Page 16 of A Deal with the Rebellious Marquess
Fleur looked up at him with a bit of mischief in her eye. ‘I’m not sure a waltz in the garden proves that. We’re virtually alone out here. There’s little chance of us being noticed.’
He gave a low chuckle as he turned them about the fountain. ‘It’s all the more scandalous then, isn’t it? If someone notices, it’s a much bigger deal than if everyone is watching in the ballroom.’ Never mind that he couldn’t afford either type of notice at present. ‘This proves I am willing to take the risk.’ He was getting caught up in the moment, the heat of the afternoon’s kiss flaring within him. She was worth the risk. This moment was worth the risk. Perhaps it was worth it to her, too. Perhaps, while the music lasted, they could both find what they were looking for.
She was easy in his arms as if she was made for them, her movements fluid as they glided over the stone pavers of the garden, their steps as light and sure as if they danced across a polished floor. The Harefield fountains burbled against the strains of the music as he turned her at the top of the garden, taking the opportunity to hold her closer than he might have otherwise in a ballroom full of watchful eyes. It gave him an excuse to breathe in the exquisite scent of her. ‘What is it that you wear for perfume? I smell jasmine and vanilla, but there’s something else, too.’
She laughed up at him, giving a toss of her hair. Some of the sadness she’d admitted to had dissipated as they’d danced and that pleased him. ‘Ylang-ylang. It’s a flower grown in the South Pacific.’ Provided no doubt by Popplewell and Allardyce Enterprises, her connection to the South Pacific, he thought, recalling her friend Antonia, and then marvelling that he could make such a connection, that he could have such an understanding of her in such a short time.
‘It suits you.’ He smiled down at her. ‘Dancing suits you.’
‘Dancing withyousuits me,’ she amended, a daring wickedness flaring in her eyes. His own body surged in response to it, forgetting this was to be only a dance. He’d had a taste of that wickedness this afternoon for better or worse and his body was hungry for more despite the contentious words they’d exchanged at the end. They were waltzing in shadow now, far from the shafts of light coming from the ballroom, the music barely audible.
They did not need the music. Their bodies were as close as clothes allowed. If anyone saw them, it would be a scandal, her hips against his, the fullness of her skirts flattened where they met his trousers, her breasts pressed to his chest so that every inch of him could not help but be aware of her. Her arms had moved to his shoulders, his neck, so that both of his hands rested at her waist, their dancing nothing more than a slow swaying in the shadows, away from moonlight and prying eyes.
Her gaze was green-flame-hot as it looked up at him, her tongue flicking over her lips. ‘Do you know what else would suit me? This.’ Her last word feathered over his lips a fleeting moment before her mouth took his in a slow, lingering kiss that struck him like a match to a length of fuse, his body left roused in its wake. Her hand dropped to the front of his trousers, hidden between his coat and her skirt, moving over the length of him, moulding him to her touch until he groaned.
‘What do you want?’ he whispered. He knew what he wanted—he wanted to wash away her sadness, wanted to bring her to life, bring her to happiness. He wanted to wash away the hardship of her year. Whatever she wanted, he would give her. He was already dancing her backwards to the garden wall, some part of him aware that their bodies had reached an answer to what their minds had yet to decide.
‘You. I want you,’ she whispered into his mouth. ‘I want obliteration.’
Chapter Nine
Obliteration was neither a safe request nor a flattering one, if he thought too much about it, which he didn’t. He knew very well as he pressed her to the garden wall that she was using him. He would have to grapple with that later. Yet he did not think she’d made the request lightly. Still, good sense argued he ought not to grant it. But he was too far beyond what he ought to do. He was here, wasn’t he? If ‘ought to dos’ held any sway he wouldn’t have braved Harefield’s to begin with. He was very much the Montague at the Capulet ball.
If she knew who he was...well, that was all the more reason to put an end to her hand on his cock, his mouth at her neck, his own hand at her breast. But for once, he was not listening to any of that logic. In the grips of intense passion, he was content to deal with the aftermath.
She had got his trousers open and her hand wrapped about the hot length of him, no more fabric between them, no more pretence. He knew exactly what she wanted, what she needed and what he needed to achieve the obliteration she asked for. She raised a leg to hook at his hip, skirts quashed between them, as he brought his hand up to skim the silken skin of her thigh, then higher to skim the damp curls that guarded her womanly gate, their dampness a prelude to the wetness he’d find within. Such readiness nearly undid him.
What a treasure she was, a woman confident enough to own her need and claim her passion. Her teeth gave a fierce nip at his ear as if scolding him for being too slow, for lingering and he laughed against her neck.
‘Patience, my dear.’
‘Patience is a virtue. I think we’re well past virtue here.’ Her voice was a smoky rasp, low and throaty.
He could not argue with that even if he had been capable of thought. At the moment he was capable only of responding to the primal urges of his body and of hers, his only thoughts revolved around giving her what she needed. He lifted her and thrust hard to their great mutual satisfaction. Her head went back against the fence, her neck arching, the heat of her gaze meeting his for the briefest, most beautiful of seconds when the intensity of connection rocketed through them before her eyes left him, fixing instead on the dark night sky above. He thrust again, more deeply this time, as if he couldmakeher look at him. He wanted her eyes back, wanted those green flames on him when the critical moment came.
His own body tightened even as the truth of obliteration came to him too late. Climax would find them shortly; his body was already gathering for it as was hers. When it came it would be explosive, shattering, and for a few precious moments there would be blessed nothingness. Only, she would not be there for it. Oh, her body would be there for it, butshewould not, not the part of her that mattered. Her mind and soul were already somewhere else. With someone else.
Her hands tangled in his hair, her hips moved against his, pushing him, pushing them both to grand heights, gasps of encouragement purling from her throat. Her eyes were shut now as she rocked against him, her expression fierce and unguarded. Her breathing came hard and fast as release swept her, her body giving a visible, violent tremble. Sure of her pleasure, Jasper claimed his own release outside her body, his physical satisfaction diminished by the knowledge that he’d been a stand-in—quite literally given their current location—for the man she couldn’t have.
He held her steady against the fence, giving her time to savour the obliteration she’d so desperately sought. Her eyes were still closed, but her breathing slowed and the fierceness ebbed from her face. There was a satisfying softness to her features in these moments, a softness he’d seen hinted at in unguarded moments. A stab of envy pricked at him. Her husband had seen her like this. Damned, dead Adam, who’d stolen Jasper’s pleasure from beyond the grave. Jasper didn’t even know the man and he was jealous. It was a ridiculous reaction for a man who prided himself on being logical. There was nothing logical about jealousy. Envy was a weakness. Covetousness a sin.
But I was the one she wanted tonight. I was the one she chose for obliteration.
At last, she opened her eyes and he set her down. ‘Welcome back.’ He smiled, reaching in his coat pocket for a handkerchief for her.
‘Thank you.’ She took the handkerchief and Jasper turned away to give her privacy. Was that a thank-you for the handkerchief alone or for everything else? Not just for being the provider of the act, but for something more? He knew he hoped for the latter. Did she understand thatheunderstood what she’d been looking for? He tucked his shirt into his trousers and straightened his clothes along with his expression before turning back to her.
‘I think I will leave.’ She smiled gently at him and gave a low, throaty laugh that had him rousing once more. ‘I’m not sure I could pass muster if I went back in now.’
He reached for a loose curl and tucked it back behind her ear. ‘You’re probably right.’ She looked beautiful, peaceful. The sadness was gone. That was something at least. Perhaps his own disappointment was worth that. Her lips were puffy. They’d lost their elegant colour just as her hair had lost its perfect curl. But it was her eyes that betrayed the most. They were dreamy, far away. One close look at her would give it all away. ‘This gate will take you around to the front,’ Jasper suggested. ‘I will go through the house to fetch your cloak and make your farewells to the hostess. I will see you at the curb in ten minutes.’
Some of her softness faded. ‘I intend to go home alone.’
He inclined his head respectfully. ‘I understand that.’ Too well, in fact. It was further proof he’d been a stand-in for another. ‘I mean only to facilitate your departure in a discreet manner. I do not mean to accompany you.’ The last thing he wanted was aménage à troiswith a dead man. There were limits to what he’d do even for a beautiful woman.
She reached for his hand and gave a sincere squeeze. ‘Thank you.’
He cleared his throat. ‘At any rate, I need to go back in and dance a few times.’ The comment bordered on caddish. He wondered if subconsciously he was trying to stoke her jealousy.
