If it were any of the other Sharpes, he wouldn’t balk. But the idea of spending serveral hours in her company was both intoxicating and terrifying.
“If you don’t let me go along,” she continued, “I’ll just follow you.
He scowled at her. She probably would; the woman was as stubborn as she was beautiful.
“And don’t think you can outride me, either,” she added. “Halstead Hall has a very good stable, and lady Bell is one of our swiftest mounts.”
“Lady Bell?” he said sarcastically. “Not Crack Shot or Pistol?”
She glared over at him. “Lady Bell was my favorite doll when I was a girl, the last one Mama gave me before she died. I used to play with it whenever I wanted to remember her. The doll got so ragged that I threw her away when I outgrew her.” Her voice lowered. “I regretted that later, but by then it was too late.”
The idea of her playing with a doll to remember her late mother made his throat tighten and his heart falter. “Fine,” he bit out. “You can go with me to High Wycombe.”
Surprise turned her cheeks rosy. “Oh, thank you, Jackson! You won’t regret it, I promise you!”
“I already regret it,” he grumbled. “And you must do as I say. None of your going off half-cocked, do you hear?”
“I never go off half-cocked!”
“No, you just walk around with a pistol packed full of powder, thinking you can hold men at bay with it.”
She tossed her head. “You’ll never let me forget that, will you?”
“Not as long as we both shall live.”
The minute the words left his lips, he could have kicked himself. They sounded too much like a vow, one he’d give anything for the right to make.
Fortunately, she didn’t seem to have noticed. Instead, she was squirming and shimmying about on her saddle.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“I’ve got a burr caught in my stocking that keeps rubbing against my leg. I’m just trying to work it out. Don’t mind me.”
His mouth went dry at her mention of stockings. It brought yesterday’s encounter vividly into his mind, how he’d lifted her skirts to reach the smooth expanse of calf encased in silk. How he’d run his hands up her thighs as his mouth had tasted-
God save him. He couldn’t be thinking about such things while riding. He shifted uncomfortably in the saddle as they reached the road and settled into a comfortable pace.
The road was busy at this early hour. The local farmers were driving their carts to market or town, and laborers were headed for the fields. To Jackson’s relief, that made it easy not to talk. Conversaing with her was bound to be difficult, especially if she started consulting him about her suitors.
But if they didn’t return to Halstead Hall before their absence was discovered, she’d be ruined. A young unmarried female couldn’t just go off on a trip, no matter how short, with an unmarried gentleman. They’d have to marry.
Yes-they would, wouldn’t they?
A powerful longing swept him as he watched her hug Mrs. Duffet. For one fleeting moment, he indulged the fantasy of being Celia’s husband.
He would return to Cheapside every day after work at Bow Street to find her, his wife, waiting in his home to greet him with a kiss. They’d have a pleasant dinner, then walk down to Blackfriars Bridge and stroll across the Thames to watch the sun set in summer or the moon rise on a chilly night in winter.
Once they returned home, he’d write up his reports as she darned his socks-
A harsh laugh clogged his throat. As if a lady like her would ever darn socks. Or be satisfied with a simple walk across a bridge in the moonlight instead of a night at the theater.
You could afford a night at the theater from time to time, and new socks anytime your old ones get holes.
But only if he became Chief Magistrate. And once the children came along…
Children? That was quite the leap forward, considering that a marriage between them was impossible. Damn Mrs. Plumtree to hell.
You’re leaving me alone?” she squeaked.
“You’ll be fine.” He handed her the pistol. “Shoot if you have to.” His eyes gleamed at her. “I know you know how.”
He headed for the door, and she cried, “Wait!”
When he paused to look at her questioningly, she hurried up to hand him his surtout. “You’ll need this. It’s freezing out there.” As she helped him into it, she whispered, “Be careful.”
He tipped his hat. “Always, my lady,” he said in that husky rasp that never failed to make her heart turn over. Then he walked out.
And if you hadn’t pulled me from the horse-“
“I lost half a lifetime when I realized-“ He choked off whatever else he was about to say. “Best not to think about it.” He squeezed her shoulder. “You survived, and that’s all that matters.”
“You saved my life.”
He smiled faintly. “If you can’t trust a Bow Street Runner to protect you, who can you trust?” His tone turned fierce. “I won’t let anything happen to you, I swear.”
“I know.” She gazed up at him, her heart full.
He flushed, then jerked his gaze back to the window.
Looks like you’ve been busy,” he said as he set down the pail to survey the room.
“You found water!”
“There was a stream close by.” His gaze fixed on what she held in her hand. “I see you found my brandy.”
Refusing to be embarrassed, she walked over to hand the flask to him. “I did indeed.” She shot him a mischievous glance as he drank some. “Who would guess that the estimable Mr. Pinter, so high in the instep, drinks strong spirits?”
He scowled at her. “A little brandy on a cold day never hurt anyone. And I’m not high in the instep.”
“Oh? Didn’t you tell Gabe only last week that most lords were only good for redistributing funds from their estates into all the gaming hells and brothels in London, and ignoring their duty to God and country?”
When he flushed, she felt a twinge of conscience, but only a twinge. He looked so charming when he was flustered.
“I wasn’t implying that your family…”
“It’s all right,” she said, taking pity on him. He had saved her life, after all. “You have good reason to be high in the instep. And you’re not far wrong, in any case-there are many lords who are a blight upon society.”
He was quiet a long moment. “I hope you realize that I don’t think that of your brothers. Or your brother-in-law. They’re fine men.”
“Thank you.”
Removing his surtout, he walked over to hang it on top of her cloak, then stood there warming his hands at the fire. “I wish I could say the same about your cousins.
To have a goddess like you in his arms and not appreciate it…”
He kissed her, unable to resist the lush, succulent mouth so close to his. He put everything he felt into it, so he could wipe out any hurt the Neds of the world had given her.
When he broke away, realizing he was treading dangerous ground, she said hoarsely, “You weren’t always so…appreciative. When I said that men enjoyed my company, you said you found that hard to believe.”
“What?” he retorted with a scowl. “I never said any such thing.”
“Yes, you did, the day that I asked you to investigate my suitors. I remember it clearly.”
“There’s no way in hell I ever…” The conversation came back to him suddenly, and he shook his head. “You’re remembering only part, sweeting. You said that men enjoyed your company and considered you easy to talk to. It was the last part I found hard to believe.”
“Oh.” She eyed him askance. “Why? You never seem to have trouble talking to me. Or rather, lecturing me.”
“It’s either lecture you or stop up your mouth with kisses,” he said dryly. “Talking to you isn’t easy, because every time I’m near you I burn to carry you off to some secluded spot and do any number of wicked things with you.”
She blinked, then gazed at him with such softness that at made his chest hurt. “Then why don’t you?”
“Because you’re a marquess’s daughter and my employer’s sister.”
“What does that signify? You’re an assistant magistrate and a famous Bow Street Runner-“
“And the bastard of nobody knows whom.”
“Which merely makes you a fitting companion for a hellion with a reputation for recklessness.”
The word companion resonated in his brain. What did she mean by it?
Then she pressed a kiss to his jaw, eroding his resistance and his reason, and he knew precisely what she meant.
He tried to set her off of him before he lost his mind entirely, but she looped her arms about his neck and wouldn’t let go. “Show me.”
“Show you what?”
“All the wicked things you want to do with me.”
Desire bolted in a fever through his vein. “My God, Celia-“
“I won’t believe a word you’ve said if you don’t.” Her gaze grew troubled. “I don’t think you know what you want. Yesterday you gave me such lovely kisses and caresses and then at the ball you acted like you’d never met me.”
“You were with your suitors,” he said hoarsely.
“You could have danced with me. You didn’t even ask me for one dance.”
Having her on his lap was rousing him to a painful hardness. “Because I knew if I did, I would want…I would need…”
She kissed a path down his throat, turning his blood to fire. “Show me,” she whispered, “Show me now what you want. What you need.”
“I refuse to ruin you,” he said, half as a caution to himself.
“You already have.
What I want,” he said softly, “is you. Just you.
Sabrina JeffriesI’ve imagined you like this…many times…naked, sharing my bed,” he rasped, the fervent words warming her, making her relax. “You have no idea.”
“I have some idea,” she managed. “I imagined you, too.”
He looked skeptical. “Like this?”
“Well, not exactly…I didn’t know…what to expect.” Or how shockingly intimate it would feel.
A lock of his dark hair fell over one eye, making him look more like a dangerous character and less like the formal Jackson she knew.
“And now that you do?” he asked.
“I like it.” The motion had started to warm her below, to spark the same tingling she’d felt when he rubbed her. “It’s like a very naughty waltz.”
He choked out a laugh. “Yes. I lead. You follow.”
You move between my legs.
Oh, so that’s why people thought the waltz so scandalous! “I’ll never be able to waltz again….without thinking of this,” she breathed.
He bent to whisper. “Then I’ll have to claim you for the next waltz.”
She liked that word, claim.
“And the next…and the next…” He thrust more quickly into her and her tingling heightened, twisting into something hot and exciting and infinitely more thrilling than any waltz.
“Jackson…ohhh, Jackson…”
“Every waltz…from now…until eternity.”
“Yes…” She felt as if she were spiraling upward, like sparks dancing up from the fire into the chimney and out, and now she was soaring, rising with him into the cloudless climes and starry skies where all the beauty walked…
“Yes!” she cried as she reached that pinnacle. “Oh, yes, Jackson, yes…I’m yours…I’m yours…yours…”
And with a fierce groan, he drove in deep and spent himself inside her. “As am I…” he whispered against her ear while he shuddered and shook over her. “Yours. Always.
It doesn’t matter what happened. I am here to make things right. I want to marry your sister.”
Stoneville eyed him closely. “Minerva seemed to think otherwise.”
Jackson sighed. “I’m not surprised. I believe that I also left Lady Celia unsure of my intentions. I…um…made rather a hash of it when I proposed the first time.”
The marquess chuckled. “I’ll say.”
Jackson cast him a startled glance.
“Yes, I heard all about your offer. Do forgive my amusement. If you’ll recall, I made rather a hash of my own marriage proposal.” He sobered. “I also understand that my grandmother had something to do with your reticence to offer marriage.”
“I was not reticent,” Jackson said fiercely. “I was never reticent about that. I’ve wanted to marry your sister almost from the moment I met her. And no matter what your grandmother thinks, it has nothing to do with her fortune or her position or-“
“I know.” When Jackson blinked, the marquess smiled. “You forget-I’ve watched you work for nearly a year. I’ve listened to your opinions and heard of your fine reputation. I know a man of good character when I see one.”
“Even if he’s a bastard?” Jackson bit out.
“The Duke of Clarence has ten bastards and everyone turns a blind eye, so I don’t see why we can’t have at least one on the family. Or two, if you count Jarret’s stepson.” Stoneville smiled. “We Sharpes are hellions after all. We wouldn’t want to become boring. What would the gossips have to talk about?
Because apparently I’m more selfish than I thought. I simply can’t bear to be without her.”
Stoneville’s expression softened. “Now that’s what you should say when next you see her.”
“And when might that be?” Jackson asked.
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