Last Dance in London (Rakes on the Run #1) - Sydney Jane Baily Page 0,114

“I believe some of the staff have already made a few kissing boughs,” she added, heading for the door.

She was incorrigible and wanted a grandchild the way some ladies wanted new bonnets. She’d made no secret of her desire the past year for him to settle down. If only the word settle wasn’t so unsettling. Moreover, he had his wager to win. Marriage would lose him five hundred sovereigns at White’s, not exactly pin money. Also, he feared, it would take him down a peg in the eyes of his peers. Instead of virile and independent, he would be viewed as vanquished and domesticated, like a wolf tamed to a lapdog.

“I, too, am ready to retire,” Julia added, surprising him as she followed his mother.

In a flash, he decided it was simply her clever ploy to get to bed as soon as possible so the best part of their evening could commence.

Yet his mother looked surprised. “I assumed you two young people would stay here and enjoy each other’s company. Play another round of cards,” she suggested. “Or perhaps chess.”

“Perhaps another time,” Julia said. “I shall accompany you up the stairs, if that’s all right, my lady. I wouldn’t want to get lost.”

The lovely gilflirt’s only message to him was a backward glance and a curt, “Merry Christmas, my lord.”

“Merry Christmas, ladies,” he called after them. Even though it was only eleven thirty, he would not wait until the appointed time of one in the morning. He didn’t think he could stand the delay. And why bother?

Within the half hour, he had changed into his banyan and slippers and was creeping from his room to hers. Tapping softly on her door, he waited. But no sweet invitation reached his ears, only silence.

He tapped again a little more loudly, but there was still no answer. Only then did he recall his silly idea of knocking twice. Was she waiting for his signal?

Very deliberately, he gave two sharp raps and waited. No response was forthcoming. He couldn’t bear it. He’d already displayed the strength of Sisyphus and equal resolve by postponing his raging desire ever since watching Julia sway ahead of him into the dining room hours earlier. And all the while undressing, he’d been picturing her wearing nothing but her saucy smile.

In short, he was beyond ready to take her mouth under his and then take her body under his, as well.

Why wasn’t the infernal woman answering?

In desperation, he knocked loudly, and finally, the door opened the smallest crack. His hopes surged, his arousal throbbed to life again, and the relief at seeing her — or at least her one blue eye and half her face — washed over him.

He was ready to enjoy himself!

“Are you mad?” Julia demanded. “Your mother will hear you.”

Jasper took a step back. That wasn’t the greeting he’d expected. Recovering, he put a hand to the door to push it open.

“No,” she whispered.

“No?” he echoed. “Whatever can you mean?”

“I mean I will not trample upon your mother’s trust in our good behavior.”

“What has my mother got to do with this? Didn’t we have an agreement? Aren’t you burning for me?”

Her hesitation told him she wanted him, too.

“That’s beside the point. Lady Marshfield was willing to leave us alone in the salon. She trusts us. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“Yes,” Jasper put his hand to the door again, ready to press his way inside. “It means she’s making it incredibly easy for us to swive.”

“No,” Julia said again, and he was starting to hate the unfamiliar word. “It means your mother believes we won’t behave badly and against all decency. I think that’s a gift, and I won’t betray her or sully her opinion of me.”

“She’ll never know,” he reminded her, thinking himself quite reasonable in the face of this unreasonable opposition. “Thus, her opinion of you won’t change.”

From what little he could see of her expression through the sliver she was allowing him, Julia didn’t like his answer.

“I will know, and you will know. What will you think of a woman who fornicates under your mother’s roof?”

“That she’s a bloody good sport!” He was practically yelling, but his giblets were aching and his rod was having a difficult time accepting its best performance was not going to be necessary.

“Good night, Lord Marshfield.”

She started to close the door.

“How about a good night kiss, at least?” If he could get his hands on her, stroke her supple skin and kiss her lips so she moaned into his