The Earl's Secret (9 page)

Good grief,
Jennifer thought,
she's flirting with him!

She shot up out of her chair. “Mother, why don't you head on out for lunch. You need a break, and I'll take care of things here.” She needed to know why Christopher was here. Although she couldn't believe it had anything to do with her, she didn't want witnesses around to see the look of disappointment on her face when he confirmed that.

“I have a better idea,” he said. “I'll take both of you out for lunch, or for dinner if the first isn't possible.”

Evelyn glowed. “Oh, that is very nice of you,” she said, then produced a soap-opera frown. “But I'm afraid both of us can't leave at the same time. We're terribly busy today.”

Jennifer stared suspiciously at her mother. Not a
half dozen people had walked through the door all morning!

“That's too bad,” Christopher said. “Perhaps dinner?”

Evelyn pouted. “I'm sorry. I have plans for the evening.”

Jennifer's eyes narrowed another notch. The grandest plans her mother ever had involved a night of bridge at her friend Bertha's house.

Christopher turned back to Jennifer. “Then I guess it's just you and me, luv.”

“But I can't leave my mother here without—”

“I'm fine, I'm fine. You two run along. I have
my salad
for lunch.” She shot Jennifer a knowing look.

Jennifer sighed. The two of them had never met before, and already they were plotting against her. “Just let me get my jacket,” she muttered.

They walked down Charles Street toward the waterfront. The fall air was crisp and pleasant. Store windows displayed pumpkins and Indian corn. At last Jennifer worked up the nerve to speak.

“Why are you here?”

“Business,” Christopher replied quickly.

“Really?”

He rolled his eyes thoughtfully. “I suppose that might be stretching the truth. At first it was a matter of providence. Sandra notified me that she was taking Lisa out of the country, and I felt at loose ends.”

“I see.”

“I started thinking that I hadn't taken a holiday in years.”

“And you work so hard that you needed a break from castle life,” she commented dryly.

“Don't be a smart aleck, it doesn't suit you.”

“Then why?”

“I felt like a cad for playing the role of aristocrat to your Eliza Doolittle,” he admitted. “I was showing off, taking you to a polo match and party where I knew the crowd would be a snooty one. I wanted you to be put off. I was wrong to do that.”

“You were merely demonstrating the differences between us. I was convinced and left for home.”

“I don't think a title and money really matter when it comes to—” He struggled for the right words.

“Affairs of the heart?”

“Yes. When it comes to whatever draws a man and a woman together.” His eyes were intensely blue, demanding that she not turn away.

They crossed Charles Street, then Light Street and walked in silence along the row of chic restaurants and boutiques circling the harbor. Jennifer thought nothing of the sights, but she was aware of Christopher's every move. His arm slipped warmly around her waist as they walked. She stepped sideways and out of his reach. Her mind whirled with a hundred doubts. What did he want from her?

“It hurt when you made so little of what happened between us,” she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear above city noises.

“It was wrong of me. I'm sorry.”

She took deep breaths of the moist air, trying to unravel her own emotions while figuring out his. “So you flew to America to apologize for being a jerk?”

He smiled down at her. “Something like that. Maybe more.”

“To take me out to dinner as penance?”

“More.” He was smiling broadly now.

She frowned suspiciously up at him.

He took a quick sidestep, coiled his arm around her a second time and brought her firmly against his hip to prevent her from escaping. She was vividly reminded of the intimacy they had shared.

“I won't sleep with you again,” she stated decisively.

“I have no intention of asking for a second one-night stand.”

“By definition, that's impossible.” She felt just a little smug. If she was able to banter with him, even though her entire nervous system was in chaos, maybe it was going to be okay!

“I want us to find a way to be together,” he said.

Jennifer stopped walking. She stared up at Christopher in disbelief. “You can't be serious.”

“I am. Totally. You're a fascinating and beautiful woman, Jenny. I can't stop thinking about you.”

She turned away from him to look out across the harbor. A seagull landed a few feet away and eyed them hopefully before deciding their intent wasn't to feed him.

“You're just saying that because I'm a challenge. The distance, geographically. The distance between us socially. I'm not like your other women, so I'm—” She shrugged, feeling muddled, dizzy. “I don't know what I am to you. An appealing oddity?”

“No!” he snapped. Gripping her shoulders, he turned her to face him. “Tell me the name of the best restaurant in this city. I'll take you to lunch and we'll talk. Just please hear me out.”

She didn't answer him. She couldn't.

“Jennifer, I've come all this way, and I've told you I don't often leave my little island. You can at least allow me to say my piece.”

Every instinct shouted at her to run like hell. She had suffered heartbreak once, and that had come after being with him for only a few days and sleeping with him once. What excruciating level of pain would she be letting herself in for if she committed herself to a real relationship with the earl of Winchester?

“Hamptons, the dining room at the Harbor Court Hotel.” She made a face at him. “You're the only person I actually know who can afford to eat there. But anything you say won't make a difference.”

He laughed. “Ah—I love a challenge!”

His lightheartedness was a pretense, but he hoped she wouldn't see through it. In the anxious moments before he had walked into the travel agency, he had feared immediate rejection. Even now, as they walked into the hotel, he wondered if the trip had been pointless. What if he bared his soul to her and she still turned him down?

They were seated by the maître d' at a window overlooking the harbor. After the sommelier had brought a crisp Chardonnay to their table, Christopher plunged in.

“You already know my reasons for staying in Britain. Because of Lisa, I can't live anywhere else.”

“I know that,” she said softly, sipping her wine.

“And this is your home and where your business is.”

“You made that point some time ago, on another continent.”

She wasn't making this easy on him, but he didn't blame her. Admittedly, he had treated her badly. Christopher leaned across the table. “Jennifer, I'm trying to say that I want you in my life, although making that happen won't be easy.”

Her pale-green eyes turned a watery gray. “I'm not sure that's what I want.”

He was stunned. “You don't feel that we have something special?”

“I didn't say that. I'm just not convinced that pursuing a relationship now would be worth the risk for either of us.”

He reached for her fingertips and held on when he sensed she might pull away. “I don't understand. Are you afraid I'll want out again?”

She lifted her chin and looked him directly in the eyes. “Not immediately, but yes…eventually.”

“How can you know that?”

“Because your whole life revolves around wealth, pursuing it and protecting it.” She desperately wanted him to understand. “I saw you enthusiastically collecting your winnings after the polo match. As much money as you already have, you were thrilled to be raking in more.”

“But it wasn't for—”

“No, let me finish,” she insisted, emotions bubbling within her she couldn't hold back. “You don't know me, Chris. You can't understand how disturbing seeing you like that was for me. My father chased pretty women and gambled away every penny he could get his hands on. He could have chosen a good, honest life with me and my mother. Instead he risked everything on his vices.”

Christopher frowned. “You believe we're of the same ilk?”

Solemnly she nodded. “I remember how charming Daddy could be. I remember the way my mother looked at him—her eyes full of him. She was devoted
to the man, heart and soul. When I'm around you, I feel the way she looked.”

Jennifer sat back in her chair, pulling her fingertips free of his. She forced herself to take slow, calming breaths.

“And that's the only reason you won't consider being with me?”

She lifted one shoulder in a gesture of concurrence. “Isn't that enough?”

“Don't you ever look beneath the surface of a person?” Christopher demanded in a low, angry voice. He didn't like being misjudged. He might not have always been an angel. Lisa was living proof. But he wasn't as bad as she imagined.

“Of course I do!” she objected with a huff.

“If a prospective client can't afford luxury accommodations, you don't refuse to do business with him. Right?”

“Right.”

“Then why discriminate against a man born to money?”

“It's not the being
born
to it that matters,” she argued.

“What then?”

“Well, you don't work at all. You play rich men's games and tinker with a castle.”

“I spend a good thirty or more hours out of every week administering my daughter's school, raising funds for it and for other schools that take in indigent children.”

She frowned at him. “You do?”

“Remember the wagers I was collecting at the party?”

“Yes,” she admitted hesitantly.

“I always bet on the outcome of my polo matches. I work bloody hard to win because the stakes are high. If my team does win, the losers make their checks out to one of the schools I support. If we lose, I have to postpone some of my restoration projects at Donan.”

Her eyes widened at that. “Oh.” She looked away from him, nibbling pensively at her lower lip.

Good, he thought, she was beginning to understand at least a little of what made him tick.

“The castle isn't a game for me,” he continued with feeling. “I've already told you my plans for it. If I can pull off all the necessary repairs, I'll present Donan as a gift to the people of Scotland, as a memorial to those who gave their lives defending her.”

Jennifer thought how much more complex this man was than she had ever guessed. He cherished the daughter he was being kept by a pledge from claiming. He cared about other children, too—the poor as well as the rich. He felt deeply about his own ancestors and even their enemies. He chose to honor all he loved in very special ways.

He was kind and good, sexy and strong, and he made her want to surrender to him on the spot. If ever a man had given her reason to love him, Christopher was that man. “Maybe I've been too hasty,” she whispered. “Let's talk some more. I can't make any decisions tonight.”

He smiled, satisfied for at least that much, and laid his hand over hers on the table. She felt a reminiscent ripple of heat run up her arm. How she had missed his amazing body and the pleasures he was capable of giving her.

“I trust you, Jennifer. Now let me prove I can be trusted,” he said.

Trust.

The familiar fear stabbed at her heart. Would she ever be able to completely trust her happiness to any man? Just a few months ago her answer would have been an immediate and resounding,
No!
But being this close to Christopher and having learned so many good things about him…she couldn't turn him down without time to think.

C
hristopher had been in Baltimore five days, and Jennifer still hadn't given him her answer.

They had shared a romantic Spanish dinner at Tio Pepe's, continental cuisine at the uptown Brass Elephant and had topped off a sumptuous Neapolitan feast in Little Italy with cappuccino. They had talked endlessly of plans for restoring his beloved Castle Donan. He felt closer to Jennifer with every passing day. But they had not slept together again.

Each night he returned to his hotel suite after escorting her back to her apartment. He sat alone, staring at white pinpoints of city lights encircling the harbor, trying to be patient while fearing he was losing her. What more could he offer than the friendship, admiration and physical joys they'd already shared?

If she was holding out for marriage…that was out of the question. No woman had ever kept his attention
for more than a handful of months. Jennifer was special, but he couldn't believe that in the end, she would turn out to be different from the others. Besides, in her heart of hearts she was still convinced that he would turn out like her father—a womanizing wastrel who would leave her penniless.

On Friday evening he was to pick her up at her place. They had tickets to the symphony. But he felt too edgy to sit through a concert. He wanted her so badly he ached, but he refused to press her to sleep with him. His only hope was that she would choose a plain dress and look terribly unappealing tonight.

Christopher knocked on her door. There was no answer. After trying again he heard a subtle change in the sounds coming from her apartment. The shower shutting off? He glanced at his watch; he was fifteen minutes early. Footsteps padded across the tile floor behind the door.

“Chris? Is that you?”

“Yes.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep them still. He wanted to reach through the door and grab her. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Running a little early, I guess.”

“No problem.” A latch clicked open, and she flung open the door. “I'll be ready in a jiffy.”

Stepping inside, he was in time to see her towel-wrapped body skitter around the corner out of the living room. All the requisite territory was covered, yet he had never witnessed a more provocative sight. The fullness of her bottom beneath plush terry cloth. A bare curve of pale shoulders above the towel's upper edge. Her hair hung damp, brushed smooth down the slim nape of her neck.

“Please,” he muttered shakily, “give me strength.”

“What did you say?” she called from the bedroom.

“Nothing.” Christopher couldn't sit down, couldn't put a coherent thought next to another. He paced her living room, reminding himself of all the reasons he shouldn't take one step closer to the bedroom.

He glanced nervously toward the door. She'd swung it closed as she passed through. But it had eased itself open a few inches. Through the crack he glimpsed a slice of jade-green carpeting, one corner of a dark wooden chest of drawers, part of a mirror reflecting the image of a closet.

He jerked away, chiding himself for being so weak. A gentleman wouldn't look a second time. But—bloody hell!—he wasn't feeling very gentlemanly at the moment. He was hot, extremely aroused, in dire
need!

Christopher planted himself firmly in the middle of the living room, his back to Jennifer's bedroom door.

But his eyes betrayed him, drifting over his shoulder as if pulled by a powerful magnet. A trickle of sweat ran hotly beneath his collar. He could hear her moving about, but couldn't see her. Perhaps she was fully dressed by now?

Yes, she would be. Almost certainly. He was going to make it! He wouldn't make a fool of himself or embarrass her by storming her bedroom door.

Then he caught his breath. For, suddenly, there she was, poised in front of her closet in a sleeveless red dress. A band of fabric wound up over Jennifer's slim shoulders, looping behind her slim neck as she stood
with her back to him. The skirt fell in soft folds around her long legs.

She was so pretty, yet utterly unaware. She stole the breath right out of him. He couldn't tear his eyes away from her, even when she impulsively unzipped her dress and stepped out of it.

All she wore beneath it were lacy bikini panties. No bra. No slip. Now he couldn't look away, no matter how hard he tried.

She pulled a little black dress from the closet and held it up to her body, turning toward the mirror. One side of her breast, a single darkly pigmented nipple, and the smooth curve of waist reflected back to him. Christopher swung away from the delectable image with excruciating effort, staggered toward the living room window and crashed into her coffee table. The chrome legs screeched in protest across the wood floor.

“What happened? Are you all right?” Jennifer called from the other room.

“Fine. I'm just fine,” he grumbled, gathering himself up and repositioning the table.

He looked back toward her door. It was fully shut now. He winced. What a clumsy toad he had been. She must have guessed by now that he'd been ogling her.

Minutes later Jennifer stepped coolly into the living room. Enough time should have passed for him to regain his composure. But his flesh felt prickly with urgency. His arousal hadn't lessened now that she was decently clothed.

He met her eyes and knew he couldn't pretend innocence. “I'm sorry.”

“What have you got to be sorry for?” she asked. But a faint blush colored her cheeks.

“You realize I was watching you…um, well…change your mind about the dress.”

She smiled and shrugged. “That's my fault, I should have closed the door all the way.”

“I didn't intend to spy on you. I'm not a voyeur, it just happened. I looked around and there you were,” he said in his own defense. It was almost true.

“If it had been the other way around—you had been changing and I was cooling my heels in the living room—maybe I would be the one apologizing,” she suggested playfully. Her eyes twinkled.

It struck him without warning that she might actually have
known
he was watching her, and that she had been as excited as he was. But the other idea, that
she
might enjoy clandestinely observing
him,
sans clothing, was even more intriguing.

“I'll remember that,” he said, meaning it. “Anytime you want me to strip for you, just say the word.”

Her expression shifted subtly. She ran the tip of her tongue delicately across her top lip and looked away.

“What is it, Jenny?”

Blinking up at him, she clasped her hands in front of her. “I don't think I'm in the mood for the symphony tonight.”

“Ah,” he said, his body heat intensifying with a sudden blast, as if someone had thrown another log on the fire. His voice dropped an octave. “What
are
you in the mood for?”

“The same thing I've thought about ever since I left London,” she whispered. “Wanting to make love with you again might not be wise, but it's what I want…what I
need.
”

Her words made his body tighten with anticipation. “But you're still afraid,” he guessed.

“Yes, of losing you.”

“You won't.”

She gritted her teeth and forced her next words through them, her eyes flashing. “Don't promise me something you can't be sure of yourself.”

“I don't break promises.”

No,
she thought,
not when they affect your daughter. But what about where women are concerned?

How could she be sure he hadn't promised a tomorrow to other lovers? How could she be sure he hadn't meant to be faithful, then had fallen out of love or lust or whatever it was that men felt when attracted to a woman?

“We can't be together for long,” she reminded him. “You have to return to Scotland, for Lisa and for Donan.”

“Come with me.” The words were out of his mouth before he felt his lips move. But once suspended in the emotion-charged air between them, they sounded right.
Come with me and be my love.
Yes, if he could only make her see that it was the right thing to do. “Come to Scotland with me,” he repeated, his voice suddenly firm.

Jennifer stared up at him, her lips gently parted, quivering.

He didn't want to consider the immense changes that would be forced on her life if she took him up on his proposition. Frankly, he didn't care. All that mattered was possessing her any way he could, for as long as he could. If asking her to come live with him at the castle was what it took—so be it.

Jennifer didn't know why she was even considering
his proposal seriously, but she was. Being with Christopher for the past five days had been heaven and hell woven into one heady experience. She had longed for his touch, yet feared the inevitable moment when he would try again to seduce her…and she must refuse him. She had yearned for his kisses, but found ways to avoid them. The torment had been unbearable.

All of her life she had behaved reasonably. She had dismissed long shots, risk, instability and passionate flings. She had vowed she would never fall into the trap of loving a man who loved women, horses and his own freedom too much.

Yet here was temptation in the flesh, gazing at her with those wonderful deep-blue eyes, offering her a life of luxury and romance in a country far away.

And she was seriously considering accepting.

“You must have known when I followed you here that I wasn't going to leave without you,” he murmured, stepping closer to her.

Had he subconsciously known it, too?
Yes,
Christopher thought. He reached out for her limp hand and traced the fine lines in her palm with his fingertip.

“No…yes…well maybe I did,” she murmured feeling utterly confused.

“I understand your fears, Jenny. I won't let you down like your father did. I promise.”

“It's not that I don't believe you, it's just that I don't—” She broke off, unable to finish.

“Trust me?” he supplied. “It's not the same thing, is it? Believing and trusting. Maybe trust is something a man has to earn. But if you don't give me a chance, how can I prove myself?”

He brought her fingertips to his lips, kissed them
gently, then drew her toward him, wrapping his strong arms around her.

When she turned her face up at him, he lowered his head and kissed her on the mouth. It was a long time before either took a breath.

“Well?” he asked

“But Scotland,” she breathed, her eyes wide.

“Don't tell me you'd be satisfied with a commuter relationship.” He held her tighter. “Because I know I never would be. I want you in my bed, woman…not thousands of miles away.”

Her heart raced as his warm lips covered hers once more. Her head clouded, spun and she felt a steamy need to be touched as he had touched her before. Then, in London, they had had only two days. The extravagance of having Christopher to herself for weeks, months, possibly even years…was a temptation too delicious to let pass.

“Chris,” she murmured.

Beneath the pleading tone of her voice was all the answer he needed.

His hands moved to the zipper of her dress. “I liked the red one better,” he whispered huskily in her ear, making her shudder delightfully.

“I'm not particularly fond of what you're wearing, either,” she retaliated shyly, then tugged loose his striped tie and tossed it aside.

“The red dress didn't require a bra or slip,” he pointed out, moving a strap off her shoulder to reveal two more narrow bands of fabric. “Much more economical, materially speaking.”

She laughed, her eyes dancing at the game. “Men and their suits. Boring standard gear. I could do without them entirely.”

She yanked off his jacket, then plucked free the tails of his dress shirt and began to unbutton it. Beneath the smooth, white silk, his chest was bare. She loved looking at him—dark male fur, muscles standing out in rigid definition. She combed her trembling fingers through the short, black curls.

He had her slip off now and was unclasping her bra. Jennifer closed her eyes as he drew the lacy cups down her arms and off. She stood before him and let him take his time inspecting her.

Feeling his eyes drift over her was both thrilling and terrifying. She sensed his pleasure with her, but feared living up to his expectations. Being with a man once was one thing—the novelty of a new lover being such a potent aphrodisiac. But how would she ever hold his interest past a second time…a tenth…a hundredth?

Christopher suddenly demanded all of
her
attention as his mouth covered hers and his hand pressed over her breast. He wrapped his arm around her bare waist and walked her backward to the sofa, easing her down onto the cool cushions.

“I have great plans for you.” His voice was playfully gruff.

“Oh?”

His kisses descended her throat to her breasts. She shivered at the moist flicks of his tongue over her nipples, gazed down into his rich eyes. He looked up at her from between her flushed breasts, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he drew the tip of one nipple between his lips and teeth.

She let out a delighted yip, threw her head back and arched toward him. “You're wicked.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “And about to become more so, luv.”

A wave of heat coursed through her. A second followed, setting her writhing as she felt his wide palm smooth down across her hip and behind to cup her bottom and press her hips against his. He was hard and ready, although still clothed below the waist. It seemed all the more exciting, her being totally naked while he still hadn't fully revealed himself to her.

“In my pocket,” he whispered as his mouth continued to work its magic—kissing, teasing, possessing her breasts, one then the other, until she felt herself grow moist and tingle deliciously.

“Your pocket?” she repeated, at a loss.