Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Jessamine beamed at the world as she and Andrew walked back to where their carriage awaited them. Behind, two footmen carried her purchases. Well, perhaps she ought to say their purchases, as Andrew had been the one to insist on them all.
When they’d married, she’d thought she wouldn’t care for her new position as duchess at all. But it transpired there were some good things about it, after all.
Today, she had felt like a princess. Seen. Admired. Treasured.
A man stepped into their path, stopping them both. He looked to be around thirty or so, with black hair and eyes that seemed to her like two coals. He was smiling, but his eyes were cold.
A shiver ran through her.
“Your Grace,” the man purred. “How wonderful to see you… alive.”
Jessamine glanced at Andrew, whose face had hardened like stone. “Baron Lorthey.”
“And this must be your wife. Your Grace.” He turned his smile, and its malevolence, on her. “What a lovely family you have, my dear captain.”
Captain?
“I heard you adopted your cousin’s child as your ward,” Baron Lorthey said to Andrew again. “How sweet it is that some people get to grow their families… while others bury them.”
Bury them?
Jessamine blinked, but Andrew laid a hand on her arm. “I am sorry for your loss,” he said, his voice controlled.
Before she could say anything, the baron turned to her and offered an insincere smile. “I must offer you my congratulations, Your Grace, on your marriage. It must be a great honor to be marrying such a brave man.”
Andrew’s arm tensed under hers.
“Thank you,” she said, unsure what she should say.
It felt somewhat as though she had been dropped into the middle of a play and no one had given her a script. Andrew’s face was tight and hard, and the baron looked as though he was half a hair from exploding into something far more sinister than mere conversation.
She couldn’t even pinpoint what it was about him that gave her that feeling; it was just something about the ice in his eyes, and the thinly veiled malevolence of his smile.
“His Grace is an excellent husband,” she said, feeling as though she ought to say more. “And I consider myself very fortunate to be his wife.”
Andrew looked down at her, but she couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze. They were exchanging pleasantries, and that was the sort of thing one said about one’s husband, whether one believed it or not.
As for whether she believed it… Well, she believed it more than she had ever thought possible.
Baron Lorthey sneered, his lip curling. “Let us hope, then, that he remains worthy of such admiration, Your Grace.” The way he said it implied that he doubted such a thing were possible.
Jessamine tilted her head up. “I recommend you do not speak about my husband in such a way.”
The baron’s sneer hardened. “Or what? What will you do, you little—”
There was a flash of movement. One moment Andrew was beside her, standing perfectly still—
And the next, he had Baron Lorthey’s arm twisted behind him.
The gesture looked almost easy, but the way Baron Lorthey’s eyes bulged, Jessamine suspected Andrew was exerting a great deal of force.
“I recommend,” Andrew said in a low, threatening voice, “that you never speak to my wife like that again.”
Jessamine’s heart pounded in her chest. She ought to despise violence, but her chest felt oddly full and tight as she looked at him and the innate strength in his arms.
Andrew pushed the baron a little against the wall. To a casual observer, they were nothing more than two friends talking together and standing a little too close.
“I have allowed you your grief, but if you continue like this, I will have no choice but to set things straight,” he gritted out.
Lord Lorthey swallowed, his face turning the pasty pale of porridge. Evidently he understood the threat in Andrew’s voice just as well as Jessamine did.
“Understand?” Andrew asked, still in that low voice.
Lord Lorthey nodded sullenly, and Andrew released him, clapping him once on the shoulder in a comradely way. But when he turned and Jessamine caught sight of his eyes, she saw they were blazing with anger. It was almost enough to make her shiver.
“Good day,” Lord Lorthey said, his voice tight with resentment as he bowed and went on his way.
Andrew’s fists tightened by his sides, and he drew in a long, slow breath that looked as though its purpose was to steady himself. Judging by the still-wild expression deep in his eyes, however, it was failing.
“Are you all right?” he asked her, sounding as though the question came with effort.
Perhaps because he was clenching his teeth.
“Perfectly. Thank you for coming to my defense.” She stepped a little closer and rested a hand on his arm. “Shall we take a walk before returning to the carriage?”
If they were not in London, she might have suggested he go for a hard ride instead, letting the exercise work off a little of his energy. Instead, this was the only thing she could imagine; she did not want him cooped in a carriage after a confrontation of that nature.
He nodded stiffly, taking her hand again and striding through the crowd until they found a more secluded road, framed by tall houses on either side and few people. Jessamine waited for the only other person sharing the space—a man—before asking the question at the forefront of her mind.
“What happened there? Who is Lord Lorthey?”
“He is a baron,” Andrew said.
“Yes, I gathered as much, but how do you know him?”
His teeth snapped together. “That is of no consequence. But a word of warning, Jessamine: do not speak back to men like that. I am one thing. You don’t know what they might do. It’s not safe.”
His concern sent a small smile to her lips. “I lived in Scotland for a long time, Andrew. I can defend myself.”
“Oh?” He stepped even closer, taking her chin in his fingers, tilting her chin up toward him.
Her stomach tumbled. They were outside, the sky silhouetted behind his head, but they were alone, the sounds of the city muted here. A small park stood at the end of the street, a wrought-iron fence around it, and he pushed her through the gate.
“And what if I wasn’t here, and Lorthey were to act against you now?” he murmured, his other hand moving to her waist.
Perhaps she should not, but she felt a flash of desire move through her, hot and sudden.
“What if he were to raise his hand against you for talking back to him? What would you do then? Would you be able to defend yourself?” His fingers tightened, not to the point of pain, but enough that she could feel their strength.
“And I will not always be around to protect you.”
She searched his face, her skin oddly heated. His fingers were a brand on her chin; their heat sank through the fabric at her waist. His hands on her… she felt as though she could never have enough.
Her breath came too fast. With every thump, her heart demanded that she take advantage of Andrew’s proximity. The sharpness of his blue eyes had dissolved into heat. Not of anger this time, but something different.
“Does it bother you to think that something might happen to me?” she whispered.
“You are my wife.” He stepped closer, his body almost pressing against hers.
That almost made her ache with frustration.
His thumb slipped against her skin, and she shivered in anticipation.
“The thought of any harm ever coming to you bothers me, and particularly when it’s because of your unruly tongue. ”
“I thought you liked my unruly tongue.” The words slipped out entirely without intention.
For a second, his face blanked, and then he looked down at her mouth. His gaze focused, such intensity there that she couldn’t breathe.
“This mouth,” he said, sliding his thumb up to catch on her bottom lip. “This mouth is constantly begging for trouble, and I am more than happy to give it to you.”
There was an ache between her legs, and she caught hold of his wrist again. “Then do so.”
He let out something—a groan, perhaps, or a curse—and brought his mouth down on hers in a searing kiss.
Jessamine felt as though she floated in a bliss of her own making. Finally, finally he was kissing her, her back against the rough trunk of the tree, his hands sliding up her waist.
Such big hands, splayed across her ribs, his fingers almost reaching the underside of her breasts. There, his hands halted, although she wished he would move them just a little further up.
Her nipples tightened. Her entire world narrowed to Andrew and the pressure of his mouth, and the hot, sensual slide of his tongue. He kissed her as though there would be no tomorrow, as though he were a dying man and she were his very last breath.
She drowned in him.
Ever since their last kiss, she had been imagining what it would be like for him to kiss her again, and now she knew. It was like magic, like lightning in her veins and fire in her heart. Heat sank through her to gather, liquid, at her core.
More. She would always need more, always be greedy for it. When the hand on her chin moved to her neck, clasping gently, she arched her back, encouraging him to take what he wanted. Her body knew more than her brain; it knew, here, that friction would ease a little of this need within her.
He huffed a sharp breath and pressed himself more firmly against her, positioning them so his thigh slid between her legs.
Oh, sweet relief.
Jessamine cared for nothing except the sudden burst of unexpected pleasure from his leg against the apex of her thighs.
Heavens, there was nothing so sweet, nothing so heady, as this.
“Jessamine,” he moaned, and his hand finally made its way to her breast.
His palm skimmed her nipples, the sensitive flesh spiraling more heat through her.
Nothing had ever felt so good in her entire life. With every drugging pull of his kiss, she slid further under, lost to the world.
A man’s laugh, harsh and altogether too close, cut through her haze. She jerked back; her head would have slammed against the tree had Andrew not used his hand to cushion it just in time.
Reality crashed down on her.
The man was nowhere to be seen, but he would be soon.
And she had been disgracing herself with Andrew in a public place.
The very indecency of the act, the way she had been rubbing herself wantonly against him, made her flush all over. Shame had her wiggling out from against him.
He braced himself against the tree, head lowering as though he were catching his breath. She watched the rise and fall of his shoulders.
Really, kissing her husband should not feel so very wrong, but there it was: it felt wrong. This was not the marriage she had agreed to.
For weeks, she had wondered what it would be like if he kissed her, and now she knew. All her curiosity could be put to rest.
If only the restless, unfulfilled pleasure in her body, this hollow wanting, could also be put to rest, she would be happy.
Finally, Andrew turned, adjusting the lapels of his coat. His face was utterly inscrutable. “I apologize.”
“No, I—” She had encouraged him in a fit of madness. “There’s no need to apologize. But this… it shouldn’t happen again.”
“No,” he agreed. “No, it shouldn’t.”
“Our focus is on William. And if we…”
If they were to get distracted together, how could their focus remain as it should be?
“We mustn’t,” she finished.
“Yes, I understand.” He stayed where he was a few minutes more, not fully facing her, looking out across the trees as though they fascinated him.
Finally, he offered her his arm, which she took in silence.
Neither of them looked at the other for the entirety of their journey home.