Last Dance in London (Rakes on the Run #1) - Sydney Jane Baily Page 0,109

footmen look for one that still has some red berries on it.”

“The candles make it especially lovely,” Julia said, and he looked at the silly thing again.

In truth, this woman beside him made everything lovely, but such a soppy sentiment luckily didn’t reach his lips.

“I agree. But if everyone starts doing it, England will be rendered treeless in a decade, I’ll wager. Shall we continue upstairs?” he offered, slipping his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching for her.

“There are two more levels with some rooms of interest. We can skip the attic as it is probably a dusty mess, full of wretched old furniture and my childhood toys. And all my ancestors’ toys, too, if they had any. But I think the wine and ale cellars are interesting. They look like dungeons, rather gothic, despite being filled with the best vintages.”

“Were they ever truly dungeons?” Julia asked.

“No. The house was built when our family received a baronetcy early in the seventeenth century, and as far as I know, it was never used for any punitive measures warranting cells or torture devices. No ghosts screaming from behind bars, I promise you.”

They ascended the main staircase.

“Let’s skip all the ordinary rooms. You’re sleeping in one of them,” he added, thinking of her bedchamber near his.

“That’s a lie,” she said. “I haven’t seen an ordinary room in the whole place. I bet even the servant’s hall is finer than my family’s entire vicarage house.”

He couldn’t help taking her hand now and leading her into the largest room in the house, perfect for balls or perhaps even a wedding reception.

“I call it the Versailles room, as a jest,” he explained, looking around the expansive space with its rose-pink wallpaper and white crown molding. “But everyone else calls it the Belleview room, not only for the craftsmanship inside, but the splendid view of the acreage outside.”

Julia wasn’t looking toward the two-story windows offering the view, however. She stood in the center of the polished wooden floor looking up at the magnificent vaulted ceiling. She even squeezed his hand.

“It’s like icing sugar, truly, as if it has been sculpted from pastillage.”

“I suppose it does at that.” Then Jasper couldn’t help himself a moment longer and wrapped his arms around her, drawing her hips against his. “May I kiss you? Here, in the sunlight?”

The familiar blush stained her cheeks, but she rested her hands on his arms instead of wrapping them around him as he’d hoped.

“A rake asking permission?” she observed. “Not very rakish, I must say.”

She was taunting him. That wouldn’t stand.

Without any further warning, Jasper lowered his mouth to hers. As soon as their lips met, a rightness settled over him — her taste and fresh floral scent already familiar and adored. This was followed swiftly by the flickering of desire, always ready to leap into flames when he was near her.

Plundering her sweetness, he felt the moment she relaxed against him, when she sighed upon his lips and he could feel her heart beating like a bird’s wings.

“I want you,” he murmured against her mouth. And it was a fierce wanting he was unable to squelch. Fortunately, he didn’t have to.

At first, she said nothing, but when he slipped his tongue between her lips, she moaned.

“Yes,” she agreed softly before stroking his tongue in return.

He nearly swept her off her feet to head for the nearest sofa, except there wasn’t one in the cavernous, well-lit room with only gild-encrusted chairs lined up like soldiers against the four walls.

“Tonight?” he asked, knowing he was about to set them up for hours of torturous anticipation, unless they both claimed a headache and retired early. Very early. In all likelihood, his mother would catch on at once and probably hire a professional chaperone, if she didn’t send Julia packing immediately.

As much as his mother was lenient with him, she wouldn’t take kindly to his using their family seat as a bawdy house for ruining a young woman.

Regardless of how willing the woman was to be ruined.

They would be discreet and wait until the household was fast asleep.

“At one o’clock, I’ll come to your door and knock twice.”

Julia giggled. “Why?”

“How else will you know it’s me?” he asked.

“How many other men might knock that you need to do so twice? Do you think I might let the wrong one in?”

“Saucebox!” he scolded. “Come along, there’s much more to see.”

In the library, he kissed her again and was about to knock the ink blotter and dictionary off