Last Dance in London (Rakes on the Run #1) - Sydney Jane Baily Page 0,116
mouth.
“I said I like to gallop,” she responded, “upon a horse, naturally.”
“I think you’re lying. Tell me,” and then he dropped his voice, “why were you thinking about ladies of ill-repute?”
“Because you are a bad influence, and you’re only happy apparently when getting your way.” She stormed farther from his mother and the woman’s excellent hearing.
He stomped after her.
“I’m certainly not getting my way here. I’m throwing a party for people I don’t like and spending my days with a woman who teases me mercilessly.”
“I do not tease!” she protested. Then considered it from his perspective. “I merely changed my mind after using better judgment,” she added, her tone softer.
“Better judgment! Bah! No one ever enjoyed themselves using better judgment.”
“That’s ridiculous!” she fumed. “You’re forever acting the croaker and warning me about getting into disagreeable scrapes.”
“To do with purloining,” he clarified. “Better judgment in that case is a necessity.”
Julia shoved more greenery toward him, which he caught in the basket before it could fall to the ground. “Am I unwelcome to stay if I refuse to bend to your will?”
Jasper took a step backward, his backside hitting the dried, pointy branch of a shrub.
“Ow!” he exclaimed. “Of course not. I didn’t invite you with the expectation of swiving. Secondly, I think you shall end up bending quite willingly.”
She nearly smiled, all annoyance vanishing. He was charming, especially when wicked.
Moreover, she sensed he was right. His draw was overwhelming. She wanted nothing more than to strip him bare and run her hands over the impressive figure she knew lay hidden beneath his respectable clothing.
“Do we have enough?” came Lady Marshfield’s pleasant voice as she approached them, her footman trailing with a fully laden basket.
“Not for the entire house,” Jasper pointed out, “but then I am not so obtuse that I didn’t see you sending footmen out in the other direction to gather the larger boughs and garlands.”
Lady Marshfield showed her attractive dimples. Then she shrugged, the mirror image of the earl’s familiar movement. Looking from mother to son, Julia’s heart gave a squeeze of affection.
“Well, I have done enough,” the dowager countess insisted. “My toes are cold, and I fear my nose has frozen off my face.”
“It is still there, Mother,” Jasper said, making Julia laugh.
“Are you two ready to go indoors? I intend to ask Cook to make some mulled wine directly.”
Jasper looked at Julia, and she saw the question in his eyes.
“I don’t mind remaining out a while longer,” she said. “Perhaps I’ll find some bigger holly with berries. However, I should very much enjoy mulled wine when I do go in.”
“Then I shall stay out and help our guest,” Jasper said.
“Very well. Suit yourselves,” her ladyship said, unbothered. “Take her to see the gazebo, but do not step onto the lake. I forbid it.”
“Yes, Mother,” Jasper quipped.
His mother glanced to Julia. “He acts as if he never fell in, and yet he has.”
“I won’t let him get into any trouble,” Julia promised.
A FEW MINUTES LATER, after a brief stroll, they set down the basket and clippers, and Jasper took Julia’s gloved hand in his. Climbing the three steps to the summer pavilion, as he’d always called it, they stood looking out over a small lake.
“It does appear to be frozen over,” he mused. “Probably perfectly safe for walking on or even skating, if I can scrounge up some ice-skates.”
“Do not even think about it,” Julia said.
He chuckled. There was only one thing he was seriously thinking about since they were alone. Turning her to face the frozen view, he wrapped his arms around her from behind and pulled her body flush with his. To his delight, she melted against him, giving him easy access to the column of her neck. If only he could kiss her skin through the layers of wool and silk of her coat and scarf.
Regardless, he could nuzzle her earlobe, which he did.
She giggled, the sound sending a spark of lust to his loins. Unthinkingly, he let one of his hands explore the front of her, over the soft mounds of her breasts and farther, until he pressed the heel of his hand at the apex of her thighs.
When Julia didn’t protest but instead lifted her hips slightly and leaned her head back on his shoulder, fire flowed in his veins.
“I wonder if it’s too cold to disrobe,” he couldn’t help saying aloud.
“It is,” she assured him. “Besides, I promised your mother — no trouble.”