Mistress of Merrivale (23 page)

“Are you ticklish?”

“No.”

“I might check to see if you’re fibbing.”

He was no liar. He opened his mouth to remonstrate then flinched when she plucked his nipple between two fingers. Predictably, her touch echoed in his cock. She skimmed her fingers along his rib cage, seemingly satisfied when he didn’t squirm. She took her time, learning his body and his reactions in a way she hadn’t done to date. Leo discovered freedom in allowing her to take the lead. Joy. She nuzzled his neck, kissing and alternatively nipping his flesh, torturing him with sensual bites until he trembled like a green lad.

“God’s teeth, Jocelyn. Please take me inside you.”

Solemnly, she studied him. “I want to learn you.”

“We have plenty of time. Years to study each other.” The unspoken words—if he didn’t hang for murder—rang between them.

Her smile faltered before she rallied. “You haven’t given me leave to explore you before.”

“All you needed to do was ask.”

She squirmed down his body until he could feel her damp heat against the base of his shaft. Each time she moved, he bit his lip and steeled himself against taking the reins.

At last, she lifted her hips, and he sighed in relief. Finally. But once again, she surprised him, moving lower so she straddled his upper thighs. She gripped his cock firmly, sent him an impish grin and lowered her head. The air whooshed out of him as her mouth enclosed the tip. The wet heat seared him. Unable to hold completely still, he reached for her hair, gripping handfuls like an anchor. God, her mouth felt good—the lash of her tongue even better. With minimum effort, a few practiced moves, she hurled him toward ecstasy. His balls drew tight, aching in a bite of pleasure. Holding back took effort, and he trembled.

“Jocelyn, I’m going to spill in your mouth if you keep that up.”

She lifted her head, her mouth making a faint popping sound when she released his shaft. “I don’t think that would be a problem, Leo. I’ve already learned you care about pleasing your lovers, and give in return.”

“Lover,” he corrected, his voice stiff.

“Did you not say you took a lover once you knew your wife was unfaithful?” As she spoke, she maneuvered her body and guided him to her entrance. She pushed down, slowly impaling herself. Her brows rose, silently demanding an answer.

“One,” he said finally.

She nodded. “Understandable. And what happened to your lover?” She pressed down, taking him to the hilt, questioning him while he was at his weakest.

“I’d prefer not to discuss the matter.” He owed Anna his silence. She’d faced her brother’s wrath for him.

Jocelyn narrowed her gaze. “I applaud you on your discretion.” She lifted and settled again with a sigh, her breasts swaying, her delight in the sexual act evident. “Are you going to tell me more?”

“No. Cup your breasts. Pinch your nipples. I might reconsider if you tell me about your past.”

“Touché.” Her head tilted to the side, the shift of her weight repositioning her hair to screen one breast. “Do you like watching?”

“I like watching you.” A parade of faceless men marched through his mind before a focused blink scattered them to the winds.
Stupid.
He’d thought about jealousy and accepted her past. “You’re a beautiful woman.”

“I’m not beautiful.”

He caught her pained expression, the way she closed down and her hands dropped away from her breasts. She stopped moving. “Hannah is beautiful. Arabella is beautiful.”

His mind fixed on a truth. While he was experiencing jealousy, she was in an equally challenging position. One of uncertainty, and now wondering if she’d married a murderer. As a man, he had the power to set her aside and withdraw his support. If anything, her risk was greater than his. Because of her responsibility for her mother, she had more to lose.

“You’re beautiful to me.” He tugged on a lock of her red hair and smiled. Her internal muscles flexed, caressing his shaft and shooting a burst of pleasure to the depths of his body. “Your red hair reminds me of sunsets. I like to kiss and lick the scatters of freckles on your face and chest because they remind me of tart spices. And I like you, Jocelyn. Always.”

Doubt still marked her solemn face, so he hooked his hand around her neck, dragged her down and kissed her, using all the experience he’d acquired through the years. After seconds of resistance, she melted. She made a soft
woof
of sound, kissing him hard in return, her hands clenching his shoulders. When she finally lifted her head, passion darkened her eyes. Her delight sparkled in her blue eyes, lighting her features with mischief. She started to move again, rising and falling above him. His gaze drifted down to her breasts. They bounced in a delightful manner, grabbing his appreciative attention.

“Touch yourself.”

Her measured rise and fall faltered.

“Do it,” he insisted.

“It’s not ladylike.”

“I don’t want a lady in my bed.”

“Are you sure about that?” Her grin suffered under restraint, dimming the joy in her eyes, and he wanted it back.

“Jocelyn, I want you.”

To his relief, her tension receded as she appeared to come to a decision. She caressed his hip and increased her pace. Leo had trouble biting back a groan at the incredible friction massaging his rod. Heat rampaged through him. His balls ached so much he had to grit his teeth against the throb of pain.

“Jocelyn.” A plea full of emotion.

She sucked in a breath. Her fingers trailed down her thighs and slipped between her nether lips. She stroked firmly, and on the down strokes, he felt the pressure of her finger on the base of his cock. It was too much. Not enough. He caught his breath, releasing it on a moan as pleasure flooded his body. He was vaguely aware of breathy sounds emerging from Jocelyn. The flush on her cheeks intensified. Her eyes squeezed tight, and he felt the rhythmic pulse of her, clutching his shaft. Finally, she stilled and her eyes opened.

“Come here,” he said softly.

She fell against him, and he wrapped his arms around her, peace rippling through him. His instinct to join her had been a good one. While they still didn’t know each other well, the bedroom was a place where they were well-matched. At the very least it would bring the possibility of a child closer. A baby would tie them together because he knew, without a doubt, no matter what she might think of him, Jocelyn would never walk away from a child.

Chapter Twelve

He was gone when Jocelyn woke, and it left her wondering if she’d imagined the entire thing. Only the faint bruise on her left breast and her naked state gave her proof of his visit. She slid off the bed, ignored the twinge of sore muscles, and started to wash briskly with a cloth and cold water. She frowned, still uncertain if he’d told her the truth. Even so, it’d be best if no one suspected Leo’s visit.

Susan knocked on the door and entered. Two steps into the room, she came to an abrupt halt, her right hand clasping her breast. Her mouth formed into an O of surprise when she spied Jocelyn’s unbound hair.

“I’ll wear my blue floral gown today, Susan.” Jocelyn glanced at her looking glass and barely suppressed a wince. Her hair resembled a stork’s nest.

“Yes, Mrs. Sherbourne.”

If Leo was in jail this morning, she’d know he spoke the truth about Captain Cartwright believing him innocent. But if she discovered Leo had lied, she’d inform on him herself. Jocelyn took the opportunity to finish washing, new resolve pouring through her now that she had a purpose. She picked up her brush, but Susan returned with her gown and undergarments before she could restore her hair to tidiness.

“Did you have a restless night, Mrs. Sherbourne?”

“Yes,” Jocelyn said, hating that Leo was turning her to subterfuge. Leo…drat the man. She didn’t know what to think. Last night he’d soothed some of her concerns. It was when she was alone or when other people spoke of him that her doubts returned.

She noticed Susan eyeing the faint bruise on her breast. “I think I’ll dress first. I’m feeling chilly today.” She gave a theatrical shiver and stood to allow Susan to help her don her chemise.

Susan dressed her with her normal efficiency, and Jocelyn chattered aimlessly, but the tightening of her maid’s lips and her increasingly short replies told of Susan’s suspicions. She thought Jocelyn was conducting an affair. If only she knew.

After breaking her fast, Jocelyn began her plans for the festival, glad of the task to keep her mind busy. She requested a meeting with Mrs. Green. They retreated to the parlor to go through the notes Leo’s mother had made regarding previous festivals.

“Mrs. Sherbourne liked to have games and contests.” Mrs. Green actually smiled. “She didn’t like drunken revels and kept everyone occupied before serving the feast.”

The parlor door burst open, striking the wall with a noisy thump.

“You can’t do this!” Hannah stormed into the room. “You can’t hold the festival at Merrivale.”

Mrs. Green started, sending papers flying. She shot to her feet, a dull tide of color flooding her cheeks. A snap of annoyance showed in her dark eyes as she retrieved the papers and reclaimed her seat.

“There is nothing to stop you from holding a festival.” Jocelyn didn’t understand why Hannah was so determined. Maybe she wanted to take credit for the organization.

“Thank you for being so understanding. I’ll let the vicar know.” Hannah beamed, becoming gracious with her perceived victory.

Jocelyn rose, not wanting to feel at a disadvantage with Hannah looming over her. Standing, she had several inches over the other woman. “No, you misunderstand. I intend to revert to tradition and host the villagers and neighbors here at Merrivale. Your course of action is up to you.”

“You can’t. I—”

“This is pointless.” Jocelyn drew herself up, unwilling to let Hannah push her into emotional turmoil. “I will not change my mind. Our people work hard, and I wish to show my gratitude for their service and loyalty.” Jocelyn strode over to the door and waited. When Hannah stood rooted to the ground, Jocelyn tapped an impatient foot, stirring the hem of her gown with a sharp rustle. “Hannah?”

“You haven’t heard the last of this,” Hannah spat, and she flounced from the parlor, muttering obscenities under her breath.

Mrs. Green
tut-tutted
at the etiquette breach.

“What happened last year?”

“I didn’t attend since my sister was sick and I was busy nursing her back to health. From what I understand there were many strangers present—friends of the Richards’. They arrived two days before the festival and, from all accounts, behaved like drunken louts. I can’t say if the local women were willing or not. Many of them ended up with child. The visitors picked fights with the locals. The evening ended in a nasty brawl.”

“I suppose that’s why the vicar wishes us to host the festival,” Jocelyn said.

“That is my supposition, Mrs. Sherbourne.”

“Although with the gossip about Mr. Sherbourne, I wonder how many locals will attend.”

“Curiosity will bring them,” Mrs. Green said, speaking plainly.

Jocelyn settled back in her chair with a sigh. “I think you’re right. Perhaps we should get back to our plans. Is there any mention of games for children?”

An hour later, Jocelyn and Mrs. Green concluded their meeting, their strategy for the festival well underway.

Jocelyn went to check on her mother.

“Tilly, how is Mother this morning?”

Her mother bolted upright in her bed. “I’m not an invalid. Georgina, tell Tilly I can get out of bed.”

Every time her mother called her Georgina, Jocelyn’s heart fractured a little more. She forced a smile to cover the hurt. “It’s another lovely day. Would you like to go for a walk in the garden this afternoon?”

Her mother beamed and let out a cry of delight. “I want to make a special lemon wash for Charlotte’s hair. She has such pretty hair. Unfortunately, there is nothing I can do with your hair. That red is beyond my help.”

“Of course, Mother.” A rush of tears stung Jocelyn’s eyes, and she blinked rapidly. Her mother was confused and didn’t mean to wound. She withdrew and hurried to the opposite wing and the haven of her chamber. By the time she closed her door and leaned against the hard wood, tears poured down her cheeks. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed for the mother she used to know, the one who scolded her when she played in the mud with the village children. The one who held her after she fell and scraped her knee. The one who disapproved of her life as a courtesan even as she ignored the fact Jocelyn’s father had gambled away his daughter’s virginity. She cried for her mother of old.

The days passed, turning into weeks. Leo grew increasingly worried as the end of the month neared. Despite staking out the abbey, not a soul ventured near the ruins in the dead of the night. From his hilltop position, he glared down at the silent pillars, the piles of glowing gray stones revealed whenever the moon peeked from behind a cloud.

“The next quarter session takes place soon. The justice of the peace will be here in less than three weeks.”

Cartwright’s disclosure shot ice through his veins. “You could always let me escape,” Leo said.