Pride and Pleasure (21 page)

When he notched himself at her clenching opening, she trembled. With a groan, he thrust, pushing his thickly veined cock deep into her.

“Eliza.”
His arms tightened around her, crushing the air from her lungs and immobilizing her against him.

She clawed at his back, writhing. The heat of his skin burned through the linen and velvet of his garments.

“Please,” she begged, quivering around him.
“Please.”

Jasper gripped her hips, lifting and dropping her. Working her onto his rigid length. Pumping her up and down. Grinding and screwing deep.

Eliza sobbed with the pleasure. “Yes!”

“I will addict you to this,” he promised in a dark, dangerously rough voice. “Addict you to me. Soon, you’ll seek me out in public, unable to wait another moment. You will lift your skirts and beg for my mouth on you, my tongue in you. In the extremity of your lust, you won’t care where we are. You will crave the taste of me. You will sink to your knees and service me with your mouth, sucking my cock until I spill into you, thick and hot and mad with hunger.”

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, eyes closing as he surged repeatedly inside her. The feeling was incredible. She would never have enough of it. The stroking of the furled underside of his crown rubbed deliciously, finding her most sensitive nerve endings and setting them afire.

He slid inside her, deeply, filling her with the heat and hardness of him. Filling her with pleasure that made her arch wildly. His possession was indescribably erotic. As addicting as he threatened.

He withdrew, and she felt empty. He returned, and she bit her lip to hold back cries that would betray their actions to a multitude of guests.

But Jasper would abide no restraint. “Let me hear you,” he coaxed. “Let me hear how much you want this.”

His free hand cupped her thigh, opening her wider so that he could thrust deeper. Swiveling his hips, he worked her into a frenzy with ruthless skill, making her insensate with lust and hungry for more. Always more. As much as he gave her, it wasn’t enough.

Eliza gasped and dug her nails into the flexing muscles of his back. The horrors of the day created a sharp urgency. “Finish me.”

“Too soon,” he ground out, sweat dripping down his temple.

“We have forever to go slower. Don’t make me wait now.”

He crushed her to him. “I love you. Eliza . . . love you.”

She climaxed with a force that left her shaking. Jasper followed swiftly, his hips ramming upward with ferocious speed. She felt his climax building, felt the tensing of his muscles and the frantic heaving of his powerful chest. When he came, it was violent, his thick penis jerking inside her with every molten spurt of his seed. Her name fell brokenly from his lips until she kissed him, swallowing the sounds of his pleasure with unconditional love in her heart.

 

They were married an hour later. Aside from the parson, who was flushed and happy with drink, it was a somber wedding. If the stamp of Jasper’s passion was evident in Eliza’s appearance, no one said anything to her, and she was certain Regina would have.

Jasper’s hair was still damp when he said his vows. He’d sent the Crouches back to his home to retrieve fresh clothes, then bathed in a guest bedroom to save time.

Fewer than a dozen people witnessed the short ceremony. The celebration afterward was equally abridged, since everyone had been present for hours by the time the vows were said.

Eliza wore a new cream-hued satin gown with fine lace sleeves and bodice. It was cut and fashioned in the latest style, the first of many that would assist her transformation. She intended to enhance what beauty God had given her, using every weapon in her feminine arsenal to please her husband and deepen his love for her.

 

When the time came to retire, Jasper was relieved. Eliza led him to her suite of rooms with his hand in hers.

“I have something for you,” he said, when they were alone.

“Oh.” She bit her lower lip. “I did not think of a wedding gift for you.”

“You’re all the gift I need.” He reached into the inner pocket of his coat and withdrew a lady’s signet ring.

He held his hand out for hers, slipping the golden circlet onto the ring finger of her right hand. “It was my mother’s.”

Eliza looked up at him with luminous eyes. “Thank you.”

He nodded and shrugged out of his coat. “Would you care for a drink?” he asked solicitously. Having taken her body so peremptorily earlier, he intended to savor her now.

“No. I want you.”

Satisfaction surged through him. His chest expanded on a deep inhale. His blood thickened and flowed hotly. “Have you no reservations? No questions?”

“Why are you still talking?” She presented her back to him.

“Will you always surprise me?” He approached her and reached for the first button of her gown.

“Haven’t we had enough unpleasantness for one day? Tomorrow is soon enough to address the rest.”

He pressed his lips to her shoulder, grateful for her.

Her head turned, and her gaze met his. “If you’d gone to the jeweler’s today instead of Lynd . . .”

“Eliza . . .”

She pivoted into his arms, catching his mouth with her own in a fervent, awkward kiss. He caught her close, lifting her feet from the floor. Her slender arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers pushed into his hair in the way that never failed to inflame him.

“I want you naked,” she breathed, making his cock hard. “I want to touch you everywhere, and your clothing makes that impractical.”

“We cannot have impracticality in our bedroom,” he said, biting back a smile. Setting her down on the edge of the mattress, Jasper stepped back. He attacked the buttons of his waistcoat.

Eliza’s tongue traced the curve of her bottom lip. “Take your time.”

“You like to watch.”

“I like to watch
you
,” she amended. “You are everything I find beautiful, and sexual, and desirable.”

He had no idea what to say to that, how to tell her what her candor meant to him. He could only slow the process of undressing, maintaining eye contact with her, allowing her to see how much he loved her. When the last stitch was shed, he straightened and waited for her to tell him what to do next. He’d taken what he needed earlier, and she’d given it to him without hesitation. Only the second time in her life that she’d had a man inside her and he’d been too overwrought to show her the gentleness she deserved. Now, it was his turn to give her what she needed.

“I’m overdressed,” she said, toeing off her slippers. Her slim legs dangled off the end of the bed.

“What would you like me to do about that?”

“Undress me. But much more quickly than you bared yourself.”

Jasper set his hands at her waist and helped her off the mattress. He resumed his task of unfastening her buttons, working quickly. The wedding gown was set aside with reverence, but the sheer chemise and pantalettes were left to puddle on the floor. Enamored with her softly freckled skin, he wrapped himself around her, his arms tucked under hers and his knees bent to accommodate her shorter stature. With one hand cupping a breast and the other tangling with the dark red curls between her legs, he owned her passion completely.

She purred with pleasure, her head falling back against his shoulder. “I love your hands on me. They are so big and strong, callused and warm.”

“A tradesman’s hands.” He traced the delicately pink shell of her ear with his tongue.

“The only hands that will ever touch me this way.”

Scissoring his fingers, he parted the lips of her sex, exposing the hood shielding her clitoris. “Will I find you wet?”

She began to pant as he rolled her nipple between his fingers. Her stance widened in invitation for a deeper caress. “Yes . . . You linger in me from earlier.”

The thought of her drenched in his semen swelled his already heavy erection. He pushed his cock between her thighs, growling at the slickness that coated him.

“Let me,” he coaxed, urging her to fold forward over the edge of the bed.

There was a slight tension in her lithe frame. Then she relaxed and lay facedown, presenting the lush curve of her beautiful buttocks. He cupped them, squeezing their fullness.

Reaching between her legs, he urged her to pull one leg up and onto the mattress, her thigh perpendicular to her body, opening her completely. He cupped her there, too, possessively. “I love you.”

She rested her cheek on the counterpane and closed her eyes. “Say it again.”

He took himself in hand, notching his cockhead into the tiny entrance to her silken cunt. “I love you.”

With a slow roll of his hips, he pushed the fat crown into the fist-tight glove of her. Her fingers dug into the velvet and her low moan stirred his blood.

“My wife,” he breathed, pushing inexorably deeper.

Eliza arched her back like a cat, which caused the tiny little muscles inside her to squeeze him. The pleasure of those rippling embraces, the sensation of being lured deeper into her . . . A deep groan escaped him. Hunching over her, Jasper worked his cock into her with quick shallow judders, sliding through quivering tissues until he hit the end of her, refusing to risk either of them climaxing until they were completely connected.

Her breath hitched.

“So deep . . .” she slurred.

He withdrew a few inches, then thrust, going even deeper. She hugged him at the root, clasping his throbbing cock in liquid heat. Catching her by the shoulder, he held her in place and rode her with long, leisurely thrusts. His bollocks smacked against her damp cleft in a steady, erotic rhythm. Eliza whimpered with every weighty tap against her clitoris, her nails leaving visible trails in the counterpane, the curls around her face growing damp with perspiration.

When the pressure to blow grew dangerously high, Jasper would pause at the deepest point of her and grind, whispering soothing words as she climaxed around him. Sweat soaked his hair and matted his chest, a visible sign of the restraint required to remain rock hard and full to bursting to please her.

Time passed, and Jasper lost track of it, as he always did when he was with Eliza. He knew only that she came so many times her fingers no longer had the strength to clutch the counterpane, and the cries she made as the pleasure hit were weak-as-a-kitten mewls.

It was her hoarse-voiced “I love you” that finished him.

With his cheek pressed against her glorious hair and his arms wrapped beneath her, he filled her with hot, wrenching pulses of the lust that sprang from a deeper source. From a well of hope and love inside him he hadn’t known was there until she made him whole.

E
liza was perusing the morning’s papers at the breakfast table when Vanessa Chilcott appeared. Her stepsister was dressed in the housekeeper’s clothes—a high-neck shirt that was slightly too snug around the breasts and a skirt that was a tad too long—but she carried herself with unassailable dignity.

“Good morning,” Eliza greeted her, before returning to reading the reports of the fire the day prior.

“Good morning, Miss Martin.”

It took a few moments for Eliza to realize the other woman was rooted to one spot. Frowning, she peeked over the top of the page. She gestured toward the console against the wall where plates and covered platters waited. “The food is there. Please help yourself to whatever you like.”

As if all she’d needed was permission, Vanessa nodded and moved to serve herself. When she was finished and settled at the table, she said, “Congratulations on your wedding yesterday.”

Eliza bit her lower lip and set the paper down. “Should I have asked you to attend? I was unsure after the events at the store and the discovery of our . . . relation to one another, whether I should or not.”

Vanessa blinked. She stared at Eliza in the manner most people did when they comprehended how little she knew about etiquette.

“Good morning, ladies,” Jasper said as he entered the room. His stride was easy and inherently sensual, with a touch of leisure as if time was no concern. “My wife is blessed with an extraordinarily pragmatic nature, Miss Chilcott. She rarely means offense when she observes—or does not observe, as the case may be—certain social mores.”

Nodding, Vanessa watched as Jasper walked the length of the room to where Eliza sat at the far end. There was blatant appreciation in the blonde’s eyes, a knowing understanding of what type of man he was—ruthlessly deliberate and dangerously sexual. Eliza imagined it would be impossible for any red-blooded woman to be immune to him. After all, as oblivious as she’d personally been toward men, she hadn’t failed to want him either.

“I took no offense,” Vanessa assured. “I’m grateful to have had a roof over my head last night.”

Eliza shrugged. “It was the most reasonable course of action to have you stay here. You lost more than I did in the fire.”

Jasper set one hand on the table and the other on the back of Eliza’s chair. Bending, he kissed her temple and whispered, “I had need of you this morning, madam. In the future, you should order a tray brought to our rooms.”

Her breath caught. Jasper had displayed a marked insatiability throughout the night, waking her repeatedly to take her again and again. On her back. Sprawled on her stomach. Arranged on her side. With her heels in the air or her thighs between his. Deep and shallow, hard and soft, pounding possessions and slow, endless glides . . . His repertoire of sensual delights was vast, and she suspected he’d shown her only a smidgeon of what he was capable of.

As he straightened, she turned her head, impulsively pressing her lips to his. He stiffened in surprise, then gave an encouraging hum, remaining still as she kissed him sweetly. When she withdrew, Jasper’s smile curled her toes. He traced the bridge of her nose with his fingertip, then he stepped away to fetch his own plate.

Bolstered by his presence and verbal support, Eliza took a deep breath and turned her focus to her stepsister. Vanessa’s attention was firmly on her food, her eyes downcast as if to say she couldn’t possibly be aware of the scandalous behavior taking place at the other end of the long room.

Vanessa cleared her throat. “Whether or not it was reasonable to provide lodging to a tenant who lied on her application is debatable, I think. I doubt many would have done so.”

“But you are not simply a tenant,” Eliza pointed out. “You are my stepsister.”

A wry smile twisted Vanessa’s lips. “Which is more of a detriment than an endorsement, is it not?”

Jasper pulled out the chair at the foot of the table, which was directly to Eliza’s right, and sat.

Eliza nodded, seeing no point in being untruthful.

“Unfalteringly candid,” Vanessa said. “My father quite enjoyed that about you, Miss Martin. He said it was freeing. It inspired him to be a better man.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but he never mentioned you.”

One blond brow rose. “When did you give him the opportunity?”

Eliza opened her mouth, then shut it again.

“Exactly.” Vanessa carefully sliced into her black pudding with her knife. “I don’t blame you. You are astute, and you knew straightaway that he pursued your mother for the fortune left by your father. It’s all true what they say about us Chilcotts.”

Nonplussed, Eliza glanced at Jasper, whose face was austere and gave away none of his thoughts.

“See this?” Vanessa set down her utensils and held out her hand. She pointed to a reddish birthmark that rested over the back of her wrist. “My grandmother once told me you could spot the rotten fruit in our family tree because we all bear this ‘bruise.’ ”

“I see,” Eliza said.

“What you do not see, however, is that even bruised fruit sometimes has salvageable parts. In my father’s case, it was his heart. He courted your mother for her money; he married her because he loved her.”

Eliza’s hands linked together on the table. “If he’d truly cared for her, he would have been a positive influence.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Vanessa agreed. “But love is not reasonable. Love is wanting to see the other person as happy as possible as often as possible. Leastwise that’s how my father viewed love. As you know, it wasn’t an easy task keeping Lady Georgina happy. If he cared for her not at all, he could have had her committed. Or he could have taken her to the country and left her there. Or the Continent. Perhaps she might have taken a liking to America—”

“I understand what you’re saying.”

Jasper reached over and set one hand atop both of Eliza’s.

“I think you should know,” Vanessa continued, “
you
were a positive influence on my father, who in turn extolled the virtues of respectable living to me. He’s the one who convinced me I could make an honest living.”

Eliza was at a loss as to how to handle the conversation. What could she say that wasn’t already known to Vanessa? “I’m sorry my difficulties with Mr. Reynolds spilled over into your life.”

Vanessa shrugged. “I blame my surname for Mr. Reynolds’s actions against my shop, not you. I believe he rented the space to me with the intention of extorting from me whatever money he thought I intended to extort from you. When I caught him igniting the paraffin, he said, ‘Don’t worry. I can still ensure you see a profit from your plans.’ That was when I hit him with the poker.”

“Dear God.”

“I must have seemed like the kindest of fates to him, falling so neatly into his lap through no effort on his part. A Chilcott to use as another means to garner more of your money.”

Jasper looked at Eliza. “By distracting you with the fire and removing me with a bullet, Reynolds likely hoped his services would seem even more valuable. In the process, he would have discredited Mr. Bell and cast suspicion on Montague, ensuring those avenues no longer seemed viable to you.”

“He had no way of knowing,” she murmured, loving him all the more, “that you would forsake a chance to thwart Montague in favor of me.”

He squeezed her hand.

Eliza glanced at Vanessa. “What will you do now?”

“I’ve spent much of my life making decisions based upon my surname. Even when taking a new direction, I did so by comparing it to the known alternative, which is still allowing the name to define me. No more. The store was a lovely dream, but I’m not certain it was
my
dream.”

“I should like for you to stay here in the interim,” Eliza said, startling herself.

“Another Martin inviting another Chilcott to live under her roof?”

“The parallel did not even occur to me.” She’d made the decision impulsively and from the heart.

Jasper offered an encouraging smile.

“When you’re finished,” she said to him, “I would like to speak to you privately.”

“Of course.”

Robbins appeared in the open dining room doorway, bearing a calling card. He crossed the length of the room and set the silver salver in the space between Eliza and Jasper. “The Earl of Westfield has come to call.”

“Send him in,” Jasper said.

A moment later, Westfield entered the room, looking windblown and dashing for it.

“Good morning,” he called out to the room at large, but his eyes were on Vanessa. “How fortunate. I haven’t yet eaten.”

“You’re late, my lord,” Jasper drawled.

“I cannot remember the last time I was out of bed at this hour. Only for you would I be conscious.”

“Perhaps you should consider retiring to bed earlier, my lord,” Vanessa said.

“What fun is there in that, Miss Chilcott?”

Vanessa kept her gaze on her plate. “That would be dependent upon who else is in the bed.”

Jasper glanced at Eliza. His dark eyes were laughing. “My wife and I must adjourn, but please, enjoy yourself.”

Westfield smiled. “I intend to.”

 

“I wonder if I should warn Miss Chilcott about Westfield,” Jasper said, as he and Eliza ascended the steps to her rooms.

“And here I was wondering if Westfield needed a similar warning.” She smiled and there was an openness to the gesture that nearly caused Jasper to miss a step. “However, I think they are well-matched. Neither will gain much advantage with the other, I suspect. Although it’s clear Westfield is hoping otherwise.”

“He has an eye for beautiful women.”

She looked aside at him. “Just so long as you do not.”

“I cannot agree to that, I’m afraid. You see, there is a beautiful woman who shares my life, and I could never agree not to have an eye for her.”

They entered her boudoir, and Jasper expected they would retire to the bedroom. They were newly wedded, after all. But Eliza sat on one of the sitting-room settees and arranged her striped skirts as if settling in for a not inconsiderable length of time. Her assertive nose was lifted high and her jaw was set.

Recognizing the signs of determination, Jasper shrugged out of his coat. “I’m impressed with how the conversation between you and Miss Chilcott progressed.”

“I understand what she means in regards to allowing exterior forces to define us. For so long, I allowed my frustration with my mother to define me and my choices.” She took a deep breath and said, “Even when it came to marrying you.”

He took a seat beside her. “Whatever concerns you had about repeating your mother’s mistakes were bravely managed. You would not be wearing my ring otherwise.”

Eliza watched him lift her hand to his lips and press a kiss to her ruby and diamond wedding ring. “But you see, as determined as I was not to marry because of my mother, when I reversed my position it was also because of her. I became so determined that she wouldn’t be the reason I refused you, that she became the reason I accepted you.”

Unsure of where the conversation was going and certain he didn’t like hearing she’d wed him for any other reason than loving him, Jasper retained his light hold on her hand. “What are you saying?”

“Mr. Reynolds attempted to sway me against you, and even when he relayed information meant to incite doubt and concern, I dismissed my own disquiet because not marrying you had taken on the meaning of giving my mother a victory.” Her fingers tightened on his. “Do you understand?”

“I think I do. Do you still have those concerns and doubts?” He rubbed his chest with his free hand, fighting the restriction he’d begun to feel.

She smiled. “No.”

Jasper had to focus on relaxing his jaw. “Did you ever believe, for even a moment, that I wanted to marry you solely to prevent Montague from attaining your fortune? Did you believe I might utilize your fortune to ensure he could not climb out of the hole he dug for himself?”

“I want you to take whatever amount is required to achieve your aims,” she said quietly. “Use whatever you need.”

He stared at her, speechless.

“What nearly happened yesterday,” she went on, “with Anne Reynolds and the failed ambush . . . It was your past defining you. I couldn’t give myself fully to our marriage until I released myself from my mother’s influence. The same applies to you.”

Jasper stood in a rush. “My mother came to London for the Season. She was a diamond of the first water. She had her pick of husbands.”

“But she fell prey to the late Earl of Montague?”

Her gentle tone nearly undid him. He’d never shared his mother’s tale with anyone. Lynd knew it only because he’d borne witness to it.

“Yes.” Jasper shoved a hand through his hair. “Unlike the young lady we heard in the Cranmores’ garden the other night, my mother went willingly to Montague’s bed.”

“Jane Rothschild,” she supplied.

“But like Jane Rothschild, my mother became pregnant.” He began to pace. “When Montague refused to offer for her, she had to tell her brother. Lord Gresham’s response was to disown her.”

“Her own sibling . . . Is that why you don’t bear his name?”

“I changed it legally. He left her in the city when he retired to Ireland, Eliza. She had nowhere to turn.”

“I cannot imagine.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Being so helpless.”

He spoke more harshly than he intended. “And yet you freely offer me the means by which you are independent?”

She met his gaze unflinchingly. “You’re angry with me for offering my support?”

“No. Damnation. I’m angry at Montague for placing money between us!” He reached the wall and pivoted. “My mother turned to him. Begged him. He made her his mistress, then boasted to one and all that he’d reduced the Season’s brightest star to being his whore. When his luck in the gambling hells ran out and his debts mounted, someone offered to take a night with my mother as payment.”