’m so malleable? So easily influenced?”
“I don’t know.” He looked up and into her eyes. “I don’t think you know either.”
He was correct, in a fashion. She’d always done exactly what was proper and expected. “My father would disagree with you. He would tell you that it takes a great deal of effort to convince me to conform.”
She was pulled and arranged gently on Alistair’s lap. His arms tightened around her. “Thinking of him and how he treated you incites me to violence.”
“He isn’t worth the effort. Besides, in some ways, I am grateful to him. What was once difficult for me became second nature and made life easier for me.” She pushed her fingers through his hair. “And look at how you’ve unraveled so much of that training in just a fortnight.”
“I want to unravel you.”
“You are succeeding.” With every hour that passed, she felt a little freer. Much as she did when shedding her corset at the end of a long day. She was beginning to doubt her ability to accept her former constraints if faced with them again. “Does that frighten you? Or cool your interest? As I fall so easily into your arms, does the lack of a worthy challenge bore you?”
“You challenge me every moment, Jess. You frighten me just as often.” He rested his head against her breast. “I don’t know how to be dependent upon someone else for anything, yet I find myself dependent upon you.”
Jess wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders and set her chin atop his crown. She might have guessed that a man like Alistair, who never did anything in half-measure, would give his affection with similar abandon. But she hadn’t expected that he would want to commit himself to one woman when his choices were so vast. “I confess, I’m terrified. Everything has changed so swiftly.”
“Is that so terrible? Were you so happy before?”
“I was not unhappy.”
“And now?”
“I don’t recognize myself. Who is this woman who sits on rakes’ laps and offers sexual favors with the ease of offering a cup of tea?”
“She’s mine, and I like her quite well.”
“You would, naughty man.” She nuzzled her cheek against his hair. “Did your mother love you well, Alistair? Is that why you are so adept at caring for me?”
“She did, despite all the grief my conception and birth caused her. I would do anything to ensure her happiness.”
“Wouldn’t she love to have grandchildren?”
Pulling back, he looked at her. “That is Baybury’s responsibility as the heir. He will see to it.”
“And what is your responsibility?” she queried, stroking her thumb tenderly across his cheek.
“To be the scapegrace of the family, corrupting fine young widows and luring them to sin.”
She kissed him. With her lips against his, she said, “While I endeavor to see that you remain upon the straight and narrow path you’ve set for yourself these last years.”
His strong hands slid up either side of her spine. “What a pair we shall make. The wicked widow and the reformed rake.”
Jess quelled the quiver of unease in her stomach, telling herself there was time enough to address the brutal realities of their association. So much had happened in such a short time, and there was still a long road to travel before it could be said with certainty that they were meant to go on together. In the interim, she would follow his lead. If it was meant for their happiness to be temporary, so be it. It was too late for her to retreat now.
She pressed her lips to the tip of his nose. “Let’s have that glass of claret now.”
Chapter 16
“Beg your pardon, Lord Tarley.”
Michael paused with his foot on the first step of Remington’s Gentlemen’s Club and turned his head to find a coachman standing off to the side with his hat in his hands. “Yes?”
“My lady begs a moment of your time, if you would be so kind.”
Looking past the coachman’s shoulder, Michael noted the hackney waiting nearby with curtains drawn over the windows. His pulse quickened with hope and expectation. The occupant could be any overly bold debutante, he supposed, but he wanted it to be Hester.
With a nod, he acknowledged the summons and approached the equipage. He paused directly outside the door. “Can I be of service?”
“Michael. Get in, please.”
He almost smiled, but refrained. Opening the door, he climbed in and took the squab across from Hester. Her perfume filled the enclosed space. While the sunlight was strong enough to filter through the curtains and offer enough illumination to see, the sense of illicit intimacy was overpowering.
And surely contained entirely within his own mind.
At least he thought so, until he saw the handkerchief she smoothed over her lap. She had given him a kerchief once before, as a sign of her maidenly esteem when he’d played at being a knight in shining armor. Ages ago. Another lifetime.