Jane Feather - [V Series] (36 page)

They’d spent the afternoon skating on the frozen horse pond, competing over who could make the most elaborate figures on the ice. Since Judith was no match for Marcus, who’d been skating on the pond every winter since early childhood, she’d spent a fair part of the afternoon on her backside. Marcus had made the most of the resulting bruises.

Hiding in her corner of the conservatory, ears stretched into the gloom for the slightest sound, Judith re-created the feel of his hands on her body, smoothing oil into the bruises he insisted he was discovering …

The door creaked, and there was a crack of light. It was extinguished so quickly, she could almost have imagined it. But she heard the faintest
click
as the door was closed again. There was silence, but she knew Marcus was in the conservatory. She could sense his presence just as she knew he could sense hers. Stepping backward on tiptoe, barely daring to breathe, she moved behind a potted orange tree, shrinking down into the deeper shadow, hugging herself as if she could thus make herself smaller. Her heart thudded in her ears as she waited to be discovered, as apprehensive as if she were truly being stalked by a predator.

Marcus stood by a bay tree, accustoming his eyes to the dimness, trying to sense where she was hiding. The conservatory was a wide, square building attached to the house, and he knew his quarry could evade him if he took off in the wrong direction. She could creep behind
him to the door and be free and clear, with the rest of the vast house to offer for a further hiding place. But he was growing impatient with the game; he had another scenario in mind and was anxious to begin. The enticing curve of Judith’s backside seemed imprinted on his palms, and his loins grew heavy at the thought of another anointing session, a more prolonged one—one that could continue until dawn if he chose.

He picked up a small scratching sound, tiny enough to have been a mouse. He stayed still, listening. It had come from the far corner and he stared into the gloom, straining his eyes to catch some movement in the shadows that wouldn’t be a trick of the moonlight. The silence stretched, then a shower of gravel rolled across the paving from the same direction as the scratching. Marcus chuckled softly. Obviously Judith was also anxious to bring the game to a close.

Silently he removed his shoes, then trod on tiptoe toward the corner, hugging the shadows, hoping to surprise her, despite her clues. He thought he could detect a darker mass in the shadow of an orange tree, and with mischievous intent moved sideways, so that he could approach the tree from behind.

Judith crouched in her hiding place, listening for the sound of footfalls. Surely he’d picked up on her pointers. But she could hear nothing.

“Found you!”

Judith shrieked in genuine shock at the exultant statement from behind her. Marcus laughed. Bending, he caught her under the arms and hauled her to her feet.

“You lose, I believe.”

Judith sank against him; her knees were quivering absurdly. “You frightened me!”

“I thought that was the point of the game. Hunter
and prey … quarry and predator.” He stroked her hair where it rested against his chest.

“I know it is, but I didn’t expect you to terrify me.” She straightened, pushing against his chest, her smile a pearly glimmer in the dimness. “Sebastian never terrified me when we used to play as children. I always heard him coming.”

“Perhaps maturity brings greater subtlety,” he murmured, glancing down at his stockinged feet.

Judith followed his gaze and burst into a peal of laughter. “You took your shoes off!”

“Observant of you … but, since I found you, I believe you owe me a forfeit, ma’am.”

Judith narrowed her eyes. “But would you have found me if I hadn’t given you those clues?”

“That, I’m afraid, we’ll never know.”

She chewed her bottom lip in thought. “But I still wonder if the possibility doesn’t alter the original terms of the agreement.”

Marcus shook his head. “No, ma’am, it does not. I discovered you … most completely, I would have said.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

“So, I claim my reward.”

Judith smiled. “Very well, then. And you can pay your forfeit afterward.”

“Since when have winners also paid a forfeit?” Marcus demanded.

“Since I decided to make the rules,” she retorted. “This was not a winner-takes-all proposition.”

A long time later, Judith lay sprawled in wanton abandonment under glowing candlelight, the thick pile of the library carpet against her back and shoulders. Marcus held her buttocks on the palms of his hands, lifting her for his own dewy caresses. One couldn’t draw qualitative
comparisons between the joys of the pleasure giver and the receiver, she decided, her hips arcing under the fierce and fiery strokes of his tongue, the delicate grazing of his mouth.

Around them, the house was silent, only the hiss and spurt of the fire disturbing the quiet. Its heat was on her bared thigh, matching the rising heat in her loins. The coil burst asunder, taking her by surprise, as sometimes it did. She laughed softly, feeling his breath warm on her heated core as he laughed with her, in his own pleasure at her surprised release.

When he rolled, bringing her with him, she lay along his length, feeling her own softnesses pressing into the muscled concavities of his body. He parted her thighs, slowly twisted his hips, and thrust upward within the still-pulsating entrance to her body. Judith tightened around him, pushing backward until she knelt astride him. She moved herself over and around him in languid circles, teasing them both. With the same languor, she turned her head toward the uncurtained French doors. The moonlit lawn stretched beyond the windows, the frosty grass sparkling. It occurred to her that she was truly, completely happy, for the first time in her life.

There had never been room for unalloyed happiness before. But at this moment, fused in passion, even revenge somehow had lost its spur … was somehow irrelevant. Soon enough, they’d return to London and she would have to go to work on Gracemere again, but she wasn’t going to think of that now.

She brought her mouth to his.

“I
hope you enjoyed your retreat, Judith.” Bernard Melville guided his dance partner into a smooth turn.

Judith sighed. “No, it was extremely tedious. The country’s so boring, and Carrington was closeted with his man of business the entire time.”

“And he insisted you accompany him?” Gracemere shook his head and tutted. “How unkind of him. But then, as we know, Carrington has little interest in the preferences of others.” His hand tightened on hers.

Judith controlled her shudder of revulsion and smiled up at him with a flutter of her eyelashes. “How true,” she agreed. Her eyes darted swiftly around the crowded ballroom in a guilty check to assure herself that Marcus hadn’t decided to abandon his own party and pay a surprise visit to the Sedgewicks’ ball. Not that there
was anything overtly wrong in dancing with the earl in public. Marcus himself was civil to Gracemere in company.

“My Lady Carrington was sorely missed,” he assured her, a smile flickering on the fleshy lips.

“Nonsense, my lord. You know full well that redheads are not fashionable at the moment.” Her laughing eyes flirtatiously invited his denial of this caveat.

He provided it without blinking an eye. “Red is not the description I would have chosen,” he murmured, flicking at a copper ringlet with one finger. “And part of your charm, my dear Judith, is that you are not at all in the common way.”

Judith gave him a coy look and changed the subject. “You’re an accomplished card player, I understand.”

“Oh, shameless evasion!” he exclaimed. “Is that your only response to my compliment?”

“Indeed, sir, a lady doesn’t respond to compliments made her by stray dance partners.” Her eyelashes fluttered as she gave him a mischievous smile.

“Stray dance partner! I must protest, ma’am, at such an unkind description.”

“I must try to think of you in such terms, however, since I’m forbidden to consider you a friend,” she responded archly.

Gracemere’s pale eyes glittered. “But, as we’re agreed, husbands need occasionally to be put in their places.”

Judith’s eyes gleamed with a conspiratorial thrill that brought a complacent smile to the earl’s mouth—one that made her want to kick him hard in the shins. Fortunately, the waltz ended and he escorted her off the floor.

“My brother assures me that you’re a most accomplished card player,” she reiterated as they went into a small salon adjoining the ballroom.

“Your brother is a fair player himself.” Gracemere offered the lie with a bland smile.

“But not as good as I am,” Judith declared, closing her fan with a snap. “I challenge you to a game of piquet, my lord.” She gestured to a small, unoccupied card table in the corner of the room.

“An enticing prospect,” he said, with the same bland smile. “What stakes do you propose?”

Judith tapped her closed fan against her hand. “Ten guineas a point?”

Gracemere smiled at the proposal: the moderate stakes of a relatively confident gamester, who liked to think she played high. He’d seen her at the card tables and knew that Agnes had met her at Amelia Dolby’s, so she couldn’t be a complete novice. Presumably she played like her brother, with more enthusiasm than skill. “Stakes for a tea party, ma’am,” he scoffed. “I propose something a little more enticing.”

“What do you suggest, my lord?” Judith had expected him to accept her wager indulgently, and unease stirred beneath her expression of eager curiosity.

He stroked his chin, regarding her. “The honor of your company at a private dinner against … against … now, what could I offer you?” he mused.

Your head on a platter
, Judith thought viciously. She had every intention of losing to him but no intention whatsoever of joining him in a tête-à-tête dinner. However, that bridge would have to be crossed when she reached it. “The chance to drive your blacks in Richmond Park,” she suggested in dulcet accents. “I’ve envied you those horses since I first saw them.”

“Then let us play, ma’am.” He moved to the card table.

Judith had only one purpose behind the game: She wanted to know how he played, what habits he had,
what techniques he favored. Then she and Sebastian would compare notes. As Gracemere had destroyed George Devereux playing piquet, so would Gracemere meet his own Waterloo at the hands of George’s children.

She took her seat at the table with a fidgety eagerness, watching as he broke the pack. She didn’t think he would bother to cheat with her; she’d been careful never to play at his table before, so he wouldn’t know how well she played. He would probably assume she was a moderate player at best.

She gave him a middling performance, losing the first hand by a respectably small margin, winning the second by the appearance of a lucky retention, losing the third convincingly, but avoiding the Rubicon.

“You’re certainly an accomplished player, Bernard,” she said, smiling as he counted the points. “Perhaps one day you’d teach me some of your strategies.”
What a delicious thought that was.… She knew now she was a fair match for Bernard Melville, in honest play or crooked.
She continued to smile, savoring the thought.

Bernard chuckled. “With pleasure, my dear. But first, I claim my winnings.”

“But of course. However …” She glanced around the room. “We’ve already dined tonight, and this is hardly a private spot.”

He chuckled again. “No, you must allow me to make the necessary arrangements, Judith. I’ll inform you of the date, place, and time.”

“I think, sir, that you must allow me to pick the date,” she said carefully. “I’m not a free woman.”

“No.” Reaching for her hand, he carried it to his lips. “You are not. But are you a virtuous woman?” He smiled over her hand. “An improper question, forgive me, ma’am.… However, I firmly believe that you will find a tale to satisfy Carrington, when the need arises.”

She would shoot him—no, that was too quick … a long and lingering death
 … “I daresay I could.” She stood up. “But now I must return to the ballroom before anyone notices such a protracted absence.”

Gracemere bowed and remained standing by the table, watching as she wafted back to the ballroom. Whatever tale she invented to put Carrington off the scent, the marquis would be apprised of his wife’s intimate, clandestine rendezvous with his old enemy. The prospect of such a wonderfully apposite revenge was a heady one. But now, having played the sister, he would play her brother for rather more material stakes.

He made his way to the card room, where the serious play was taking place. Sebastian sat at the macao table and waved cheerfully at him. “Come and take a hand, Gracemere.”

“Thank you.” He sat down opposite Sebastian. “I just had a hand or two of piquet with your sister.”

“Oh, did you win? Ju’s not much of a player,” Sebastian said, grinning, laying out his rouleaux.

“Calumny!” Judith’s voice came from the doorway.

“But did you win?” her brother challenged, frowning over his cards before making his bet.