The Wedding of the Century & Other Stories (28 page)

Oh, yes, she was wet. And she wanted to feel him touch her.

His hand reached for her skirts and she felt him slide his fingers up along her stocking-clad thigh, teasing her. “Tonight I am going to part these sweet thighs and discover the treasure you've been keeping from me.”

Blossom moaned and wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing him against the full mounds of her breasts. His body tightened and he brought her closer as he deepened the kiss. She allowed him that, and she even whimpered when he skimmed his fingers along her bodice to brush his thumb against her hardening nipple. Lowering one sleeve, he exposed a full breast to his hand. He cupped her, skimming his thumb along her hard nipple. She moaned into his mouth and he broke off the kiss only to slide the remaining sleeve down her shoulder, revealing her fully to his gaze.

She was perfect. Filling his hands with both breasts, he watched the expression of pleasure cross her face. Their eyes met and he very purposely skimmed both thumbs across the taut, dark nipples. Holding her gaze, he went to his knees, all the time watching her, seeing how she followed him with her tempestuous eyes. Unable to resist the temptation she offered when she filled his palms with soft flesh, he pressed forward, nuzzling the valley of scented skin with his lips. She whimpered and clasped his head to her chest, and for a second he was content to press the side of his face between her breasts and listen to the rapid rhythm of her heart. But then he realized that her nipple, erect and searching, was scant inches from his mouth and he flicked it with the tip of his tongue, first in short flicks, then in slow, languorous circles, relishing the taste, liking the way they puckered for him.

Her knees gave out and she slid to the floor in a puddle of blue watered silk. He held her tightly, stroking her nipple, feeling it firm and quiver beneath his fingers.

“Touch me, Blossom. Oh, God, yes,” He reached for her hand and brought it to the flap of his trousers. Ignoring her hushed breath, he flattened her palm against the fabric and smoothed her hand down his swollen cock. Closing his eyes he allowed himself the pleasure of imagining her small hand surrounding him, pumping him slowly until he could stand the torture no longer.

He wanted to take his time, to explore her leisurely, but pent-up desire and the fear that something would happen to interrupt them made him eager and rash.

“Will you let me?” he asked as he kissed her cheeks, then her chin. His fingers were touching her breasts, and she was slipping backward, her shoulders lying across his thighs.

“Let you what?” she whispered.

“Touch you. Between your legs.”

Her eyes closed, and her back arched as his palm made the slow descent down her belly and thighs. He thought about just tunneling his hand beneath her skirt, but instead decided to raise her gown, to reveal her fully.

When he was done, she was lying on his thighs, her white stockings tied with blue silk garters; the triangle of black hair was stark against her pale flesh and his hand. The pink silk of her flesh so wet and glistening as she parted her legs and tossed her head in his lap.

He was torn where to look. Her face as she experienced this first rush of illicit pleasure, or his hand, where he was gently parting her folds.

“Oh, God, Jase!”

His gaze tore away from his hand, to watch her. She was beautiful. Wanton. So unashamed and missish in her passion. She embraced it, and bucked up against his hand as the pad of his thumb circled her. One finger slipped inside her—hot, wet and tight—and he closed his eyes, savoring the feel, imagining the time when it would be him slipping slow and deep inside her.

“Yes,” she moaned as he slowly built her up. Another finger, which she accepted with a deep moan. Her fingers were clutching at his jacket, twisting and pulling as he slowly increased his rhythm. He watched as she bucked against him, saw her tongue creep out to wet her lips, and then she was shuddering, her mouth open on a soundless cry.

“Yes,” he encouraged, “just like that, Blossom. Let it come over you.”

He watched as her climax washed over her in waves.

Oh, she had never felt anything like this before. The pleasure, the euphoria. She curled into a ball and pressed her face to his stomach, and felt Jase rub her shoulders and spine.

She was crying. Why? She had no idea. But Jase did.
He lifted her up and had her kneel between his thighs. Her breasts were bare and he was cupping them as he kissed her tears away.

“Your first orgasm and you cry for me. My love, you undo me.”

“I'm shaking. I can't stop.”

“Because you need more,” he whispered as he kissed her neck. “You need me to be inside you all night long.”

“Yes.”

He caught her lips and kissed her—slow and thoughtful. The most romantic, passionate kiss he'd ever given her. And then, suddenly, without warning, it turned hotter, carnal. It was a kiss that was consuming, all lips and tongues and hands, and the harsh rasp of impassioned breaths.

“I want to sink so deep inside you,” he rasped against her ear. “I want to pulse and empty inside you and hold you for hours after.”

“I want that, too. Tonight, Jase. Say you will find a way.”

Suddenly the handle rattled; it was followed by the sound of the door opening. Blossom was still too dazed to react, and Jase had no time to fix Blossom's gown and get her off his lap. His first instinct was to shield her, so he wrapped his arms around her, burying her front and face in his chest.

“Just this way, Thompson,” he heard the duke's voice. It was followed by the indigent sound of air being drawn in. “Just a moment, my lord. I've just recalled that I've left the book in the salon.”

Jase looked up as the door was closing. He met the duke's furious gaze. “I shall return in precisely two minutes. You had better be here, Raeburn.”

The door slammed shut, and Blossom gazed up at him.
“That was my father, wasn't it? He always did have impeccable timing.”

“Shh,” he soothed her. “Let me help you.”

“What are we going to do?” she shrieked.

“The only thing that can be done. We'll be married as soon as possible.”

C
LOSING THE LIBRARY DOOR,
Jase stepped into the masculine domain of the Duke of Torrington. It looked much the same as it had five nights ago, when he had petitioned the duke to court his daughter. Then, there had been smiles, and slaps on the back. Tonight there was to be none of that. The duke was brooding, his shoulders stiff and set as he stood at the long window that overlooked the immaculate grounds of his estate.

Jase knew the duke heard his entrance, but Torrington ignored him, allowing him to stew in his own juices until His Grace was damn good and ready to acknowledge him. Well, he was no longer the young lad that His Grace had known. He was a man now, and he could be just as stubborn and brooding as the man standing before him.

The duke might have cowed a lesser man, but Jase would not give in. Not when the stakes were so high. Blossom was worth any amount of suffering her father might make him endure.

“What the bloody hell were you about in there?”

Closing his eyes, Jase struggled to find an answer.
Begging to get beneath your daughter's skirts, Your Grace,
hardly seemed appropriate given the circumstances and the present company.

“Goddamn you!” the duke thundered. “I can't believe this. My daughter. My house…”

He wouldn't apologize for it. It would smack of a lie. He wasn't sorry that they had shared those charged kisses,
and the illicit embraces. How could he, when it was what he'd wanted for years? He'd been fantasizing of touching her, of revealing those lovely, perfect breasts and touching her quim, since the second she opened the door of the fort and saw him standing there.

“To think I actually believed, Raeburn, that you were sincere that night I agreed to allow you to court Blossom.”

He had been. He
was,
he corrected himself. But the duke was in a rage, and nothing he said would change that.

“Well, what have you to say for yourself?”

What could he say? There were no words for this sort of thing, and apologizing for wanting Blossom went against everything he felt.

“When I agreed to allow you to court my daughter, Raeburn,” the duke growled, clearly not composed, “I did not think you the sort of man who debauches young ladies during parlor games. I certainly did not expect to find you…mauling her in such a fashion. Good God, man, there were guests outside the door. What were you thinking?”

“I did not intend for you to witness that.”

The duke swung around, his gaze narrowed, his expression murderous as he confronted him. “I'm not so sure you didn't.”

Now it was Jase's turn to be affronted. “I'm not sure what Your Grace is implying.”

“That you forced my daughter into a scandalous, illicit embrace hoping that I would find you and force you to wed.” Torrington straightened, his big hands curled into fists at his sides. “My daughter has made it very clear to her mother and me that she believes your desire to wed her is out of some misplaced belief that you ought to right your brother's wrong.”

“Not to mention the ease of convenience to myself, I'll wager.”

“She mentioned that, as well.”

“So you think I intentionally coerced her into my arms so that you could find us and force us to marry?”

“Precisely.”

“Well, you're dead bloody wrong! I didn't need for you to find us. I was convincing Blossom rather well to accept my hand. I didn't need this. And in fact, by you discovering us, it has set my suit back considerably.”

“You little prat,” the duke spat. “What do you think you're about?”

“Marrying your daughter.”

“Like hell.” The duke paced to his desk, sunk into a large leather chair and lit a cheroot. He puffed away on it, eyes narrowed as he sized Jase up. “If you think I'll allow you to have her now, you're stark bloody mad.”

“As you said, there were guests in the hall, well aware of what was happening. I cannot allow her reputation to be tarnished.”

“You should have thought of that before you allowed things to progress as they did.”

Jase winced. Matters had gotten a bit far, but damn him, he hadn't been able to stop. She had felt so warm and soft beneath his hands. Had found her first orgasm with him. He could still hear her whispered pleas, the way she moaned his name.

He cleared his throat and forced away the memories. “I do regret that you stumbled upon us. It cannot be easy for a father to, er…”

“Discover his daughter in a state of undress being ravished by the neighbor? No. It is rather unsavory, and it is only by the grace of God, and my wife, that you are still breathing now.”

“So it is your intent to extract a pound of flesh, is it?”

Torrington sat back in the chair and kicked his feet onto the desk, studying him through the cloud of smoke. “I'd strip you of your hide if I could, but my wife, and your father, mean too much to me to tear you to pieces. They are civilized. I am not. I'd love to have my pound of flesh, as you call it. That and a good deal more.” He gave a meaningful glance in the direction of Jase's trousers.

Jase nodded. He understood. If that had been his daughter, he would have acted first, then asked questions. His daughter…with Blossom. The thought ran rampant in his mind.

“Sit,” Torrington commanded, motioning to the chair opposite the desk.

For the first time since entering the room, Jase felt as though there might still be hope. Blossom might yet be his. Numerous scenarios had run through his mind as he and the duke squared off, the most prominent being what he was going to do if the duke denied him Blossom's hand. He knew what he'd do—take her away with him and marry her. They'd go to Gretna if they had to. But he would not be denied her. He had come too far to be deprived of her once again.

Taking the offered chair, he sat before the duke, suffering beneath his glacial stare. Silence descended, heavy, encompassing and more than a damn bit discomforting.

“You have a reputation, Raeburn,” Torrington said as he studied the glowing tip of his cheroot. “I hope that ravishing ladies in salons is not
de rigueur
for you.”

Shifting uncomfortably in his chair, he forced himself to meet the duke's probing gaze. “My reputation is over-blown, Your Grace.”

He smiled, raising the hairs on Jase's neck. “Oh, I doubt that. I know from what sort of stock you come
from. You forget that your father and I were in swaddling clothes together. We cut our teeth together and ran a swath through society ourselves.”

“I have not forgotten, Your Grace.” No, his father was going to have his hide when he got him alone.

“Where there is smoke, there is fire, Raeburn. Do not expect me to believe that your reputation is the result of some misunderstanding. There were a few people in my time that believed that my reputation had been maliciously maligned, that I couldn't possibly be as bad as what I was rumored to be. I assure you, they were wrong. I was everything my reputation was reputed to be—and then some.”

“My reputation is a careful cultivation, Your Grace. It is the truth that I'm not nearly as experienced as what is reported in the tabloids. But it suited me well to hide behind the facade.”

Frowning, the duke raised his cheroot to his mouth and took a long inhalation. Tipping his head back he blew out the smoke. “Let us get to the heart of matter? I believed I knew what sort of man you were when you requested the
honor
of courting my daughter, but it seems I was wrong. So, let's have it out, shall we? Tell me, what kind of man are you really?”

“Hardworking,” Jase supplied. “Honorable. Trustworthy. Dependable.”

“All wonderful merits I could find in a hound, but I don't give a damn about that right now. What I want to know is, what sort of man will my daughter be getting if I allow you to marry her?”

“Very well. What is it you wish to know?”

“Do you sleep with many women?”

Jase bristled at the duke's impertinence. “No.”

“Are you careful when you do? I would feel compelled to murder the man who gave my daughter a disease.”

“I have no diseases and I use protection.”

“Any children tucked away in charming cottages that my daughter may find out about?”

This was going too damn far, but he answered, anyway. “Absolutely not.”

“Do you seduce other men's wives?”

“No.”

“Defile virgins—other than my daughter, that is?”

“Of course not.”

“Keep a mistress?”

“
Emphatically
not.”

“And do you plan to, after you take my daughter to wed?”

“No!”

Torrington sat forward, his gaze narrowing dangerously. “See that you don't because if you disgrace her with another woman, if you hurt her by betraying her heart, I will gut you.”

“You have my word. Now, is that all?”

“No. Habits. What of those? Do you drink?”

“Socially.”

“When is the last time you've been in your cups?”

“Two weeks ago, with my friends and a night of cards.”

“And what friends are those?”

“The Duke of Trevere, the Marquis of Winterborne, his twin, Maxime, and your son.”

The duke grunted. “You will not be saved by throwing your friendship with my son in my face. If Edward were here, we wouldn't be having this conversation. He would have hung you by your bollocks the minute he discovered you with his sister.”

“I am well aware of that, Your Grace.”

Admiration lit in the duke's eyes. Finally he realized
that Jase was not afraid of him. He would stand up and match him, an honest answer for every prying question.

“You were drunk two weeks ago—were there women there?”

“No.”

“No? Then when was the last time you seduced one—and I hope you're not going to answer that you've had one of my maids, or my guests.”

Jase flushed. The duke was a bully, and he ought to tell him to sod off, but his future with Blossom was at stake. It was submit to the examination or find himself shoved aside forever. “Months,” he finally admitted. “I've been in the north, busy with the stables, and visiting friends. I haven't the time or the inclination for seduction.”

“Apparently that has all changed since you found adequate time this evening.”

Jase did not rise to the bait, and the duke arched a mocking brow.

“No mistresses, no excessive drinking, no women for months—you're a model paragon for gentlemanly behavior.”

“Would you care to know the amount of my investments and bank accounts? I realize you already know the extent of my properties and what I will inherit.”

The bastard smiled, utterly unrepentant. “No, I've already had my man of affairs look into it, and you're as stable as a rock. You have a fortune, but you're a bit of a tightwad, I understand.”

“Not with Blossom,” he answered. “I'll give her anything she wants.”

“Hmm,” he mused. “She's not one to be persuaded by trinkets and tokens. I would have thought that you knew that.”

“I know the kind of husband and marriage she wants,
and I am pleased—and more than eager—to give it to her.”

The duke flushed. Obviously Blossom had informed her parents that above all she desired a blistering passion in her marriage. Served the pompous duke well, he thought. After prying into his personal life, Jase could not help but discomfort the duke, as he had done to him.

“Well, then, have you asked everything, Your Grace?”

“For now.”

“Then may I have my turn?”

The duke looked surprised but then he spread his arms wide. “Be my guest, Raeburn. But I'll not tell you how to win my daughter's affections if that is what you're going to ask, nor am I going to decide anything about marriage tonight.”

“You've asked many questions tonight, but the most important one, you haven't.”

Gaze hooded, the duke glanced out the window, into the blackness beyond. “I don't know what question you mean.”

“The reason why I asked to court Blossom in the first place.”

“I hope the answer is not because you are in need of a wife and you find our family's long-standing friendship easy and convenient.”

“I love her.”

He hadn't intended to state it so boldly, but the words slipped out—clipped, hard and full of passion. And damn, it felt good to finally admit it to himself.

“I have loved her for so long and I was forced to stand by while my brother wooed her. Even when I tried not to, when I told myself I didn't, I have loved your daughter. Despite everything, that love has never wavered, and in fact has only grown. It was my personal hell knowing
she was marrying another. It was my salvation when my brother had the deplorable manners to run off to Gretna Green with another.”

Torrington's mouth hung open in shock. Jase knew he was being far too bold and familiar, but damn it, this was important. He needed Blossom's father to understand that what he had witnessed was not staged to entrap.

“Your Grace, I have waited ten years to kiss your daughter. I regret you walked in on us, but I do not regret kissing her. I will marry her, and I will spend the rest of my life convincing not only Blossom but you that I am worthy of her.”

“Oh, good, there's no blood.”

Jase glanced back to see his father step into the library. There was relief in his father's expression, but disappointment as well when his stare lingered upon him.

“Come to defend your offspring, Weatherby? I confess, he's rather a chip off the old block.”

“Torrington,” his father growled. “Let us be reasonable.”

“I think I am. I put a cheroot between my hands, not your heir's neck.”

“You have every right to, of course.”

“Of course. But I'm quite certain that in our youth we might have ravished a lady or two in a salon. It wasn't quite as sordid as it is now, is it?”