Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Andrew had never been subjected to so much indignity in his life.
Blind man’s buff was a parlor game, a slightly risqué pastime that younger men and women often engaged in. One member of the group was blindfolded and had to chase the other members around the room and identify them through touch alone.
Thus far, he had endeavored to brood alone in the corner, but that could not last forever, as proven by Lady Marwich, who approached him with the silken scarf in her hands that she had used to wrap around her victims’ eyes.
From the gleam in her eyes, he knew he would not be long exempt.
“Your Grace,” she pronounced, loudly enough that the large room of ladies could all hear. “I think you should be next.”
At the thought of grasping one of these women and identifying them with the use of his hands alone made him break out in a cold sweat. Many of the ladies in question were at least married, but he saw several unmarried ladies amongst their ranks.
His frantic gaze caught Jessamine’s. Although her hand was half over her mouth, smothering a giggle, she managed a look of sympathy in his direction.
If she wasn’t the lady he found—
“I would rather not,” he said to Lady Marwich, hearing the stiffness in his voice but unable to prevent it.
“And yet we must all sometimes do things we had rather not.”
In one deft moment, she reached up and fastened the scarf around his head. The light dimmed, and he planted his feet to steady himself. Vague light filtered through the material, but nothing more definitive.
“Lady Marwich,” he growled.
“Oh, now, go and have fun.” She tapped his shoulder. “It isn’t often we get to play with a gentleman.”
“Torture, more like,” he muttered, then straightened. Jessamine had been to his right, and he took two sure steps in that direction, rewarded by the sound of fleeing footsteps. An arm brushed his body, but he disregarded it. His prey was somewhere ahead; he could sense it.
He could sense her.
She had a particular scent, one that called to him. Floral and pretty with an undertone of something spicier that made his blood heat. There was too much perfume in this room for him to smell her, but if he got close enough, he would know.
A body stepped into his, and he caught her out of instinct. His hands closed around her upper arms, and he had a whiff of that elusive scent. She was silent, but he could almost sense the way she waited, testing him.
This was a challenge. Perhaps that was why Lady Marwich had established it in the first place.
What a terrible idea.
He slid his hands up to her shoulders. A familiar slope. He had only held Jessamine a few times, but he felt as though he had memorized her body in that time. Every line, every curve.
He brought his hand to her cheek, running his thumb along her chin. The room had gone quiet, but he barely paid them any attention.
Yes, this was his wife. She had stepped into his path, and she had allowed herself to be caught, and in doing so, she had once again caught him. Her lure had been too great for him to resist.
Even though he knew her identity, he slid his hand along her jaw until he felt the silken brush of her hair. Her breath stuttered, and he wanted her so ferociously he wasn’t sure how he had ever resisted.
“Jessamine,” he murmured, his voice low enough that it was for her and her alone. “Are you satisfied?”
Finally, she laughed. A huff of breath against his arm, and then she was stepping closer, into the circle of his arms, and reaching up to remove the blindfold. He stared down into her face, her brown eyes light, like amber, and her mouth slightly parted.
He knew that look, too. He’d been blessed with enough experience to know what Jessamine looked like when she wanted him, too.
But she had no idea what she really wanted, and how dangerous such a thing was.
He was not a kind, gentle man. If she came to care for him…
if he endeavored to deserve her, he would end up breaking something, and then who would care for William?
The distance between them ought to be preserved. Friends and no more. Parents of the same little boy, but not lovers in their own right.
Looking down at her now, he couldn’t remember why he had made that vow.
He dropped his hand and stepped back. “I’m glad it was you,” he said with perfect sincerity.
The faint beginnings of a smile touched her lips, even as she watched him with a kind of wariness that made his chest hurt.
“Yes,” she said. “So am I.”
He wished—desperately—that he could read whatever thoughts were passing through her mind. But she merely watched him, probably hoping the same.
He exhaled sharply and went to sit to one side. Jessamine accepted the blindfold, and easily identified Lady Temperance, who submitted to being caught.
It was only when they were back in the carriage once more in the early hours of the morning, after having spent the majority of the night there, that she spoke once again.
“Thank you for bringing me here.”
“It was my pleasure.”
She reached over and took his hand. He glanced down at the contact, the temptation to kiss her fingers almost overwhelming. “Really,” she said. “Thank you. I cannot tell you how very grateful I am. And for staying. And…” Her voice trailed away.
“You’re welcome,” he said, squeezing her fingers and relinquishing them before he could be tempted to go any further. “Anything you need, Jessamine. That is what I vowed I would provide for you.”
“Anything?”
The way she said it, almost throaty, a little breathy, put him in mind of other things he ought not to be promising her. But by God, the night was old, and he was tired, and his willpower had worn down, and if that was what she wanted from him—
Well, he would not be so much of a bastard as to deny her.
“Anything,” he said.
She sucked in a breath, and he thought she would say nothing.
But then she spoke. “Kiss me.”
Jessamine had not intended to ask Andrew to kiss her. Not precisely. In the Minerva Club, she had half thought he might when he’d found her, but being watched had ensured he stepped back. Or perhaps he would have done, anyway.
All she knew was how much she craved just being held. He had been so good to her all night, and she wanted more of his goodness.
She craved it—she needed it.
He looked at her as though her request had wrecked him from the inside out.
And then, as the carriage lurched over uneven cobbles, he moved, crossing to her side of the carriage and taking her in his arms, bringing her against his body and fastening his mouth against hers with such fervor, she realized he must have been waiting for this.
Waiting for her.
His lips claimed hers, and she offered herself to him. No more defiance, no more arguments, nothing but the primal desire that flared between them.
The carriage came to a stop before the house, and Andrew picked her up as though she weighed nothing, carrying her down from the carriage and up the steps to the front door. The moment they were inside, he dismissed the servants and turned her so her back was against the door and kissed her again.
Jessamine wasn’t certain they would reach their bedchambers before this passion claimed them, and she didn’t think she minded. He could have her on the stairs, so long as he had her. So long as he eased the ache in her body.
She wanted another of those wonderful, cresting peaks he had brought on. And more to the point, she wanted to return the pleasure. Vaguely, in the back of her mind, she had been aware of the fact that the last time, she had done nothing for him.
This time would be different.
“I want you to touch me,” she said against his mouth.
He groaned as though he was in pain. “Where?”
“Everywhere.”
He cursed, and then he had picked her up again, barely breaking the kiss as he strode for the stairs. She slid against the hardness at his groin, wrapping her legs around his waist, the pressure delicious. This was everything she had been hoping for. Pleasure shot through her.
His steps faltered. She wrapped one arm around his neck and used the other to remove her skirts from around her legs. They kept getting in the way, and she wanted to feel.
There. Like that. His length—so thick and so hard—slid against her core, where he had pressed his mouth the last time, and she moaned.
More like that.
“You will be the death of me,” he muttered, and continued along his way, albeit more slowly.
When she rolled her hips against him, he paused, his steps seeming to stutter as he climbed the last few steps.
Could she find her peak just like this? He dropped his arms, allowing her to press more firmly against him, just where she needed him, and the pleasure rocketed through her.
Yes, she needed this; she desperately needed this. Just more, more, more.
“Andrew,” she choked, almost a sob.
One hand splayed across her backside as he guided her to move against him again and again. Jessamine rolled her hips, unashamed of the needy way she wanted him. In this moment, they were united in their desire, if nothing else.
More.
He took a few more steps, and the friction became even better, even more delightful, everything she ever could have needed.
Her breath came more quickly. As they moved, Andrew moved her across him, though by his soft groans, he was not unaffected by it, either.
How he ever managed to keep walking despite the distractions, she didn’t know.
They reached her bedchamber, and she barely noticed their surroundings as he laid her down on her back on the bed, his body weight pressing her into the mattress. She wrapped her legs back around his waist, holding him where she needed him.
She never wanted him to move. If they could, she would remain there for the rest of the night. His length against her core.
His breath came harshly by her ear. His fingers found hers, winding through them, pressing the backs of her hands by her head as he was now the one to roll his hips. Delicious pressure, wonderful friction. She felt hot and liquid against him.