To Seduce a Sinner (Legend of the Four Soldiers #2)(37)

“Oh, I think there’s every need,” he said.

HER MOUTH WAS the exact same shade as the rose.

Jasper watched as the petals brushed against her lips. So soft, so sweet. He wanted to feel that mouth beneath his own again. Wanted to part it and invade it, marking it as his own. Five days, she’d said, which left another still to go. He’d have to practice patience.

Her cheeks were flushed a delicate pink, her eyes wide above the rose, but as he watched, they lost focus, and her lids began to drift down. She was so sensitive, so responsive to the smallest of stimuli. He wondered if he could make her come simply by kissing her. The thought quickened his breath. Last night had been a revelation to him. The luscious creature who’d invaded his room and taken charge was every man’s erotic dream. Where had she learned such sensuous wiles? She’d been like quicksilver—mysterious, exotic, slipping away from him when he’d tried to grasp her.

Yet he’d never noticed her before that day in the vestry. He was a stupid, blind fool, and he thanked God for it. Because if he was a fool, then so were all the other men who’d passed her by at innumerable balls and soirees and never taken the time to look. C tifoo None of them had noticed her either, and now she was his.

His alone to bed.

He had to fight to keep his smile from turning wolfish. Who would’ve thought chasing one’s own wife would be so arousing? “I have every right to woo you, to court you. After all, we had no time before we were married. Why not do it now?”

“Why bother at all?” she asked. Her voice sounded dazed.

“Why not?” He teased her mouth again with the rose, watching as the flower pulled down her lower lip, revealing the moist inner skin. His groin tightened at the sight. “Should not a husband know his wife, cherish and possess her?”

Her eyes flickered up at the word possess. “Do you possess me?”

“I do legally,” he said softly. “But I don’t know if I do spiritually. What do you think?”

“I think you don’t.” He pulled back the flower to let her speak, and her tongue touched her bottom lip where it had been. “I don’t know if you ever will.”

Her frank gaze was a challenge.

He nodded. “Perhaps not, but that won’t stop me from trying.”

She frowned. “I don’t—”

He placed his thumb across her mouth. “What other talents have you not told me of, my fair wife? What secrets do you keep hidden from me?”

“I have no secrets.” Her lips brushed his thumb like a kiss as she spoke. “If you look, you’ll not find any.”

“You lie,” he said gently. “And I wonder why.”

Her eyelids dropped, veiling her gaze. He felt the moist heat of her tongue against his thumb.

He caught his breath. “Were you found, fully formed, in some ancient spot? I fancy you as one of the fey, strange and wild, and completely enticing to a human male.”

“My father was a simple Englishman. He would’ve scoffed at the thought of fairies.”

“And your mother?”

“She was from Prussia and even more pragmatic than he.” She sighed softly, her breath brushing his flesh. “I am no romantic maiden. Just a plain Englishwoman.”

He very much doubted that.

He took his hand away, caressing her cheek as it left. “Did you grow up in London or in the country?”

“The country, mostly, though we came to London to visit at least yearly.”

“And did you have playmates? Sweet girls to whisper and giggle with?”

“Emeline.” Her eyes met his, and there was a vulnerability there.

Emeline lived in the American Colonies now. “You miss her.”

Eont size="3">“Yes.”

He brought the rose up to absently brush her bare neck as he tried to remember details of Emeline’s childhood. “But you did not know her until you were nearly out of the schoolroom, yes? My family estates adjoin hers, and I have known both her and her brother, Reynaud, since the nursery. I would’ve remembered you had you been with Emeline then.”

“Would you?” Her eyes flashed with anger, but she continued before he could make a defense. “I met Emeline when I came to visit a friend in the area. I was fourteen or fifteen.”

“And before that? Who did you play with? Your brothers?” He watched as the rose brushed her collarbone, then moved lower.

She shrugged. The rose must tickle, but she didn’t bat it away. “My brothers are older than I. They were both away at school when I was in the nursery.”

“Then you were alone.” He held her gaze as the rose dipped between the upper curve of her breasts.

She bit her lip. “I had a nanny.”

“Not the same as a playmate,” he murmured.

“Perhaps not,” she conceded.

When she inhaled, her breasts pressed a little against the rose. O, fortunate flower!

“You were a quiet child,” he said, because he knew it must be true.

Even with the stories he’d heard yesterday from her aunt, he knew in the main that she would’ve been a quiet child. A nearly silent child. She held herself contained. Her limbs under strict control, her body small and neat, even though she wasn’t a little woman. Her voice was always well modulated, and she stayed at the back of gatherings. What childhood had made her so determined not to be noticed?