Last Dance in London (Rakes on the Run #1) - Sydney Jane Baily Page 0,129

clenching and unclenching around his hardness.

She was still shuddering when he seated himself to the hilt and spent deep into her womb.

For a long moment after, they were both still, hearts pounding, her hands resting on his back, feeling him drawing large breaths.

When he drew out and lay beside her, he took a moment to cover them both against the winter chill that the fire never quite chased away.

“At least no one interrupted us,” she quipped, putting a hand to his cheek and stroking him endearingly.

He made a choking sound. “I cannot believe you are making a jest after what we just experienced.”

She laughed, feeling exhaustion slide through her.

Turning his face to her palm, he kissed it.

“If someone had knocked,” Jasper said, “I couldn’t have stopped to answer the door. I don’t think I could have stopped if the house was on fire. I was randy as a goat.”

“How romantic!” she said.

This time, he laughed. She didn’t mind. She had appreciated his impersonation of a goat.

Yawning broadly, her eyelids had grown almost too heavy to hold open, but she tried.

“No covering,” she muttered.

After a puzzled moment, Jasper said, “Do you mean the sheath?” Grinning, he leaned over and kissed her.

“Never again will I need it. Such is the freedom afforded by our upcoming marriage. I, for one, enjoyed it better that way.”

“I, for two, did as well, although I only experienced it for a second the first time before my sister interrupted us. But I could readily feel your—” she yawned again “—your ... uh ... private tackle, both its heat and smoothness.”

“You’re speaking with your eyes closed.”

“Mm,” she agreed.

And the last thing she felt was his arm drawing her against him as she drifted off to sleep.

THE TWELFTH NIGHT PARTY was a great success. Jasper couldn’t remember ever enjoying a party so much, and it was all because of Julia. She made everything they did fun. All eyes turned, but no one said a word when she entered the Belleview room on his arm in her eighteenth-century gown of stunning blue velvet with gold piping and thread. At least, they didn’t dare say an unkind word about her strange fashion sense.

And when he announced their engagement and everyone toasted with egg-and-milk flip laced with rum, he felt the right of it. For the first time in a long while, he was behaving like a responsible man, a nobleman in every sense of the word with all the responsibilities that engendered. He intended to make Miss Julia Sudbury proud to be his wife.

The feast was splendid, and Cook outdid herself in every regard. Moreover, the musicians whom they’d managed to scare up on short notice performed well enough for dancing to go on until the following morning. He didn’t even mind that some people had to sojourn in his guest chambers.

“As long as they are all gone by the time we go downstairs mid-day,” he said to Julia when they basked in the glow of love-making in the wee hours. He wasn’t going to suddenly play host to the entire damn village and county simply because he’d shed the trappings of capricious, mercurial rake.

Since they didn’t get out of bed in time to be married on the Epiphany — even Jasper knew there could be no wedding after twelve — they went together in the afternoon to purchase the common license from the parson.

Julia had decided a visit to Chislehurst would be a more desirable way for Jasper to meet his new father-in-law, which suited him fine. As for her sister, his bride was unsure of the response, knowing the countess was of the opinion Jasper was irredeemable. Deciding they wouldn’t tell Lady Worthington until they returned to London, they had to wait upon no one’s arrival and got married the following morning.

Jasper and Julia, who took Emily as her bride’s maid and Rigley as his groom’s man, along with nearly the entire staff of Marshfield Manor, joined the Dowager Countess of Marshfield at St. Mary’s Church. The ceremony was short, and everything was going smoothly until Julia suddenly squeezed his hands and halted the proceedings.

“Lord Marshfield, what about your wager at White’s?”

The parson paled at the mention of gambling under his holy roof, and Jasper thought his bride ought to know better, seeing as she was a vicar’s daughter. In any case, he told her the truth before God.

“You are certainly worth the five hundred pounds I shall lose. And if I ever need to sell you, I shall