A Little Bit Wild (11 page)

"Damn it," he growled. "I can't."

"Jude, please. We can—"

"I can't."

Her face fell, so he reached for her again. "Come here." He lifted her high enough to straddle him, then nearly moaned at the feel of her legs gripping his hips. Her bottom rested so close to his cock.

"I can't," he whispered against her neck. "I'm sorry." But when he sucked at her neck, she sobbed with need, and Jude couldn't leave her like that, no matter his intentions.

He gathered her skirts higher, and slid both hands beneath her chemise.

"Jude," she moaned as his palms settled against the hot skin of her buttocks. Good Christ, she was soft and sweet and warm.

He could free himself from his trousers and guide her onto his cock. And she would ride him, innocent or not. She'd ride him as his hands clenched the round cheeks of her bottom, and it would be the best moment of his life.

Sweat trickled down his temple as Marissa's hips moved restlessly against his hold. He urged her up, her knees pressing into the cushions of the bench, and Jude slid one hand along the seam of her body. The tips of his fingers slid along slick heat, and Marissa jerked hard against him, setting his heart into a gallop.

He circled his fingers over her, and she jerked again, her nails digging into his shoulders. His mouth watered at the feel of her wet flesh, at the way his fingers slipped along her. He couldn't resist pressing one finger in, just to feel what it would be like. The soft heat and squeezing tightness.

"Jude," she moaned. "Oh, Jude."

A shudder took her, or him. She pressed so tightly to his chest that he could not tell. All he knew was the feel of her and her thighs shaking as he stroked her, careful to concentrate his motions on that tight pearl of nerves.

She repeated his name like a desperate prayer, her hips rising and falling in a rhythm that left him clenching his jaw so hard that his teeth ached. His cock throbbed in time with her small movements. She wanted him. Wanted
it.
Wanted to be stretched and filled with his cock.

Now,
he thought, meaning to unfasten his trousers and plunge inside her, but then Marissa's body drew tight, her breath gathering in, and she climaxed, sobbing and shaking in his arms, her thighs trembling and her sex pulsing around his fingers.

"Oh, Jude. Oh, God," she cried, her mouth pressed to his neck, the words echoing through his flesh.

Then she was still and limp, and Jude fell one awful step away from madness. Her breath shuddered over his jaw. "Jude?"

"Marissa" he rasped. "Do you finally feel better?"

Her gasp of laughter eased him back from his ravenous lust.

"That was ... I've waited so long for that. Thank you." She pressed chaste kisses to his cheek and jaw. "Thank you. You're a miracle."

"I'd say the miracle is you."

"You'd be wrong. I've tried it myself and... um ..."

He could not ponder that now. He could not tell himself what that meant and what Miss Marissa York had been doing in her bed at night. Not now. Later though.

He didn't dare mess her hair, so he stroked her back instead, and when his body had inched from madness to mere pain, he eased her back. "We've been gone a long while. We'd better—"

"Marissa!" a voice hissed from somewhere across the lawn.

Blast and damn.

"Oh, no!" Her eyes went wide with panic.

"Get up. Here, let me." He patted her skirts down and set her back a foot. "You look perfect." And she did, aside from the slight sway of her body as she fought for strength. "I, on the other hand .. ."

He snatched his shirt and tugged it on, stuffing it into his waistband as quickly as he could. As he fastened the buttons, Marissa found his coat and brought it to him as well.

"Shit," he muttered as he wound the damned cravat around and tried to tie it. The knot seemed to take forever to create. "How does it look?"

"I can't see. Let me—"

"There's no time. I suppose as long as I am not half-nude we must call it a victory. Come." He looked carefully back and forth, and saw no one, but once they'd both tiptoed down to the grass, the voice called again, louder this time.

"Marissa! Where are you? If you don't answer, I'm going to call for torches and guns!"

"Oh, blast!" she whispered.

"There's no hope for it." Jude gave her one last glance, and found that she looked entirely normal. He'd have to feel outraged about that later. Right now he had a furious brother to face.

"Edward," he called, tugging Marissa along. "We're here."

"What the hell?" her brother cursed. "I was worried sick!"

Jude was taking a breath, prepared to accept full responsibility, when he noticed that Edward was waving a letter about.

"When I couldn't find you, I went to your room," he said as he advanced on Marissa. "And I found
this!"

"How dare you look through my things!"

"I thought he'd taken you, damn it! You weren't idiot enough to steal out here and meet him, were you?

Jude pulled her to his side. "She asked me to escort her so that she wouldn't be in any danger."

Edward rounded on him. "How could you do this without my support? You had no right!"

"There was no time. We met with him, and that was that. I can assure you he'll think twice about approaching her again."

"You shouldn't have let him go. I warned him not to set foot here again."

"I think his intentions were sincere, for whatever that's worth."

"Hm." Her brother's eyes swept down Jude's body. "There was a scuffle, I take it?"

Jude suppressed the urge to check his buttons. "Er . .. yes, but nothing too violent."

"Well, young lady," Edward continued, clearly-dismissing Jude's mussed clothing as meaningless, "I suggest you retire to your chambers and think about what you've done."

Her cheeks darkened a bit, and Jude could imagine how pink they must be. "I am a grown woman. You can't order me about."

Edward's frown twisted into outrage, but Marissa waved a hand before he could shout. "Oh, bother. I'll go. I feel quite spent as it is."

That cheeky minx. She ambled off toward the house while Edward and Jude both stared after her.

"That girl will be the death of me," Edward muttered, but Jude was quite sure he was going to be the one praying for mercy before the month was out.

She'd managed to avoid Jude for a whole day without ever admitting to herself that she was hiding. She wasn't. She just felt. . . awkward.

Not quite anxious, and yet her heart would start pounding during quiet moments, and then she'd suddenly remember. What she'd done. What he'd done.

Perched tensely on the edge of her bed, Marissa put her lingers to her lips as if she could hold in the emotions that pressed at her throat. Excitement and fear and joy and regret. .. an intense combination. In that moment, she felt almost as though she were being chased. And as if she wanted to be caught.

But that made no sense, so she had no idea what to say to him or even how to look at him. It was simpler just to stay busy with Beth or her mother, or any of the other women doing singularly feminine things throughout the day.

But then that strange anxious yearning would rise. That niggling feeling that sonic knowledge lurked just past her notice. And then she would remember again.

Jude.

She'd known that men could bring intense pleasure. She'd discovered that quite accidentally two years before, though she'd been aware of
pleasantness
before then. But it was still so surprising that it could be Jude. Jude, whom she'd never so much as looked at.

If it had been some other man, she supposed she'd have simply simpered at him at their next meeting. Offered a blushing smile and a flutter of her lashes as well as a few healed looks. But she'd never so much as flirted with Jude, and how ridiculous she'd feel glancing through her lashes and giggling like a silly miss.

No, she had no idea how to face him now, and yet she had no choice.

A half hour before, she'd finally got her proof. There would be no child, and she had to tell him. It wasn't fair to drag this out longer. Assuming Mr. White did not spread tales, there'd be no need for a hasty marriage. No need for a marriage at all. After a few weeks, her family would quietly put it about that the betrothal had been called off. No one would be surprised. Her family name would remain unsullied, if more associated with melodrama than ever, and everything would return to normal. She might be damaged goods, but a secretly imperfect wife was a far cry from a fiancée already pregnant with another man's child.

So why was she sitting on her bed with her hands clenched in dread? Why wasn't she racing down to tell Jude the good news?

When her door opened, Marissa took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh that sounded suspiciously maudlin.

Her mother didn't notice however. "You wanted to see me, dear?"

"Yes, Mother. I'm now certain there will be no child, so you needn't worry any longer on that score. I understand that there may yet be consequences to my reputation, but if there are not. . . there'll be no reason for this betrothal to move forward."

"Oh, Marissa!" her mother yelped. "Oh, my sweet girl, this is wonderful news! Simply wonderful! I had not even dared to picture your wedding day to that man. His presence is so overpowering, is it not? And he's really not precisely respectable, despite the duke."

"Mm."

"Well, this is stupendous news. We'll wait a decent amount of time before calling off, of course, and there must be a reasonably interesting story, though I suppose we cannot cast Mr. Bertrand in a foul light after the kindness he's done us. Yes, we will have to tread carefully here, but reasonableness is so dreadfully boring!" She paused to take a deep breath, then swooped down to hug Marissa. "Oh, my darling, I'm so happy for you. You must be so relieved! I'll go tell the baron this very moment."

She always called Edward "the baron," unless, of course, calling him "my son!" evoked more drama. "I would prefer to tell Jude first, Mother. It's only decent. Would you wait a bit?"

"Yes, yes, you must tell him first. I'll tell the baron just before we go in to dinner. How's that?"

Nodding, she met her mother's thrilled smile with one of her own, though her heart felt heavy as lead in her chest and the smile only made it worse.

But as her mother breezed from the room, trailing a happy hum in her wake, Marissa forced herself to her feet and blamed her sick feeling on the circumstances. Of course she fell grouchy and out of sorts. 'Twas only expected.

She walked slowly down the stairs, each step marking four beats of her heart. She knew this because she found herself counting them, marking the time, slowing her pace to get it just right.

There was a small possibility she was stalling. But whatever her stalling techniques, the marble approached, and she was soon standing on it, and trying to decide which way to go. Her brother's study seemed a good bet, but Marissa found it empty. The library and drawing rooms were empty as well. Everyone was dressing for dinner, it seemed.

Marissa snuck a look up the stairs she'd just descended. It wouldn't be proper to go to Jude's room, but then nothing about their relationship was proper. He'd come to her rooms once already. And certainly making love with him last night in the gazebo hadn't been proper. Or whatever it was that they'd done the night before. Was there another name for that hot, tangled embrace? "Kissing" and "touching" were not up to the description.

For a moment, she was lost in that memory. It enveloped her and pulled her back into Jude Bertrand's arms. Her body seemed to rearrange its functions, until parts that normally lay quiet roused themselves to demanding life. And parts of her that normally worked with seamless skill, her- knees, her-lungs, her beating heart... they each seemed determined to ruin themselves.

She shouldn't sneak up to his room. It wouldn't be wise. But even after she took a deep breath and steadied her heart, she still felt compelled.

If she waited, she'd feel back to normal again, back to her anxiety and cowardice. So Marissa set her foot on the first step and started up. Only two heartbeats per stair this time, as she rushed toward something she should not do. This seemed a pattern for her, but there was no time to ponder that now.

She turned toward the south wing of the manor, and spotted a maid ducking out of a room.

"Mr. Bertrand is needed in the study immediately. Which room is he in?"

"The green room, miss."

Marissa hurried on. Down the hall. Around the corner.
There.

She would have hesitated. Would have stood there and agonized for a few more moments, but what if she was seen?

Marissa tapped her knuckles frantically on his door. He must have been very close. She heard him say, "Yes?" even as the doorknob began to turn.

Certain someone else would peck from their room at any moment, Marissa slid through the opening while he was still swinging the door open.

'Jude," she whispered, pushing the door closed behind her. He was so close that she had to tilt her head back to see his face, and the scent of his skin wrapped around her as she pressed her back against the door.

But no, she wasn't pressing. It was Jude, hands on her shoulders, pinning her gently to the door as he ducked down to kiss her.

His mouth was far more effective kindling than her memories of his kiss. As she opened her mouth to him, her blood swelled within her, putting pressure on her most sensitive parts. He tasted divine, and the thrust of his tongue made her legs shake with the memory of his fingers pushing inside her.

It had been so ... naughty. As wild as she'd ever felt. As wicked as he'd named her.

Now she wanted to do it again. She wanted to stretch her arms above her head and let him touch her everywhere. Let him strip her dress from her body and see her nakedness. But she was in no condition for that, she suddenly remembered. And that was why she'd come.

Shaking with the strain of it, Marissa put her hand to his chest and turned her face away. Jude's mouth didn't give up its quest to distract her. He ducked his head and sucked at her throat, sending sparks of fire trailing down to her fingertips. "Wait," she panted. "Jude ..."

When he lifted his head, his eyes were dark and drowning in want. For a moment, she was caught in their depths, sinking in----

"You were hiding today," he murmured. "From me."

That sobered her, and her body suddenly felt real again and weighed down by the truth. "No. I only ... I didn't know what to say. ..."

"Nothing," he murmured. "Nothing at all." He kissed her again, and, sweet Lord, she wanted so badly to lose herself in it. Give up her body to that gorgeous weakness again.

But she pulled away. "Jude. We need to talk."

He straightened with slow deliberation, and his eyes lost their wild darkness by small degrees. "Ah. I see. Of course."

She felt too cool now, pressed to the wood with the distance between them measurable in lonely inches. They were two separate people suddenly, and now they always would be, and she hadn't realized... that kiss had been the very last. She shouldn't have turned away.

"I'm sorry," she said, and Jude frowned and stepped another few inches away.

"I'm not with child."

"You've bled?"

Her face Hashed to a prickly burn. "Yes."

"A typical amount?"

"Good God, why do you insist on mortifying me?"

"I eavesdropped on my mother and her friends constantly as a child. This conversation is not new to me."

"It's new to me! I've never discussed this with anyone."

He shrugged. "Well? Is it normal?"

"Yes!"

"Then congratulations. You avoided disaster."

"As did you."

He inclined his head, his face giving no hint to his feelings.

"I do so appreciate what you've done for me. I don't know another man who would have offered the same."

"I am exceptional." Surely that was a hint of sharpness in those words?

Marissa curled her fingers against the wood, wishing she had something to hold on to. "You
are
exceptional. An exceptional friend."

"Of course."

"And I'm sure you're relieved not to have to sacrifice yourself on my behalf."

"Oh, quite."

She would've thought he was angry if she hadn't witnessed his fury the night before. His face wasn't twisted with rage, it was simply a bit more stiff than normal. But there was no sign of a smile, crooked or otherwise.

Perhaps he was only... serious? Concerned? Marissa stared up at him, more confused than ever. "You'll probably want to leave soon?"

Now he frowned. "Why would I want to leave?"

"Because most of the guests are departing tomorrow. I assume you'd only planned to stay because you... might have been needed."

He watched her for a long moment, and his gaze dipped down her body so briefly that she wasn't sure she'd seen it.

"No," he finally said. "I hadn't planned on leaving soon."

She didn't like the way her pulse sped at those words. "But why?"

"Aidan invited me to stay as long as I like. I like it here. In fact, I'm considering renting a cottage."

"A cottage!"

"Yes, my only home is in London, and I enjoy this part of the country."

Her pulse tripped and stumbled now, panicking at his innocuous words. "Here? I see. Of course." She squeezed her fists harder, until the nails dug into her palms. "Well, I do thank you. Sincerely. And I enjoyed our time together."

One of his dark eyebrows rose to mock her.

"That is ... I... well, I will see you at dinner, Mr. Bertrand."

His jaw jumped at that, and Marissa fumbled for the door knob. Why did she feel she was doing something wrong? Why did she feel ashamed now, when she hadn't felt it before?

"Marissa."

She froze at the soft strength in his voice.

"We are still betrothed."

"I-I suppose we are. Until everything settles, at least."

"Agreed."

She was so flustered that she forgot any idea of stealth, and simply slipped from the room as quickly as she could. Only when she found herself standing in the corridor did she realize her mistake. Luck saved her from stumbling into another guest, but she didn't pause to savor it. Marissa sprinted around the corner, only able to force herself to slow when she could no longer see Jude's door.

This nightmare of hers was almost over, and as she walked sedately toward her room, chin held high, Marissa convinced herself that the sick feeling in her stomach was relief.

What else could it possibly be?