“You wouldn’t want me tamed.” He caught her hand again and urged it to his cock, prodding her fingers to wrap around him. Her tentative touch was like lightning, causing the hair on his legs to prickle. “Part of you may be appalled at my primitive approach to certain matters, but part of you wouldn’t have me any other way.”
“You are very arrogant.”
“I take no credit for your attraction. My parents are responsible for my appearance, and my ruthlessness is equally inherent. I am, however, grateful they win your regard. Contrary to your opinion, you are the perfect female for me.”
Her other hand joined the first, cupping him. Her hands were so slender; she could not circle him in her grip.
“What wins your regard?” she asked, tracing a thick vein with her fingertip.
“Your honesty and good s-sense,” he hissed, shuddering as she clasped the head of his cock in her palm. “Your agile mind and independent thought. And the way you respond to me physically. By God, I cannot get enough of that. You melt for me, softening all those hard edges you use to keep others at bay.”
Eliza’s tongue followed the curve of her lower lip. Her eyes had grown heavy-lidded, betraying how well she enjoyed touching him so intimately. Or perhaps it was what he’d said. Jasper reached up and cupped her breast, his thumb and forefinger surrounding the delicate peak and tugging. She made a soft noise of pleasure.
“Lie atop me,” he said hoarsely.
She hesitated, looking unsure. He showed her the way, steadying her with his hands on her waist as she draped her slim body over him. Cupping her nape, he pulled her lips down to his. He kissed her with open-mouthed hunger, drinking her in with deep draws on her tongue. She kissed him back with equal fervency, her lips slanting across his, her hands clutching the counterpane on either side of him.
He groaned, feeling ravenous but wanting no more than this for now. It wasn’t enough and yet it was too much, the act of kissing both erotic and sweet. The feel of her slight weight stretched across him was one he adored, and the sudden smattering of tiny kisses she pressed all over his lips made him laugh with delight.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, knowing he could never give up this intimacy. He was willing to grovel to keep it. “I will make mistakes. I don’t know how to do this, how to be what you deserve.”
Eliza kissed him quiet. “We’ll show one another how to be what the other needs,” she breathed. “I want to be the one who gets inside you. The one you cannot forget…”
Jasper thrust his fingers into her hair and took her mouth in a long, deep kiss. He had no notion of what time it was, and he didn’t care. He just knew he didn’t want it to end.
Chapter 10
Eliza had never fully appreciated the restorative properties of salt baths. However, Jasper insisted she take one before leaving his home the evening before and suggested she might avail herself of one in the morning as well. Having taken his advice, she felt much better, although there was still lingering soreness in unmentionable places.
She was also starving, as she often was after strenuous activity. She ate far more at breakfast than was usual and remained at the table for some time after Melville excused himself. With the late morning sunshine slanting through the window at her back, Eliza read the paper and chose not to think about all the many things she should be thinking about. Instead she chose to dissect the waltz in her mind, remembering the way it was taught to her and improving upon that teaching method.
Jasper would be calling later for his first dance lesson. She was eager for him to become proficient so she could share a dance with him in public. A thrill moved through her at the thought of being in his arms in full view of everyone. It would be a delicious challenge to be decorous at a time when she would be so physically stimulated.
Eliza turned the page and tapped her foot to a tune playing in her head. After returning home at ten o’clock the night before, she’d stayed in. She was perfectly content to read the various renditions of last night’s events in the gazettes, having previously come to the conclusion that the printed tales were often more entertaining than the reality.
“Eliza.”
Glancing up, she smiled as her uncle reentered the room. “Yes, my lord?”
He rounded the long wooden table with a frown. Today was one of the few days when every piece of his attire was the way it should be, signaling a hard-won victory for his lordship’s valet.
“The Earl of Westfield is here,” he said, pausing beside her.
“Oh?”
“He has expressed an interest in paying his addresses to you.”
Eliza blinked up at him. “Beg your pardon?”
“He wants to wed you. And speak with you. He awaits you in the parlor.”
She folded the paper carefully, her thoughts rushing forward and stumbling all over themselves. With her brain arrested by confusion, her attention moved to the delicate lace runner that bisected the table. Her gaze slowly shifted to the brass candelabra that stood in the center. The antique piece was surrounded by a ring of pink roses, just as she was surrounded by sudden marriage proposals.
Melville cleared his throat and pulled her chair back from the table. “I was not aware you and Westfield were well acquainted.”
Eliza stood. “I hardly know him.”
“It would be an excellent match, much more advantageous than marrying Montague.”
“Absolutely,” she agreed, linking her arm with his and following his lead toward the door. Westfield was handsome, wealthy, and widely respected. He was also a friend of Jasper’s, which made his offer decidedly more curious.
“How do you feel about this?” his lordship asked as they left the room.
“I wish I knew. Perhaps I’ll have a better idea after I speak with him. How did you respond?”
“I wished him luck.”
“What about me? Do you wish me luck, too?”
“I wish you happy, dear. In whatever form suits you best.” He kissed her cheek. “Now, go on. Don’t keep West-field waiting.”
Eliza set off on her own toward the front of the house. It was late enough in the day that the sun no longer shined directly through the glass around the front door. The familiar stillness of her home was usually comforting, but today it emphasized the disturbance created by the earl’s visit. A second offer of marriage in as many days. She could hardly credit it.
As she entered the formal parlor, Eliza collected that West-field’s reason for visiting wasn’t the sole cause of her unease. His physical presence was palpable. His person fairly crackled with a vibrant energy very much at odds with Jasper’s quiet, intensely watchful air.
“Good morning, my lord,” she said.
“Miss Martin.” Westfield stood. He was as tall as Jasper, though not as broad or muscular. If pressed for a description, she would call him “elegant” and very dashing. “You look radiant.”
“Thank you. I should return the compliment and say you look quite nice.”
He grinned. “How are you faring this fine day? I hope you’re well. You were missed about town last night.”
Eliza chose to sit in the pale yellow velvet wingback facing the doorway. She lowered herself into the seat and smoothed her floral-patterned muslin skirts. The earl settled opposite her with practiced grace, a man of understated power and privilege. She decided that “polished” was a more apt descriptor than “elegant.” Jasper had a sharper edge to him.
“I’m well,” she answered. “I stayed in by choice, not due to any malaise. I don’t enjoy the events of the Season as much as others do, I suspect.”
She mentioned her sentiments deliberately, knowing Westfield would need an accomplished hostess for a wife if he hoped to achieve his political and social aims.
“Not surprising,” he said, “considering what a danger they have become to you.”
“Beg your pardon?”
“I’m aware of the nature of your association with Mr. Bond.”
Eliza was too startled to blink. “Oh.”
“Please don’t hold his disclosures against him. He confided in me because he knows I am trustworthy.”
“He may trust you with his own personal matters, but trusting you with mine is an avenue I wish he’d discussed with me.” She wondered how much information the earl was privy to. Considering he was offering marriage, she expected he was aware of more than she was comfortable with.
“I appreciate your concern, I assure you.” He paused as the tea service was brought in and placed before Eliza on the low table between them. He eyed Mrs. Potts with what appeared to be astonishment, a reaction Eliza was quite used to. The housekeeper was tall and slender as a reed, her arms seemingly too frail to support the weight of the heavy service. But she was far stronger than she looked, capable of lifting items even Melville struggled with.
After Mrs. Potts left, Westfield continued. “My intention is to help you and Bond. And myself, of course.”
“By offering to resolve a temporary problem by binding me to a permanent one?” Eliza turned her attention to the preparation of tea.
“You just called me a permanent problem,” he pointed out dryly.
“Not you,” she corrected, measuring the tea leaves. “Marriage to you. We know very little about each other, and if we were to consider what we do know, I doubt we’d find ourselves to be aligned.”
“I know I’m appreciative of the way you responded to a statue nearly braining you,” he argued, leaning forward. “I thought you displayed considerable fortitude and courage. You proved yourself capable of addressing any situation presented to you, Miss Martin, and that is a trait I’ve not previously been wise enough to consider.”
Taking more time and care than necessary, Eliza balanced a strainer atop the lip of a cup. Her mind was focused on identifying how she felt about Jasper’s betrayal of her confidence. She knew she shouldn’t take the matter lightly—not after the examples of foolish choices her mother had made in the throes of an infatuation—but she found herself making excuses for Jasper. Attempting to find a mitigating circumstance she could accept. Surely he had good reason for sharing what happened between them the night before, if only she could think of it. It was difficult for her to decide whether she was showing good faith or poor judgment.
“I understand my desire to remain unencumbered by marriage is incomprehensible to most,” she said finally. “All young women are expected to select a husband as they would a new bonnet or pelisse, because a spouse is as necessary a female accessory as outerwear. But I need no support, financial or otherwise. I have most of what I need, and I can afford to buy the rest. Frankly, my lord, while your solvency is most refreshing, I don’t see what use I would have for you personally.”
“No?” His mouth lifted on one side in a manner she knew many women would find appealing. “You would be free of the suitors plaguing you, including Montague, who is becoming impatient. Bond has only your best interests at heart, but he’s blinded by his own personal motivations, and now they are contributing to your dilemma. Seeing you safely wed to someone he can trust is the most responsible way to address your situation.”
“I dislike talking in half-measure, my lord. I lack the talent required to translate and decipher. Since I don’t believe you would offer marriage in the name of friendship, regardless of the circumstances, I should like for you to speak bluntly and honestly.”
Eliza chose not to elaborate on what those circumstances might be, because she still wasn’t certain how much the earl knew. If he was aware of her indiscretion and the possible ramifications, it would explain his address. But what would motivate a man in his position to step into such a situation?
Westfield waved off her offer of sugar. “I’m not being completely altruistic. You are sensible, attractive, and willing to take extraordinary measures to accomplish necessary tasks.”
“I’m certainly not the only female to meet those qualifications.”
“You are wealthy, intelligent, and determined,” he enumerated. “You have sufficient breeding, but come unencumbered by tiresome, troublesome, or expensive siblings. You speak your mind and force me to speak mine. What more could I ask for?”
“Desire? Elevated feelings? Youth?” She could tell by the momentarily blank expression on his face that her first suggestion took him aback. However, she felt the question was warranted by his offer.
“Four and twenty is a perfectly acceptable age. As to the rest, a lifetime is a long time to commit to another individual. I’d rather not enter into such an extended association based on higher sentiments.”
“That isn’t why you make this offer. You see an opportunity in me, yes. But finding a suitable wife is not all you want.”
Westfield straightened. Although his gaze didn’t narrow, his focus did. “What else would it be?” he drawled.
It was the drawl that proved her point. “Perhaps you seek a shield or a barrier. Someone to deflect attention from you. Or an innocuous person to fill a hole you find painful.”
“Can I add ‘imaginative’ to the list of your attributes?”
The sound of masculine voices in the foyer drew Eliza’s attention to the open parlor door. A moment later, the butler appeared with a calling card borne atop a salver. A quick glance at the clock on the mantel told her it was Jasper. He was timely as usual, arriving just a few minutes early.
She nodded at the butler in a silent acknowledgment that he should show Jasper in. “Mr. Bond is here, my lord.”
When Jasper appeared in the doorway, her fingers linked tightly within her lap. For such a large man, he moved with an effortless silence. His attire was notably understated, comprised of shades of gray. His Hessians were polished to a shine rivaling the luster of his gleaming hair, and he stood with a widened stance, a position that emphasized how solid he was. How well-anchored and stable.