A Lord Rotheby's Holiday Bundle (101 page)

And the sooner she was married, the
sooner he could set aside the way her ire bewitched him and move on
with his life—without the chaotic wake that seemed to follow her
everywhere that currently had his head in a twist.

“
I see,” Miss Matthews
murmured with narrowed eyes.
Thank
heavens.
“So I should avoid and blatantly
ignore Lords Utley and Tansley and Mr. Forster. Would you like to
add anyone else to that list, Your Grace?” Her heated glare could
fell an entire army. But instead of sounding a retreat, Peter’s
only thought was to advance.

His eyes slid to her lips, which were
darkened from the furious pinch she had kept them in for several
moments. He wanted nothing more than to kiss them, to press his own
lips against their angry pout until the heat in them turned to
passion and promise instead of anger.

“
Well?” Miss Matthews
placed her hands on her hips in a posture much like an overbearing
governess—which he found disturbingly alluring.

Christ, he ought to walk away now. But
for some confounding reason, he couldn’t. “Yes. There is one
more.”

“
And? Who might this
dreaded gentleman be?”

Peter advanced toward her, closing the
small gap between them. “Me.” Before he could stop himself, he
leaned in and captured her mouth in a kiss.

Chapter Seven

His mouth landed on hers, hard, hot,
and demanding. The golden flecks in his eyes—one blue and the other
green—shimmered and came alive.

She blinked. After several moments,
Jane still had difficulty fathoming what was happening. Even then,
why he was doing it remained a perplexing mystery.

He drew her closer—one hand tangling
in her hair, the other firm against the back of her waist. His
clean, earthy, musky scent poured through her body and down to her
toes and his warmth invaded her, leaving her feeling
drugged.

When his tongue slid across the crease
of her lips—softly at first, like silk, and then more
insistently—she heard a low, ragged feminine moan that could only
have been her own. Good God. What was happening to her? The
animalistic growl that followed, however, unmistakably came from
him.

When his tongue pressed against her
lips with even more fervor, Jane succumbed and parted them for him.
He swept inside, stroking against her, and a rapid, clanging series
of tingles assaulted her stomach. She wanted to move closer to him.
To feel more of him. Blast, what was happening to her? When he
sucked, pulling her tongue into his mouth, an aching pang that
bordered on pleasure built between her legs, alongside a fair
amount of heat and moisture. Oh, dear.

And then his mouth left hers to trail
wet kisses over her face, down her neck, across the exposed part of
her bosom. Cool air danced over the wetness he left behind, and she
shivered. Such a delicious juxtaposition, the burgeoning heat
radiating between them and the shivery, shuddery moisture on her
skin.

“
So sweet,” he murmured,
his mouth hovering over the cleft between her breasts. Strangely
enough, they were heaving with her frantic breaths, as though from
some unexplainable exertion.

Again, the duke’s mouth joined with
hers. Her legs were weak and wobbly beneath her, and she fell into
him for support, her hands taking up a feeble grip at his neck. If
not for his arms wrapped around her like bands, she would
undoubtedly be on the ground.

His pulse beat an erratic pace against
the flat of her palm.

Just as suddenly as he had begun the
assault against her senses, he broke off the kiss and pushed away
from her. Jane stumbled backward, trying to regain her balance—not
to mention her sanity.

He looked down upon her with an irate
scowl that bordered on belligerence.

If he thought for even one
second he could blame her for
that
encounter—

But then he spoke. “I’m sorry.” His
words were short, clipped. “That was inexcusable.”

“
Er...I...” Jane shook her
head like a simpleton. Coherent thoughts were in rather short
supply at the moment. Luckily, he didn’t appear to care one
whit.

His eyes darted about, scanning the
darkness of the garden. Placing an arm about her waist, he guided
her back toward the lights and gay sounds coming from the ballroom.
He faced her, his eyes grave, almost ominous. “It won’t happen
again.”

Then he opened the door to the
ballroom, gave her a gentle nudge to get her feet moving inside,
and closed the door behind her. No one seemed to notice Jane’s
entrance, which was just as well—she had no desire to explain how
she had left with one gentleman, been gone for an inordinate amount
of time, and reappeared with another, different
gentleman.

Still, it would have been more
appropriate for him to escort her back to his mother. She peeked
through the window where he’d left her, nonsensically hoping for
some sort of reassurance, but the Duke of Somerton was
gone.

Bloody coward.

And he was a downright overbearing
brute, to boot. To think he could order her about, to tell her who
she could and could not converse with. She was a grown woman, and
he was not her father or brother. The man had no claim over her to
insist on any sort of behavior.

Well, to be fair, since
she
was
staying in
his home, perhaps she
should
conform to his requests. Or at least some of them.
Well, she should if he had ever
requested
anything at all of her,
instead of issuing terse commands.

But that was the whole problem—he
hadn’t made a single request. He’d done quite the opposite at
nearly every turn. Any man with half a shred of decency would
understand that issuing orders willy-nilly was no way to treat a
lady.

Then again, Jane wasn’t technically a
lady, was she? Merely a miss. She was so far beneath his touch that
perhaps he knew no other way of interacting with her.

Nevertheless, his kiss left her
shattered. She had never expected to feel so...so...wanted. So
beautiful. Especially not with him, a man who obviously thought so
little of her.

For him to kiss her like that, to make
her feel as though the world could end at that moment and she’d
feel nothing other than intense pleasure (and—dare she admit
it?—desire), and then to break it off with a callous shove and
apology—it was the most demeaning thing she’d ever experienced in
her life.

Jane wanted nothing more to do with
him.

Why, if her mother wouldn’t be so
upset, she would hire a coach and return to Whitstable this very
instant. Living under this man’s ‘protection’ and facing his
constant scorn and derision was almost more than she could
bear.

But she couldn’t do that to Mother.
Mother would be devastated. Nor was Jane willing to upset Cousin
Henrietta and her daughters in such a way. She would simply have to
suffer the damned duke’s condescension.

Drat. Now, more than ever, she needed
to move forward with plans for her modiste shop.

The music came to an end and the crowd
shuffled toward the dining room for supper. She slipped in amongst
crush and forced all thoughts of the Duke of Somerton
aside.

~ * ~

Utley ducked back behind his bush out
in the garden as Somerton stalked past him.

He had to smother the chuckle that was
threatening to release. Shaking his head, he reached into the
inside pocket of his greatcoat and pulled out a cheroot, then moved
back to the lighted path to light it with the flame of a
lantern.

This was even better than he’d
imagined possible—Somerton had feelings for the woman. Utley took a
drag of his cheroot. He had never been prone to bouts of luck
before, but perhaps his fortunes were finally beginning to
change.

Adding her dowry, as generous as it
was, to his coffers certainly wouldn’t be a hardship on him. He
might even be able to take up with a mistress on the forty thousand
Somerton had boasted for her.

Why would the bloody duke
offer such a sum for her if he wanted her for himself? Not that it
mattered. The only part that really was a concern to Utley was that
Somerton
did
want
her. And Utley wanted her dowry, and a chance to take something
Somerton wanted right from under the duke’s nose.

Now he needed a plan. Something more
concrete.

Utley tossed his cheroot to the ground
and stubbed it with the toe of his boot, then made for the back
alley and the hack waiting for him. He had revenge to
plot.

~ * ~

A chorus of female squeals and
childish giggles coming from the downstairs parlor interrupted
Peter’s concentration. Yet again, he was attempting to settle the
accounts for Carreg Mawr in his office. Each time he began to make
some small semblance of progress, another shout burst
through.

On the fourth instance, he glared at
the closed door, wishing he could extend it through the panels and
into the other room.

After the seventh interruption, he
pushed his ledgers aside for a moment and stretched his legs, sure
that clearing his mind would also clear the path for a return to
work.

By the time the twelfth peal of
giggles reached him, he had moved all of his materials from the
library to Spenser’s office at the end of the hall. Surely that
would give him enough separation from them that there would be no
more distractions from his task.

Obviously he was wrong.

Peter slammed his butler’s office door
closed. He’d make damned sure it was loud enough to alert the
perpetrators of his displeasure. Then he stalked back to the
makeshift desk he had created by pulling a chair close to an empty
shelf. After all, he didn’t want to disturb the stacks of papers
Spenser had arranged just so.

When the fifteenth bout hit his ears,
Peter threw his head back and took in a breath. Accomplishing
anything of import was quite out of the question today. He set off
to discover why his family felt it necessary to make as much noise
as a room full of wild animals.

Upon nearing his drawing room, he was
assaulted by more of the same, along with a myriad of competing
floral scents warring with each other for domination. Peter’s
mother sat on a chaise in the middle of the room, surrounded his
two sisters, his children, and Miss Matthews with her furry, orange
cat—not to mention dozens of bouquets of flowers in every variety
and color possible.

None of them, he noted, paid Peter’s
arrival any attention at all.

He cleared his throat, but to no
avail. Charlotte, who was carrying a large bouquet of yellow
blossoms to a waiting vase near the hearth, continued to gush
nonsense. “And this one is for Jane, as well. Very lovely, don’t
you think?”

“
Quite, dear. And who sent
those?” His mother looked like a proud mother hen.

Charlotte settled the flowers into
their new home and then fussed with the card. “From Lord...Lord
Eldredge! Oh, Jane. He’s absolutely divine, and terribly handsome.
I think he would make for a rather advantageous match, if you ask
me.”

Miss Matthews flushed rather
becomingly, at least in Peter’s estimation. “Might you remind me
which gentleman Lord Eldredge is? I don’t seem to
recall.”

At that comment, Sophie tittered with
laughter and Charlotte gasped. “How could you not recall him? He’s
as handsome as a god, or at least as handsome as the devil
himself.”

“
Charlotte, that’s more
than enough, thank you,” Mama said, interrupting his youngest
sister before she could make even more of a cake of herself than
she had already managed.

The cat, up to that point,
had been entertaining Sarah by following along under her legs as
she toddled about the room and using its paws to swat at the
underside of her skirts. Then it decided to cuddle with Miss
Matthews. It jumped up onto her lap and proceeded to knead its
paws—against
her bosom
. Her cheeks pinked even brighter than before and she shoved
at the cat’s paws. “No sir, Mr. Cuddlesworth,” she whispered in a
heated tone. “You know that is entirely inappropriate behavior in
front of anyone.”

The cat refused to be deterred,
however, and purred its response to her.

“
You naughty, naughty boy.”
Her look of sheer mortification was entirely too attractive on her
for Peter’s comfort.

A sudden desire to toss the blasted
cat aside so he could resume its attentions to her bosom seized
Peter by the throat. He had to fight for decorum to prevail. He
cleared his throat again, a bit louder this time.“Good morning. I
wager from the state of my drawing room that you all had some
success in the first ball of the Season.” He gestured toward the
endless supply of fresh-cut flowers overwhelming his nostrils.
“Perhaps, Sophie, one of the senders will suit you as a potential
match? Or would that be rushing matters, since this is only your
sixth Season on the marriage mart. Or is it your
seventh?”