Love and Scandal, page 17
He had learned to not let such tales bother him. His reputation as a rake and ladies’ man ensured that gossip columnists reported every new conquest, down to flirtations he never consummated. But he had never really been in public with Collette, never escorted her to a ball, never danced with her nor taken her to dinner. If they had named her as his mistress even before the dressmaker’s, how…? Sain? Surely he would not—
“Did they print your name?” he asked grimly, glancing back at her.
“N…no. They only told about us being here in the park, using your initials, and about Mr. Ellice, and me ripping into him, and then about buying a wardrobe at Mrs. Parker’s and you p-paying. And…and they must have followed us to your…cottage.”
In the midst of his growing fury he was relieved about that one thing; they hadn’t named her, thank God! But was that because they didn’t know her name, or were they holding that back to titillate their readers? There might be worse to come.
He must devise a plan to protect her. She didn’t deserve to suffer just through knowing him. He looked over at Collette, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief and sniffing. She seemed to gather herself, turning toward him with an attempt at a smile.
“I am happy, anyway, that it was not purposeful on your part. I was imagining all kinds of vile things, and for that I apologize.”
Brave soul, he thought, gallant even when wronged. “You apologize? ’Tis all my fault.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, an uncharacteristically inelegant movement, and kicked at a tuft of grass. He gazed off over the Serpentine, watching the family of ducks, the ducklings almost grown now in late August. They had returned and sailed close, hoping for a handout, perhaps, a few breadcrumbs, as scattered raindrops ringed the placid surface. He glanced over at Collette again and caught her frown. “I’ll take care of this, I swear it. I’ll make it right. Even if I have to pummel Mr.-bloody-Proctor myself—he’s responsible for all of this, I’m sure of it—I will make him retract, and publicly, too.” The thought assailed him that if anyone had guessed who she was, it might already be too late. Once a lady’s reputation was besmirched, it was forever tarnished. No retraction, no matter how it was worded, would ever cleanse it.
“But I still do not understand why you paid Mrs. Parker for my clothes,” she said, her head to one side. “Whatever possessed you to do such a thing?”
How could he explain? He met her eyes and smiled at the quizzical expression in their glowing green depths. She was deliciously enticing, like an adorable package with surprising contents. How could he say the delight on her face as she went through all of the lovely fabrics and lace and furbelows was worth ten times what he had paid? That watching her in raptures over pretty things she had never had before brought a queer lump to his throat and an even stranger gladness to his heart. He could not even explain it to himself. He had paid for wardrobes before, was even somewhat of a connoisseur of women’s accouterments, but in this case he expected no payback and needed no pretty wheedling or pleading to pay the shot.
It was enough to see her, so spring-like in moss green, daintily shod in neat shoes of Morocco leather and with a parasol of an exact match to the dress. She wore pale green dyed gloves on her hands, hands he knew were ink-stained, but not less enticing for that. He shrugged helplessly. “You seemed to be enjoying yourself so much. I knew that what you liked would come to a dreadful sum, and I did not think you could afford it, and I have pots of money sitting in the bank doing me not a jot of good…”
She stiffened again. From quizzical, her expression changed to acrimonious. “I see,” she said. Her eyes took on the look of fine emerald, glittering and hard. “And then, in such a happy mood, I blithely accompanied you to your country cottage and…and offered myself in payment.”
“I never thought that, never once, nor did I pay with the hope of it!” he said, anger building. “I would never treat you like…like one of those women.”
“One of those women? What would men like you do without ‘those women’?” she said.
“Ah, so this is what is really at the heart of it?” He calmed. “Collette, please don’t make this into a quarrel about my unfortunate wording.”
“No, I won’t. I’ll get back to the heart of the matter.” She quivered with outrage. “You have sadly misjudged me, Mr. Jameson, if you think me such a child that I cannot bear to be disappointed when my income does not match my desires. Your misjudgment continued when you thought buying me a wardrobe was a proper, or even a kind thing to do. I suppose the misjudgment of the rest of the day and the way we…the way we spent it is upon my shoulders, though. We must leave now, and we shall stop by Mrs. Parker’s on the way to cancel my wardrobe, after which she will return your money. Then we shall find out how much this dress cost, for I have already worn it and cannot return it. I shall pay you for it with a draft from my bank.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Collette. It’s too late…”
“It is not too late! Even if she has already started on the clothing, she has dresses there all the time that were not paid for or not picked up, like this green one,” she said, holding it away from her as if wearing it was a distasteful necessity. “She should never have made such an agreement with you without my knowledge, and I hold her responsible as well as yourself.” She turned and started stalking off toward the carriage, disregarding the light mist of rain, but then stopped and glared back at him. “And another thing, Mr. Jameson! I have still not given you permission to call me Collette!”
They left the park, made their way to Mrs. Parker’s establishment, and the deed was done. The seamstress was irate about the cancellation, but Collette demolished her with a controlled, wicked diatribe about how a woman must fashion her own destiny, and that as a businesswoman, Mrs. Parker had an obligation to right the wrong that had been inflicted upon Collette without her knowledge.
Now they were back in the carriage, but Jameson could not bear to see her so unhappy. Another distant rumble sounded and he glanced up at the sky uneasily. It had been a dry summer so far, and even with the misting rain, dust swirled on the crowded streets, whirling into tiny devils and gritting pedestrians’ eyes. This light mist was likely the precursor of a downpour.
He could not just drive aimlessly about all day, and yet there really was nowhere but a park to take a young lady. He dared not suggest his cottage again, and truly, they likely didn’t have enough time to get there in an open carriage. But they needed to talk at length.
“Do you have any suggestions of how to tackle this mess, Collette?” Despite her anger at him, he would not go back to calling her Miss Jardiniere.
“No,” she said bleakly, gazing into the distance.
“Collette,” he said urgently, glancing over at her while maneuvering his team through the streets. “We must speak of this. I don’t know what to do, for the first time in my life, and I don’t wish to do anything more to hurt you, or to impugn your honor.”
She glanced over at him, her expression softer, more open at his evident sincerity. “I don’t know! I don’t know what to do either. I don’t know why I’m so upset about it all. I could return to Kent tomorrow and no one would ever think of me again.”
He hated seeing her so overset. “Please don’t go. We can come up with a plan, but to do so, we must speak in private. Will you come to my townhouse for an hour? We can enter privately so no one even on my staff will see you, for I have a private entrance dedicated to my own use. It is going to pour in a few minutes and we cannot just drive around the streets all day in the rain.”
She looked around helplessly but then nodded. “I don’t know what else to do, and we do need to speak of this.”
Before they got there, the sky opened and rain poured down on them. He drove directly into his stable, a shared accommodation with other householders in the area, and as his groom handled the team, he took off his coat and put it over Collette’s shoulders. Sheltering her with his arm, he ran with her to the back of his house and guided her through his private door, up the stairs and into his suite’s sitting room.
Saturated and shivering, she stood in the middle of the room, her bonnet bedraggled, her hair wet against her neck. He took her hat, removing the long hat pin carefully and setting it aside.
“That is what is wrong with fine feathers,” she said mournfully, holding her arms out and staring down at her green silk dress, now spotted with rain. “This dress will never look the same. A little rain would not have injured my old brown one. If I had not been so vain as to wear this, but I thought it looked so nice…”
He took her into his arms and held her close, feeling her shiver against him. “My housekeeper will take care of it,” he murmured into her ear. “She is a very discreet woman and will never see you, anyway. But to do so, to save it, you must remove it, you know.” He released her and held her away from him, ducking down to look directly into her eyes. “I am not trying to do anything but save your pretty dress, my dear. I will get you a robe and leave you alone for a minute.”
He exited into his bedchamber, which opened off the sitting room, brought back a robe and then left again, merely saying he would order tea.
Collette undressed down to her petticoats, but they were wet as well. May as well dry them too, she thought, since she had Jameson’s voluminous robe to cover her. She climbed out of all her things and laid her underthings over a chair.
Jameson tapped on the door and she called out, “Come in.”
He slipped in and picked up the green dress. “It is wet, isn’t it?” he said, holding it up. He glanced over at the chair and spotted her petticoats and underthings, then looked over at her.
“They’re wet too,” she said, wrapping his robe around her more closely.
“I will have a maid light the fire. Would you slip into my bedroom for a moment while she does so? I will preserve your anonymity even with my staff if I can.”
A half hour later, with a fire blazing and a tray laid with tea things on a low table by the fire, they were comfortable. He had ensconced her in the only chair and he, wearing only trousers and a shirt, open to the waist, sat on the floor, his legs drawn up and his arms wrapped around them. His damp hair was drying, and it was tousled from the rain and wind. She reached out and pushed back his tumbled locks. He caught her hand in his and kissed her palm.
“I’m so sorry for all of this, Collette. You don’t know how much I regret what you are going through. It never would have happened if I hadn’t made that foolish comment to Proctor.” He gazed up at her. “But then, I never would have met you, and I cannot be unhappy about that.”
Was he as sincere as he sounded? That was the problem with gentlemen of rakish habits; they were by nature accomplished flatterers and liars. But she would choose to think him sincere.
“I’m not unhappy we met, either. I only wish…” She looked away from his face and toward the fire.
“What is it?”
She listened to the pattering rain against the window and the crackle of an ember popping in the fireplace. “I’m afraid, Jamie.”
“Afraid? Don’t be. Please, my dear. I will slay the dragons, you know, even if I suffer immolation in the process. I will do anything to make this right, Collette.”
He knelt beside her chair and took her into his arms and she buried her face in his neck, smelling the spicy scent of his cologne. When he tipped her face up to meet his and found her lips, she surrendered to the sweep of desire and kissed back, allowing her mind to go blank. In one swift motion he picked her up, cradled her to him and took the chair, holding her close to his chest on his lap. But then they stilled, the sound of the wind and rain filling the room.
“We should talk,” she murmured finally, tucking her cold hand under his shirt and tracing the musculature of his abdomen.
“Yes. We will. But kiss me again first. I cannot seem to get enough.”
She kissed him, wriggling around to face him and ending up straddling him on the chair. His lips covered hers and he thrust in his tongue, dipping into her mouth. She opened to him, feeling his stomach quivering under her bottom. He ran his hands up under the robe, pulling her closer, running his hands over her round cheeks and squeezing.
“Oh! Oh, Jamie,” she whispered against his lips as she moved slightly and felt his arousal stir against her nakedness. He had pushed open her robe and pulled her to him. Her naked breasts felt the coarse hair of his chest rubbing her nipples with an enticing, exciting roughness. Every point of contact between them delineated their differences: he was coarse where she was smooth, heavily muscled where she was slight and hard where she was soft. Through her mind flitted the thought…He said it would be better a second time. He said I would enjoy it more. What would it be like?
But that was how a practiced seducer worked, she thought. “I don’t think this is what I should do,” she whispered.
“Sometimes it doesn’t do to think too much,” he said with a wicked smile. “I try never to think when I am holding a woman I care for as much as I care for you.” He pushed the robe back off her shoulders and it fell to the floor. With dark eyes, he stared, running his hands down her arms and cupping her breasts in his hands, rubbing his thumbs over her nipples as they hardened. “So perfect,” he whispered, and pulled her closer.
She gazed down, watching as he took one nipple in his mouth, swirling it and sucking it lightly, flicking the tip with his tongue. Pleasure shot through her down to where she could feel him, hard against her. She thrust her fingers into his hair, holding him to her breast and moved her bottom, feeling the rough fabric of his trousers against her softness. It was enticing, that sensation of his erection restrained by his trousers, and yet too coarse. She drew away slightly, and he let go of her with one hand, undoing his trousers and allowing his thickening rod to spring free.
But then he reached down and touched her, tickling her between the legs with his free hand as he moved to her other breast, drawing her nipple into his warm mouth. Sensations washed through her. She trembled at the feel of his thick fingers stroking her, and then gasped with pleasure as he inserted one, teasing her with his thumb even as he did so.
“Yes,” she sighed, but then gasped as he guided his penis to her cleft and pushed in a little. “Oh!” she cried, pulling away. “No, Jamie, I…” She trailed off, though, as an interesting sensation, a quiver of desire, trickled through her. She licked her lips and closed her eyes. “We mustn’t continue,” she whispered.
“I’ll stop, just tell me to.”
She trembled on the knife’s edge between sense and desire, his breath bathing her naked flesh with warmth and his mustache tickling her. He held her fast and still touched above where he had inserted himself. Moisture seeped from her, coating him, as her softening made his penetration easier. She opened her eyes and looked down into his, as he held her waist, pulling her down onto him. A tension was building within her as she watched his dark eyes and expression of eager passion.
“I don’t want to stop,” she admitted.
“Then we won’t stop. Pull up now, and then down,” he whispered, showing her how to lift from him and then thrust herself down on him again. “And I will continue to do this,” he said, tickling her still, even as she pulled up and pushed down, riding him, a little more of his stiff shaft penetrating with every motion. “You can control my movements, my dear. You can control everything. Find what you like, explore the sensations. If I hurt you, pull away, if you want more…”
He pulled her down hard and she was impaled. Feeling him move deep within her as he teased the sensitive nub, she trembled, a sensation sweeping through her body, the craving building to an impossible level until she couldn’t stand it and then like a wave it broke over her, pulling her in even as he thrust and bucked under her. He held himself rigid as she quaked and cried out into the stillness.
“Yes, oh, yes! Please…more!” She looked down at him and he was sweating, perspiration trickling down his forehead, a thick corded vein popping out from his neck.
“I’ll give you more,” he said through gritted teeth, and he gentled his movement, slowing and catching her rhythm as she lifted her bottom and thrust down on him.
She felt the pressure building again, and the sense of being owned, claimed, branded with his lovemaking, swept through her along with the delicious building tension. He touched her again, slipping his hand down and teasing her as he watched her face, a powerful yearning in his expression.
Her breath coming in gasps, she felt the overwhelming sensation of pleasure rocking through her until she was atremble, her skin feeling licked by flames and she arched, pushing down hard and crying out as the sweet sensation of dizzy pleasure demanded her compliance and swept her away. And then he was gone too, his expression turning fierce as he shoved in hard and released, his rod throbbing and pumping hot juices deep inside of her.
She rode him, the hot wetness sending her into a blissful haze, and then she collapsed on him and he buried his face between her breasts. Silence fell, and she was completely aware of him driven into her to the hilt. Finally he looked up at her, a strange smile on his lips.
“Better this time?”
She giggled, feeling a lightness of being she had never experienced in her life, dizzy with pleasure. She was a different woman, changed in some way. Collette now knew what it was to be satisfied thoroughly and completely. “Much better! Oh, Jamie, now I understand.”
“So do I.”
“What?” She gazed down at him. The day had turned even darker, and the light of the firelight was warm over them. “What do you mean?”
“Never mind,” he said, his expression enigmatic. He pulled her close and held her to his chest, his hands rubbing her shoulder blades and down to her bottom.
