One Night With You (The Derrings #3)(23)

"I trust you have no objections." The laughter in his eyes told her exactly what he thought she could do if she did harbor objections. Dark anger bubbled to life in her belly. Jane pursed her lips with determination. Well, she would do something. She would not be controlled so neatly, fenced in and constrained as though she were less than free. She would most definitely do something.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Knightly."

Gregory whirled around to find Lady Julianne sitting quietly and serenely on a bench beneath a large oak.

"Lady Julianne," he greeted her, executing a neat bow to his employer's sister as he realized she could not see the courtesy. Then, recalling she had addressed him by name, he asked, "How did you know it was me?"

"I smelled you."

"Smelled me?" he queried, moving closer on the garden path and feeling a smile pull at his lips.

"Am in need of a bath?"

"Indeed not. You smell rather like lemons. You always do. Most unique."

"A habit I picked up aboard the ship. Chewing lemon drops helped ward off scurvy."

"You were in the Orient with Seth?"

"I traveled as a midshipman with the lieutenant nearly everywhere—India, the African coast, China."

She leaned forward on the bench, the movement pulling her bodice tighter across the swell of her breasts. For a tiny woman, she had generous breasts. They would fill his hands. He grimaced at the inappropriate assessment and rubbed the back of his neck. As a man he could not help but appreciate the sight. Even though he willed himself to be immune, he was not. From the first moment he met Lady Julianne, he had been struck by her prettiness.

"There was much of the war in the papers," Julianne commented. "Hugely unpopular by all accountings."

"Naturally… yet no English citizen wants to go without their tea," he muttered. No one wanted the war, but they fully expected access to their beloved tea, an import seriously under threat had England not gone to war with China.

"What was it like?" she asked. "Seth doesn't talk about such things."

"For good cause. War is not a fit topic for a lady's ears. Especially yours."

"Especially mine?" she demanded in affronted tones, rising to her feet in a swift, elegant motion. She stared in his direction, her blank gaze fixed in the vicinity of his cravat. "Don't tell me you're like my brother and think me frail, incapable of wiping my own nose." Her delicate hands fisted at her sides. "If so, I fear I shall scream."

Gregory blinked, taken aback that the seemingly sweet-tempered lady possessed such fire. He had not thought such passion simmered within her.

She was really quite pretty and refreshingly candid. Not at all like other ladies who never spoke their minds because they were too busy saying what they ought to say and not what they wanted. If she were anyone other than Rutledge's sister, he would like to know her better. Her lips loosened in a rueful smile. "From your silence, I gather I have shocked you. Rebecca often tells me I am too outspoken. You are still here, aren't you? You have not absconded over the nearest hedge?"

"Indeed not," he replied a bit breathlessly.

She released a rich laugh that seemed too hearty for one so slight and delicate. "Splendid, Mr. Knightly. Would you care to escort Rebecca and me to the park this afternoon? I think I should enjoy more of your company."

"I do not think that wise, my lady."

She frowned. "Why not?"

He shook his head, marveling at her obtuseness. "I am in your brother's employ."

"That does not mean we cannot be friends. I find I'm in short supply of friends. Both my father and Albert never let me step foot outside the Priory. And now Seth, it seems, is little better."

"Your brother has brought you to Town," he reminded. "Soon you shall have friends more fit than I." Strangely, that fact troubled him.

Her frown deepened into a scowl. "No good." She tossed her head. "I want you." His blood raced at her declaration. He knew she did not mean her words as they sounded, but simply hearing them come out of that delectable cupid's bow mouth of hers made him harden instantly. Made him realize how long he had gone without a woman.

To have such a reaction for Rutledge's sister, the very man to have saved his life on more than one occasion shamed him. He shook his head fiercely, forcing his gaze off that luscious mouth, off the enticing curve of her breasts within her bodice. Impossible. He was randy as a sailor fresh to port.

Without a word, he turned and strode from the courtyard, not caring how rude he appeared, only concerned with removing himself from her. At once.

"Mr. Knightly," she called, but he pushed on, rounding a hedge of hawthorn, focusing on the sound of his feet crunching over the path, blocking out the sweet, beguiling tenor of her voice and vowing never to be caught alone or in conversation with the far too tempting woman again.

"Mr. Knightly, where are you going?"

Far from you, Lady Julianne. As far as I can get.

Jane paced the length of her room, her fury rising to choke her every time she glanced at her armoire, now bare of the gowns she had worn previous to Marcus's death, the gowns she had planned on wearing again. Soon.

The indignity of knowing that Desmond had commanded a servant to rifle through her things washed over her in bitter waves. As a girl, she'd never been of particular importance to her parents, more often than not missing their detection altogether. They had invested all their energy in Madeline—the beautiful daughter who would marry well and drag the Spencer family from relative obscurity.