with an underskirt of pale yellow that made her look like she was as much a part of the garden as the flowering shrubs along the edge of the grass.
“Then you have no imagination, Beatrice.” Jess folded his arms and waited until she stopped fluttering around him. “It demonstrates my ability to provide gaming fun no matter what the situation, age, or means of the participants. I can corrupt anyone.”
She made a face at him as if she disagreed but was afraid to say so.
Today he had to do it. Garrett was right. He had to show her how dangerous flirting with a man could be.
“You are the first to know this.” Jess leaned closer for a conspiratorial whisper. It was all he could do not to nip the tender part of her neck where she had dabbed the sensuous perfume she favored. “We will be racing chickens instead of rabbits.”
“Why the change?” She shivered and he did not think it was because she was chilled.
“I realized that a rabbit race would end much too quickly. Even two or three would only last a few minutes.”
“And the entire point is to be outside enjoying the wonderful sun.”
“No, my dear Miss Brent,” he said, offering his arm as they made their way across the field to where the land dropped off. He’d had the course set up near the ha-ha so that there would be a perfect mix of sun and shade. “The entire point is to wager as much money as possible on as many frivolous things as you can think of. For example, do you see this tree?”
He walked sedately with her until they were behind a giant tree that could have housed a family in its trunk. “I wager a guinea that if we stand here I will be able to sneak a kiss without anyone being the wiser.”
She was leaning against the tree now, watching him with a look he thought she must have practiced in the mirror for the last few days.
God forbid that look came naturally. She would be fighting men off with a stick.
Now was the time to do it. To convince her he was no hero. He was no more than a man who lived to please himself. It was all that was expected of him and he would be a fool to try for more.
He pressed her against the tree, straddling her body with a leg on either side so that they were very intimately connected, his hands on either side of her head, the tree at her back.
She gave a little gasp of surprise but showed no sign of fear. Just that damnable curiosity that was both her most outrageous sin and her greatest virtue.
He laughed and bent to kiss her cheek and the tantalizing spot beneath her ear where her scent ignited all manner of impure thoughts. She turned her head in invitation. It took a herculean effort, but he did not touch her lips. Not yet.
“Before the other night, had you ever been kissed, Beatrice?”
“Of course.” She raised her hands to his chest and managed to make him completely forget what he was going to say next. He stared at her for a long moment, losing himself in her luminous blue eyes, so like her sister’s but with a light in them that was all her own. With an effort he remembered the script he’d prepared.
“Of course? You’ve been kissed by someone other than your father or your mother? Other than me?” He thought of that man who worked for her father, the one with whom she was such good friends, and felt a surge of absurd jealousy that he had not been the first.
“Yes, I have,” she said, so defiantly that he was suddenly certain she was telling a lie.
“By someone other than your brothers, cousin, or sister?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She looked over his shoulder.
“Was I the first man to kiss you, Beatrice?” Her eyes flew back to his. “On the mouth?” As he spoke he looked away from her eyes, at her lips. She had pressed them together as though she was trying not to ready them for his touch.
He framed her face with his hands and leaned into her. She watched as he came closer, then her eyes fluttered closed and her mouth curved to welcome his.
Jess did his best to control the contact. This was all about giving her a disgust of him, frightening her into leaving him alone. At first he was completely in