Last Dance in London (Rakes on the Run #1) - Sydney Jane Baily Page 0,117
lower the fall of my trousers?”
She sighed, turned in his arms, and kissed him fully on the lips.
He took full advantage of the offering, sweeping his tongue into her willing mouth and grabbing hold of her shapely bottom, although with his gloves on, he was hardly able to discern the soft rounds of it through her layers. His body ached with frustration.
Finally, he lifted his head. “I thought you said you didn’t tease.”
“Maybe you’re the one teasing,” she countered, bringing me out here when there is no possible manner in which we can do more than kiss without risk of chilblains.”
“I’m more than happy to share the warmth of a bedchamber instead,” he reminded her. Yet she’d turned him down. “But I won’t come begging at your door again tonight.” He had more pride than to do so.
At least he hoped he had.
Julia Sudbury appeared thoughtful.
“At the moment, I would settle for some mulled wine. Shall we go back?”
“May I return the kiss first?” So much for his pride.
Again, a thoughtful moment in which she stared deeply into his eyes until Jasper felt like declaring his devotion to her that very instant. Would she believe how much he admired her or would she think it merely a ploy to get beneath her skirts?
She nodded. It was all he needed to draw her against him once more.
Claiming her satiny lips under his, he tried to ignore the bulk of clothing between them and make love to her mouth as best he could. Their tongues danced, their lips moved tenderly across one another, and then she sniffed.
“Sorry,” she said, drawing a handkerchief from her coat pocket. “My nose is running. I’m sure it’s most alluring.”
Strangely enough, it was, even when she blew it so hard she sounded like a goose calling its mate. He supposed if he didn’t truly care for her, far beyond desiring her so much he hurt, then he might not have wanted to see her wipe her red nose and tuck her handkerchief back into her coat. However, he simply wished to get her indoors by a fire and make sure she hadn’t caught a cold.
“Let’s hurry back,” he said, forgoing any further intimacy in favor of her health. “We’ll get a glass of mulled wine inside us both.”
WITH THE HOUSE DECORATED under his mother’s watchful eye and the efficient direction of Mr. Jeffers, they closed out another day. Jasper was enjoying himself more than he’d expected he would, and it was quite obviously because Julia Sudbury was in residence.
And despite it being after Christmas, he could truly feel the spirit of the season. Marshfield Manor was all the merrier for the holly and mistletoe garlands. Surely, their Twelfth Night guests wouldn’t be able to find fault.
After dinner, the three of them took turns playing chess, although Jasper boasted he could take on both the women at once if they had another chessboard at hand. Luckily for him, they hadn’t since he wasn’t at all sure he could outwit two such clever females.
He even began to look forward to the Twelfth Night party now they’d decided upon it. He had an unusual urge to show off Miss Sudbury as his special houseguest, although they must hide the knowledge of her being without a chaperone.
When he went to bed that night, he felt rather pleased with himself for having no expectations of tupping her. Her company during the day, while not a substitution for a good docking, had been delightful. They’d discussed, debated, and chatted like the friends they’d become. Even better, they’d laughed hard, his mother included. He was starting to understand what companionship with a female would be like — with the right female.
Moreover, the difference between Julia Sudbury and every other lady he’d ever kept company with was stark. He wanted to spend more time with her. With the others, he hadn’t been able to run away quickly enough.
Feeling at sixes and sevens with desperately desiring her but wanting to show a modicum of restraint by leaving her virtuously alone, he’d brought a book from the library and now found himself doing the utterly unfamiliar activity of sitting up in bed — like a spinster aunt — reading a book, his glass of brandy on his bedside table.
He examined the frontispiece. The History of Tom Jones. A Foundling. Seemingly a good choice at the time, a diverting and rousing adventure, but now, knowing the tale, it was assured to get him hot and salty.