Last Dance in London (Rakes on the Run #1) - Sydney Jane Baily Page 0,122

Then he tugged at his cravat.

“Yes, I shall certainly demonstrate for you.”

And he did. He put her through a hellish hour, insisting on wrapping his arms around her and leaning against her back as he helped her hold the cue and aim at the balls. He took every opportunity to stroke her arm or her back, and even put his cheek to hers on the pretense of making sure she was eyeing the ball correctly.

With tension coiling inside her and feeling heated from top to bottom, she was practically shaking by the time they’d finished. While hardly knowing if she’d managed to get a ball into even one of table’s pockets, she could easily recall his hard arousal pressing into her bottom.

For his part, he’d appeared unaffected, but she was determined to get back at him. When they met for drinks before dinner in the gray salon, as soon as Jasper had a drink in hand, she strolled the room to look at the paintings and curios in the Marshfield collection. When she walked past him — and his mother wasn’t looking — Julia ran her hand over his firm backside. He dropped his wine glass, and it shattered at his feet.

“Jasper,” his mother exclaimed, looking up from the music sheets she was turning over, creating a list for the quartet she’d hired.

“I believe a little too much to drink can cause one’s hands to shake,” Julia said from the safety of the other side of the room. She was looking at a painting of a man on horseback with a spaniel but turned to send him what she hoped was an innocent smile.

“Have you heard that?” the dowager countess asked. “Miss Sudbury might be correct. Perhaps you should take a break from the wine tonight and especially stop drinking brandy. It’s French and probably far stronger than Spanish wine.”

“I think it’s all poppycock,” Jasper declared.

“Then what caused you to drop your glass if not a quaking hand?” his mother questioned. “Perhaps you need a diet of slipslops for a week.”

Julia nearly laughed out loud at the earl’s expression, plainly finding the idea of having nothing but tea and watery gruel to be beyond distasteful. Especially when they were about to have a festive feast.

“It simply slipped, Mother.” He went to the bell-pull and yanked it.

“Easy, dear boy. You nearly pulled the ribbon from the spring, and the whole system is a nuisance to fix.”

“Sorry,” he muttered.

In a very short time, the maid came and cleaned up the mess. Julia felt terribly sorry for her and resolved to cause less mischief next time.

But she couldn’t resist touching the front of his breeches when his mother led them in to dinner.

Jasper was too quick. He clamped his hand over hers, imprisoning it directly over his length.

Gasping, Julia looked over her shoulder. Luckily, Lady Marshfield had already turned the corner.

“What are you doing?” she fumed as quietly as possible.

“What are you doing?” he growled under his breath. “If you touch me thusly again, I shall—”

“You shall what?” she demanded. “Treat me to another game of billiards?”

They glared at one another a moment, and then he released her before making an exaggerated gesture for her to precede him.

Julia did so, waggling the massive skirt of her ancient gown, having grown more used to the style with each passing day. Let him stew upon that.

With something of a truce, they got through dinner and cards without incident. As there were only the three of them, by mutual agreement, they didn’t engage in any of the lively group games, such as Fox and Geese or Spillikins, and Snap Dragon was too much trouble to set up.

When the evening drew to a close, Julia worried what might happen at bedtime, but Jasper didn’t knock upon her door, and she didn’t dare tap on his. Still, she lay awake a long while listening — half hoping, half dreading. In the end, she fell into a fitful sleep and dreamed the Earl of Marshfield had his wicked way with her upon the billiards table.

Oversleeping, Julia came downstairs along her usual route through the black-and-white tiled main hall. A commotion at one end caught her attention instantly.

Two men were talking animatedly to Jasper with her ladyship’s efficient butler by his side.

Intruders of some sort, and with a menacing air about them, but she approached with curiosity.

The group of four men turned at her approach.

“Speak of the devil,” one stranger said.

“And there she is!” said the other. “Our pretty jewel