Julia Justiss (19 page)

“Go,” she interrupted quickly, filled with both elation and the dread of knowing she’d just made possibly the most dangerous decision of her life. “I know. In a week, I will not try to stop you. I promise.”

The tension seemed to drain from him and he smiled at her, such tenderness in his eyes that her throat ached and once again her eyes stung with tears. “And I promise I will never take from you anything you do not gladly give.”

He picked up her hand and kissed it. “Now I’d best get you back in. The sun is warm, but that wind is sharp.”

She let him walk her back to the hallway, where the housekeeper met them, requesting Belle’s assistance.

Giving her a deep bow, the captain left her to her duties. Belle paused to watch as the captain climbed the stairs to his chamber.

How had he insinuated himself into her heart and life so completely? How had it come to seem so natural for him to be here? She didn’t want to contemplate what a void it would leave in her life when he left. In a week.

A week in which he would take nothing she did not wish to give. Unfortunately, she thought, heading for the kitchen, she was already so close to giving him everything that by the time he departed, she might have nothing of her heart and soul left.

T
ELLING HIMSELF
he could afford to be a fool for one more week, Jack went to his chamber to pen a message to Carrington Grove. He’d dispatched a short missive before leaving London to inform his no-doubt anxious relations that he was recovering and would journey home by easy stages. Since they probably had been expecting him for several days, he’d reassure them that he was recuperating at the home of a friend and would set out in a week’s time.

Having given himself up to irresponsibility, he refused to think of the speculation or anxiety this additional delay might cause his family with the beginning of the Season rapidly approaching.

Neither would he worry about how he was going to resolve the dilemma posed by his steadily strengthening feelings for Belle.

All he wanted now was to focus on these precious few days. He hoped, rather desperately, that before he had to leave she would once again offer him the heaven he’d glimpsed last night, this time on terms he could accept.

If not, he trusted his iron will and the affection he bore her would prove equal to resisting the promptings of his
body. Especially now that he had a better understanding of what her life must have been.

He’d wondered last night why a woman who’d lived by seduction could have put on such a tempting show while feeling nothing. Now he speculated that she must have been forced into carnal knowledge very young, before the natural urges of her body had prompted such exploration.

If Bellingham had caused Belle’s ruin, Jack thought, a murderous rage rising in him, and had kept her all those years with no concern for her pleasure, shooting was too good for him. Praise heaven, the man was already dead, for were he still among the living, Jack wasn’t sure he could have kept himself from calling the cad out when he returned to London. And my, what a scandal that would cause at the start of Dorrie’s Season!

For an instant, he had a vivid, horrifying image of what might have happened to his high-spirited sister, her letters to him filled with enthusiasm about her Season and the prospect of marriage, had her innocence been stolen from her. The very idea sickened him, prompting him to vow anew that he would expire from unrequited lust before he would touch Belle without her freely given invitation.

He recalled her choice of plain, high-necked gowns and the chilly disinterest with which she’d treated her court of admirers in London. It appeared she’d developed a distaste for the physical and an understandable wariness toward men. Given that heritage, he realized ruefully, he’d best count on enjoying no more than the wonder of her companionship for their stolen week together.

Then he recalled the kiss they’d almost shared. She had
wanted that kiss, he was certain. Which meant the attraction that pulled at him, that he’d sensed in her, did in fact exist. There was always a chance that, if he gave her the time and space to respond if and when
she
chose, she might grow comfortable enough—or curious enough—to explore with him the impulses she’d been denying.

Best, however, not to let his mind—or his senses—dwell on delights that might not be. No, the next few days would be for her to direct and him to simply revel in her company. That would be enough for now.

Whether or not it would be enough to last him the rest of his life, he refused to consider.

By the time he met her for nuncheon later, most of the awkwardness between them had dissipated, and the last vestiges vanished during their second tour around Bellehaven later that afternoon. On their initial excursion, Belle had avoided the settled areas, but this time she stopped at each cottage and beside each field where workers toiled, introducing Jack as the soldier who was reorganizing Bellehaven’s defenses.

The story of their attack on the road had already spread about the countryside, and several of the men thanked Jack for his assistance to their mistress and pledged their help in defending the manor.

The country folk so obviously liked and respected Belle that Jack realized they must know nothing of her years in London. For them, she was the lady of the manor who looked after them and their welfare.

Indeed, Jack thought as he watched her, was that not who she truly was?

But the respect she enjoyed was fragile. He had only to make a reference to her former life or an over-familiar gesture and the good reputation she’d won among these people would be damaged, perhaps irreparably—a fact she was too intelligent not to recognize. That she trusted him enough to risk driving him about touched and humbled him.

They ended their drive, as they had the previous day, at the arbor on the heights overlooking Bellehaven.

“Your tenants obviously hold you in great esteem—the highest mark of excellence in a landholder, my father used to tell me,” Jack said as they shared the wine she’d brought. “You’ve done a wonderful job at Bellehaven.”

“The land was already in good heart when I acquired it. And my father, too, preached the importance of valuing the land and the people who work upon it.”

Jack went instantly on the alert. “Your father held property?” he asked cautiously, wanting to encourage her without appearing too curious.

“No, he was a younger son, forced to make his own way in the world. It was his unrealized dream to earn the fortune that would allow him to purchase an estate like this.” She smiled wistfully. “I suppose he would be happy knowing I have—little as he’d approve the means.”

“He is no longer living?”

“No. He died when I was thirteen.”

“I’m sorry.” Jack waited, barely breathing. He wanted so badly for her to confide the rest, confirm what he only surmised. But as the silence stretched between them and she sat gazing into the far distance, a look of deep sadness on her face, his thirst for information evaporated.

“You must have loved him very much.”

She looked back, tears glimmering on her lashes. “I did. For years, the only thing that made the sorrow bearable was knowing he would never learn what I’d become.”

He’d be proud of you,
the thought sprang to Jack’s mind. Proud of the gallantry with which she’d met an unspeakable fate, the dignity she’d preserved throughout. Proud of how she’d never lost the essence of her true self and had eventually won her way free.

Jack
was proud of her and enthralled by her for those reasons and more. But she so obviously saw herself as damaged beyond redemption, would she think he mocked her were he to express his admiration?

While he debated whether or not to speak, she gave him a slight smile. “I suppose you’ve wondered how I came to be…what I am. And though you’ve discreetly made inquiries of my staff—” Jack felt his face burn at that all too correct assessment “—you’ve been too much the gentleman to ask directly. It’s not a time I like to remember. Mama died shortly after Papa and there was no money—nothing.”

“Did you have no other family?”

She closed her eyes briefly, as if the mere mention of “family” hurt. “There was…no one. I imagine you can guess what followed. In any event, the story is too long and tedious to recount.”

No relatives at all? Jack wondered, watching her intently. He couldn’t imagine anyone having absolutely no relations, however remote—unless her birth had been illegitimate or the result of a mésalliance so extreme that both families cut all ties to the lovers.

She sat straighter and wrapped her arms tightly around her shoulders, as if fighting off a chill—or withdrawing within herself. Even her voice grew distant. “Despite having no choice, I loathed myself for it. Though I suppose you would expect someone like me to excuse herself thus.”

He hesitated, wanting badly to say the right thing, something that would affirm his regard and bring her back. “I think you’re the bravest, finest woman I’ve ever known.”

The tribute that sprang so naturally and sincerely to his lips made her look back at him sharply—thinking he mocked her, perhaps?

“Truly, Belle. Have I ever lied to you?”

She studied him until, apparently taking him at his word, her lips curved in a rueful smile. “I trust you’ll never let your mother hear you say such a thing. But…but ’twas wondrous gallant and I thank you for it.”

Her smile faded and hesitantly she touched Jack’s hand. Over the years he’d been touched in many more carnal ways, but nothing had seemed as intimate as that tentative press of her fingers. Euphoric at having headed off her retreat, he impulsively linked his fingers with hers. To his further delight, she did not even try to pull free.

“Until very recently, I disdained the…urges that drive men. I understand them now, a little. I don’t find your touch…distasteful.”

Jack felt himself grinning. “I am glad of it.”

She smiled back. “You have been so good to me, so kind, I wish I could have responded as you’d like.”

“Oh, I dream that someday you may kiss me as you did last night and truly mean it.”

“You still want me, after the fool I made of myself?”

He looked at her squarely. “I want you with every breath. But I meant what I promised. I will not touch you unless you desire it as much as I do.”

Her eyes went blank, as if she were looking into the past. “I don’t think I’ll ever feel that sort of wanting.”

“If, as I suspect, you were forced into intimacy against your will, how could you know how beautiful it can be, a giving as well as a taking? Between two who share affection, a touching of hearts as well as bodies. It will be like that for us—or not at all.”

“It sounds beautiful.”

“It can be—with the right person.”

She was quiet for a moment, staring at their joined hands. “I’d like to experience that.”

“I’d love to show you. When you are ready.”

She looked back at him. “But how shall I know when I’m ready?”

Jack laughed, a bit unsteadily since merely discussing the possibility of loving her had his body fully aroused. “You will know.”

Abruptly she stretched up toward him, eyes closed and lips pursed. Surprised, Jack leaned away.

She opened her eyes and gazed up at him, her cheeks pinking. “I…I want to kiss you.”

“Truly?” he asked, not daring to believe in such good fortune. “Why?”

She stared up at his lips, then raised a finger and brushed it across them. A shiver ran through Jack and he barely suppressed a groan.

“I’ve never actually
wanted
to kiss a man before, but I want to know what kissing you will make me feel. I trust you to let me stop whenever I wish. So…may I kiss you?”

Swiftly Jack uttered a prayer that he would neither melt nor lose control. “Yes.”

He held himself absolutely still, feeling the pulse beat at his wrists, his temple, as she leaned up. The first touch of her lips against his was cautious, tentative, like the whisper of a spring breeze against his cheek, though he felt that gentle brush in every nerve.

It was just a kiss, something he’d previously considered a pleasant preliminary. He hadn’t imagined so simple a touch could so utterly rivet the mind and senses.

Then she clutched his shoulders and increased the pressure, exploring the contours of his mouth, her lips nuzzling his from the fullness at the center to the corners, her movements thrilling and touchingly naive.

Heaven, he thought, this is heaven, an erotic pleasure that transcended lust, one he wanted never to end. Until she shocked him with a flick of her tongue against his closed lips.

He gasped, then called on yet greater reserves of will as he opened his lips and let her slide the plush wetness of her tongue into his mouth.

His heart pounding as if he’d just received the command to charge the enemy lines, he ordered himself to remain motionless, despite the paroxysm of sensation spiraling through him. As agonizing as it was to feel the warmth of her body heating his skin, the pressure of her breasts against his chest, and yet remain motionless, he would not
devour her lips as he had the other night nor give her any reason to be frightened or retreat.

I trust you to let me stop.

And so he kept his rigidly fisted hands at his sides and let her kiss him, until finally, when he could stand it no longer, he permitted himself to meet her tongue with his own and gently explore the contours of her mouth. Even then, he let himself touch only her lips.

The piercing sweetness of it wrapped around his heart.

She was a courtesan, one reputed to know every skill imaginable to pleasure a man, a woman who’d been touched intimately in every way a woman could be touched—and yet she had never before, by her own admission, voluntarily kissed a man. Something deep within him ached for the innocence that had been ripped from her and the brutal, loveless knowledge that had been forced upon the unwilling mind and body of a defenseless young girl.

At the same time, he felt a purely masculine triumph that what she shared with him now, felt for him now, she had never shared or felt for any other, despite her years of carnal experience.

Showing her how much pleasure there could be in the touch of two people who treasured each other would be his privilege and his gift, even if he were fated never to share more than this kiss.