Chills Read online

  Virginia hummed as she hurried out the door. He shook his head. No matter how many times he promised, Virginia didn’t believe he wasn’t already betrothed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “IF I DREW pleasure from inflicting pain, Miss Grange, I believe I would take you across my knee and give you the spanking you deserve,” Lord Daventry murmured with a smile totally at odds with his words.

  His voice cut through Constance’s misery like a knife. “Lord Daventry?”

  Shocked to a standstill on Lady Jamison’s ballroom floor, she glanced around, but no one appeared to have heard him.

  “Take my arm, Miss Grange,” Daventry ordered, still smiling, but his tone was far from pleasant.

  She did not understand what had changed. Daventry had never put himself out in either pleasure or vexation before. Yet he watched Constance closely and, judging by the postures of the society closest to them, they were garnering attention.

  Constance placed her hand on his arm. Daventry covered her fingers and used firm pressure to keep her hand in place as he escorted her off the dance floor and away from her chaperone.

  “Miss Grange, I believe I shall show you a little play. I know you enjoy the theatre, so you may find my little drama entertaining. I can assure you that from where I sit, it is all painfully real, and could be dealt with in a few simple words. Perhaps you have seen part of the play yourself, and not understood.”

  Constance struggled to keep up. Had Daventry finally gone mad? Could an excess of pleasure disturb the mind?

  Daventry stopped by the refreshment table and handed her a glass of freshly poured champagne. Constance sipped hers, still unable to move away. With Virginia out of sight, she longed for the dubious safety of Jack’s company across the room.

  Daventry’s gaze flowed over her, lingering on her breasts and mouth. “Are you still untouched, Miss Grange?”

  Constance skin flushed. “Of course, Lord Daventry,” she replied, attempting to step back. “Release me.”

  “Not just yet. Our play is just beginning.”

  “What play?” But he didn’t answer. Daventry deposited her half-full glass on the table, then strolled a few more steps. Yet his gaze swept her body almost as if he was undressing her where she stood.

  Constance squirmed. She did not like this, but they were still in a crowded ballroom. She was reasonably safe for the moment.

  “Take a look around you, Miss Grange. Take a good look at all the people you are acquainted with and watch what they do. You would be surprised what people reveal when they let their guard down.”

  He steered her toward a large pillar and placed her in its shadow. “Take Lady Wallis, for example. Can you tell the man she has her eye on?”

  Lord Daventry’s breath tickled her cheek, an unpleasant sensation. She shuddered but turned in Lady Wallis’ direction and watched her converse with her staid husband. Before long, the lady’s eyes did drift, in Jack’s direction.

  The slender Lord Wade passed Lady Wallis, and her gaze stroked him.

  “Yes, the lovely lady is not adverse to a man of more trim and muscled dimensions than her husband. Look again. What else can you see?”

  He was determined to torment her. Of course, women looked at Jack. He was in no way bad looking. He stood in conversation with Agatha and Mr. Birkenstock across the dance floor. His gaze flittered around the ballroom continually, never resting on any one face for long. Not even Agatha. The girl watched her grandfather and Jack speaking, but her gaze flickered across the dance floor, but not quite at Constance and Lord Daventry though.

  Constance turned her head to her right. Lord Carrington lingered nearby. He was gazing at Agatha from beside another pillar, a frown creasing his forehead. That was certainly a surprise. Agatha and Carrington were watching each other. When she thought about it, Carrington often joined in on her conversations when Agatha was near, but the girl usually excused herself soon after.

  “Fascinating, is it not?” he supplied, reading her mind. Obviously, he saw much more than she usually did. “Keep looking.”

  Daventry’s hand touched her upper arm and she jumped. When she turned her head, she found him closer than was comfortable. She was in trouble now. If she boxed his ears, it would draw attention. If she stayed here with him much longer, people would begin to whisper. The earl was playing her for the sake of his own twisted amusement. A prickle of anxiety swept her skin and she returned her gaze to the center of the ballroom.

  Jack had left the Birkenstocks, but had halted a few feet from them, directly across the ballroom floor. He was staring at her and only at her. Constance gulped, suddenly nervous. Daventry’s finger dragged along her upper arm and he whispered into her ear, “Take my arm.”

  Jack’s jaw clenched.

  “Trust me, Pixie. I have no designs on your pretty self,” Daventry whispered when she hesitated. She should not trust him, yet she was curious as to what he was doing. She placed her hand on his arm and chose not to look at where Jack was standing again.

  Daventry wound them through the throng, pausing to exchange flirtatious comments with several women. By the time they reached the ballroom entrance, Constance had overheard a great deal more flirtatious comments than she wanted to. The man was obsessed.

  Once in the hallway, he pushed Constance against a wall. She yelped at the harsh treatment. But he stood beside her, arms loosely laced across his chest, waiting for something.

  Jack barreled through the doorway a moment later, radiating aggression and panic.

  Daventry smiled. “Ettington, old man, so good of you to join us.”

  Jack pivoted, and his blue eyes were black. He saw Constance and relaxed a little, but his eyes returned to Daventry. She had never seen Jack so angry. Jack advanced a step, fists curled tight at his sides.

  “Now, Ettington, no harm done,” Daventry assured him with a confident and pleased grin. “Such a pretty girl, you cannot wrap her up in silk and not expect her to attract admirers.”

  Jack grasped Daventry by his cravat, slamming his back into the wall.

  “Jack, stop.” Constance glanced around the hall. They were alone, but the hall would not stay that way for long.

  “Ah, but you see, Miss Grange, our Jack is not quite himself.” Daventry struggled to speak around the tightened neck cloth. “You could almost think he was dealing with poachers on his land. Ettington, you’ve forgotten I stick to my rules.”

  Red stained Lord Daventry’s cheeks before Jack let go of the earl.

  “There’s always an exception.” Jack drew in a deep breath. “Leave, before I do something permanent.”

  “Your servant, Miss Grange. Have a pleasurable evening, Ettington.”

  As soon as he turned, Lord Daventry started whistling. The man was deranged. Constance glanced up at Jack and was surprised to find his eyes closed.

  Thinking to return to the ballroom before her absence was noticed, she edged around the angry man. But his hand shot out and gripped her arm tight. She stared at it, then up at his face. Jack pulled her to him, placed Constance’s arm through his, and started walking.

  Given that he never touched her in public, she was shocked. Jack always kept his hands behind his back or on his cane, which he appeared to have lost somewhere tonight.

  He placed his free hand over hers and held her tight. Despite the gloves, Jack’s hands were hot. She kept her eyes lowered as he pulled her down the hall, past a few small groups of servants avoiding their duties, and around a corner to a part of the house she had never seen.

  Jack’s breath brushed her cheek a moment before he kissed her. Her mind spun as he assaulted her so passionately that she sobbed. Jack held tight to her and plundered her mouth, running his hands over her hungrily. As quick as lightning, her senses were on fire. She should resist his demands yet waves of desire threatened to drown her. She clung to Jack as if he was the only lifeline she had.

  Jack kissed her again, kissed her as if he would never stop. But she remem
bered where they were and that at any moment they could be found. A scandal she could never live down was just around the corner.

  She struggled against him.

  He lifted his head a fraction, kissing her again, once, twice, lips softer, teasing. “Not Agatha, you little fool.”

  He pulled her hard against him so they touched from breast to thigh.

  Constance felt the rest of Jack, the hardness at the top of his thighs, straining against her belly. He lifted her from the floor, held her against the wall, his body pushing her skirts in between her legs. He ground his hips, making her blush as a thousand nerve endings erupted.

  Constance sobbed, unable to help herself. Jack kissed her again then trailed his lips to the side of her face and down her throat. She instinctively rubbed her own hips into him and heard a tortured groan escape him.

  He returned to her lips, stroking inside her mouth with his tongue. Constance’s hands slid from his shoulders to his face. She drew him back to stare at him.

  “You will ruin me,” she warned him, hope threatening to strangle her. Would he risk exposure like this if he did not care about her? He had her pressed to the wall by his own body, her lips surely red from his kisses.

  “I want to. Never, ever doubt that,” he told her bluntly, grinding his hips into her again and making her gasp at the sensations he caused. “Stay away from Lord Daventry.”

  “Lord Daventry doesn’t appeal to me.” Constance twined her arms around Jack’s neck, but her mind buzzed with the thought that Jack was jealous. She moved one hand to the side of his head, but he cursed.

  “Damn gloves. I want to feel your hands on me.”

  Constance did not dare remove them and lose the time she could be touching him. The sensations he stirred were overwhelming.

  Jack eased back, breathing hard, and let her slide down the wall. He crowded her, unable, it seemed, to let her go completely. She took a deep, steadying breath and slid her hands over his waistcoat. His heart pounded beneath them and she looked back up into his dark eyes. “What are you doing to me?”

  “Making sure you do not leave.”

  “I have to leave eventually.”

  “No, you do not. We have to talk. If you have heard some talk that I have a mistress, you are very much mistaken. I want you. I've already settled the debt with Mr. Scaling. The other outstanding notes will be repaid shortly.”

  She swallowed as his words sunk in.

  “Did you never think that I could afford you?” he asked, eyes flashing wickedly. Constance’s head spun at his words. She couldn’t answer that one. “Go to the ladies retiring room. You look as if you have just been ravished.”

  Constance nodded and slipped her hands from his chest. She took a few steps away, but turned back, dazed. Jack’s eyes were still on her or, more precisely, on her derrière. She blushed as he smiled wolfishly. Then he stalked her to the base of the staircase, watching as she ascended.

  Moments later, she sat before a mirrored table and caught a glimpse of her face. It was indeed fortunate she had not encountered anyone on her way here.

  Her eyes were bright, her cheeks were flushed, and her lips were as red as cherries. The skin of her throat looked red, too. She let out a shaky breath and looked down at her gown. Crushed, beyond all hope of appearing respectable. She looked like a woman well loved.

  Constance could not help herself. She laughed, unable to hold in her excitement. She had been a fool to listen to gossip. Jack wouldn’t lie to her. He had no mistress waiting in the wings. She brushed her lips with her fingertips and tried to control her smile, but her happiness could not be contained. All that mattered was that downstairs was a marquess who was missing a cravat pin.

  She twirled it in her fingers, flushing guiltily at the thought that she was looking forward to undressing the rest of him. A great weight lifted from Constance. It dimmed somewhat when she considered that Jack had repaid her obscenely large debts. It was far too generous of him. But Jack wanted her, desired her enough to lose his head in jealousy. She ran her hand over her chest as she hoped, no prayed, that it might be so. If Jack loved her, she could bear the scandal of being his mistress.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  VIRGINIA PROWLED THROUGH the ballroom, frantic, but trying her best not to show it. How had she lost Pixie? She waved to Agatha, yet managed to avoid stopping and having to make conversation. Bernard was right. She did not belong here anymore. All this insipid chatter was getting on her nerves.

  She wanted to go home, but not before she located that little minx of a Pixie. She doubted her friend was in trouble, as she had seen no sign of the Scaling party tonight.

  Virginia studied the thick crowd ahead but still saw no sign of her. Dear God, Jack would kill her. Yet she hadn’t seen him either, come to think of it.

  At the refreshment table, she grabbed a glass and sipped slowly, pondering where to look next. “What are you doing roaming this hell all on your own? Have you lost someone?”

  “Perhaps,” she murmured.

  Daventry laughed, and held out his arm. “Or maybe, you lost two someone’s?”

  “Where are they?” Virginia asked, absolutely certain that he knew more than she did.

  “Ettington has just walked back in. My, my, he is a bit rumpled. And if my eyes don’t deceive me, he’s missing a cravat pin, too. Very messy.” He laughed again, clearly delighted by the image.

  For all her height, it was often advantageous to have a taller man around. “Can you see Pixie?”

  “No. But he’ll have sent her off to the retiring room by now. I imagine she’s looking a little mussed as well.”

  “I had better go find her. Thank you, Daventry.” She turned for the door, but the earl held her back.

  “It is good to see you happy again, Virginia. When you see Hallam, tell him he has my admiration.”

  Virginia blushed and moved on, shaking her head at Daventry’s foolish insinuations. But as she climbed the stairs, she wondered if he was right. Was her happiness all due to Bernard? He would probably preen like a peacock at the compliment and she could not wait to tell him.

  Virginia was so lost in her thoughts that she careened into Pixie at the top of the stairs. Taking in her bemused expression and rumpled appearance Virginia turned her around and marched her back inside the retiring room. “You can’t go out there looking like that.”

  Virginia ignored the blush staining her friend’s face and straightened her gown, ridiculously pleased that her soon-to-be sister had fallen as hard as her brother.

  Pixie clenched her hands together. “Perhaps I should go home?”

  Virginia studied her friend’s distracted state. Perhaps that was the right idea. She was bored anyway. Once Pixie was at home, Jack would undoubtedly continue his seductions in private. Virginia was going to go home, find a bottle of something pleasant, and lock her door. The less she knew about what transpired when she wasn’t looking, the better.

  ~ * ~

  Spying was socially frowned upon, but watching Jack at his desk scratching notes on his papers fascinated Pixie. She took a deep breath and stepped into his study. Although she had retired a while ago, she had not been able to sleep. Jack’s kisses had inflamed her body and mind, not to mention aroused in her a curiosity she had never expected to have. If she continued to think about the way he had brushed her body with his, she would get no sleep at all. She was too keyed up, too restless.

  Jack looked up and smiled at her with real pleasure in his eyes. “I was about to come and talk to you. Having trouble sleeping again?”

  Constance nodded.

  Jack rose and circled the desk, sitting on the polished edge, and making his breeches pull tight across his thighs. “My fault?”

  Jack held out his hand and Constance walked forward to take it, sighing as he pulled her into his arms.

  “I’m glad to see you, too,” he murmured against her hair.

  He lifted her chin and kissed her, brushing his lips lightly against he
rs. They were nothing at all like his kisses at the ball. Jack had not been in control then, but he was now. He continued to kiss her lightly until Constance kissed him back more insistently. She moved until she didn’t have to stretch to reach his mouth.

  Running her hands up his arms to his shoulders then neck, she dug her fingers into his hair and set it free, flicking the offending ribbon toward the fireplace with satisfaction. Constance fingered the strands, combing them around his face in messy drifts, enjoying the feel of them slipping through her fingers.

  Jack’s hands were not idle, either. He tugged pins from her hair quickly and caught the mass in his palm. “God, I love your hair,” he whispered.

  “And I love yours.” She framed his face with her hands and kissed him. Cinnamon, her favorite flavor.

  Constance gave up trying to think, letting him sink them down into the sweetest desire she had ever known. Their tongues brushed and tasted in maddening passes while their hands molded them together. He slid one hand firmly down her back, under the length of hair, and very firmly squeezed her bottom, tilting her hips to bring her flush against the hard length of him.

  ~ * ~

  Jack released her mouth to take in more air. His breath was fast and loud to his own ears. Each time they kissed, he reveled in the heat rising off their skin. He wanted to strip the clothes from his back, strip her too, and continue this heady freedom. He wanted to kiss her without restraint. He kissed her jaw and worked his way to her ear before trailing his lips down her neck.

  Jack traced a path from one freckle to the next, letting his breath tickle over her wet skin, making a promise to count each and every one usually covered by her gowns. Pixie gasped and wiggled in response then pulled his face back to hers with firm hands. She kissed him for all she was worth, dueling tongues and lips, hands and bodies, grasping and rubbing with delicious friction.