A Lady Never Surrenders Part 13

He shot her a dark glance that was apparently supposed to serve as her answer, for he then bent to close his mouth over one linen-draped breast.

Good. Heavens. What deliciousness was this? She shouldn't allow it. But the man she'd been fascinated with for months was treating her as if he truly found her desirable, and she didn't want it to stop.

Clutching his head to her, she exulted in the hungry way he sucked her breast through her chemise, turning her knees to water and her blood to steam.

He pleasured her breast with teeth and tongue as his hand found her other breast and teased the nipple to arousal. Her pulse leapt so high she feared she might faint. "Jackson ... ohhh, Jackson ... I thought you ... despised me."

"Does this feel like I despise you?" he murmured against her breast, then tongued it silkily for good measure.

A sensual tremor swept through her. "No." But then, she'd been a fool before with men. She wasn't good at understanding them when it came to this. "If you desired me all along, why didn't you ... say anything before?"

"Like what? 'My lady, I keep imagining you naked in my bed?'" He slid one hand down to her hip. "I'm not fool enough to risk being shot for impertinence."

Should she be thrilled or disappointed to hear that he imagined her in his bed? It was more than she'd expected, yet not enough.

She dug her fingers into his shoulder. "How do you know I won't try shooting you now?"

He nuzzled her breast. "You left your pistol on the breakfast table."

A strange excitement coursed through her. It made no sense, considering what had happened the last time a man had got her alone and helpless. "Perhaps I have another hidden in this room."

He lifted his head to gaze steadily into her eyes. "Then I'd best keep you too busy to use it."

Suddenly he was kissing her again, hard, hungry kisses ... each more intoxicating than the last. He filled his hands with her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and fondled them shamelessly, distracting her from anything but the taste and feel of him.

A moan escaped her, and he tore his mouth from hers. "You shouldn't let me touch you this way."

"Yet I am," she gasped against his cheek. "And you aren't stopping, either."

"Say the word, and I will." Yet he dragged her skirts up and pressed forward between her legs. "This is mad. We're both mad."

"Are we?" she asked, hardly conscious anymore of what she was saying.

Because it felt utterly right to be in his arms, as if she'd waited ages to be there. Her heart had never clamored so for anyone else.

"I don't generally take advantage of my clients' sisters," he rasped as his hands slid to grip her thighs. "It's unwise."

"I'm your client, too. Do I look as if I'm complaining?" she whispered and drew his head down to hers.

With a groan, he covered her mouth with his once more. They kissed a long while, their breaths entwining, their hearts pounding in tandem. His thumbs swept up the insides of her thighs just above her garters, and a delicious antic.i.p.ation made her lean into him, wanting him to touch her, to caress her- "Celia! Where are you, girl?"

The sound came from not far away, outside the room. They both froze. It was Gran!

She tore her mouth from his in a panic. "You have to go." She shoved at his shoulders. "She can't find you here. She mustn't!" Gran would have him dismissed before Celia could even discover how he felt about her. How she felt about him.

He hesitated, his eyes hungry, his lips parted. Then an odd disappointment flickered in his face before he pulled away and that infernal detachment of his hardened his features again. "No, indeed. Your grandmother mustn't find you being mauled by the likes of me."

"Jackson-" she began.

"I'm going," he said sharply and strode for the window.

Before she could call him back or protest his words, he'd opened it and pa.s.sed through into the courtyard, closing the window behind him.

"Celia, I know you are back here somewhere!" Gran cried, much closer now.

Frantically, Celia leapt off the table and b.u.t.toned up her gown. At the last minute, she spotted her tucker on the floor and stepped on top of it, just as Gran hobbled in.

Gran halted, then searched the room with eyes that were sharp and keen as always. "Why did you not answer me?"

Celia forced a smile. "I did," she lied. "You must not have heard." What on earth was Gran doing here, anyway?

"Oliver said that you were with Mr. Pinter in the servants' quarters, but they said they had not seen either of you. And that all the guns were already in order and placed in their racks."

She clapped her hand to her chest dramatically. "Oh, thank heaven! We headed there, but then I remembered I had a book that explained how to unload the new percussion guns, so I sent him back to the house. I came here, figuring I could handle unloading the gun alone if I found the book pa.s.sage I was remembering."

The explanation sounded inane, but it was the only excuse she could think of that was remotely convincing.

Gran didn't look convinced. Her gaze dipped down. "Do you generally look through your books on the floor?"

"Of course not. You startled me, that's all. I knocked them off." Crossing her arms over her chest, she went on the offensive. "And how did you know where to find me, anyway?"

"One of the servants told me to check this part of the north wing-she said she had discovered that someone had been burning coal in one of the fireplaces." Gran's gaze narrowed. "Eventually I find out everything that goes on in this house, girl. Do not think to hide anything from me."

Celia fought not to swallow and give herself away. Gran was like a shark when she scented blood in the water. "And what would I hide from you?"

"That you and Mr. Pinter are up to something."

"He's investigating my suitors-nothing more."

Gran swept her gaze around the room again. "I hope that is true. He cannot afford even the appearance of impropriety."

"Impropriety? I can't imagine what you mean."

Her grandmother arched one eyebrow. "Do not play the fool with me. This is not the first time you have been off alone with him. You must consider how that looks."

"To whom?"

"To everyone. He cannot afford to have people gossiping about you and him-"

"No, of course not," she said bitterly. "Because then you'd have to dismiss him, even after all he's done for our family."

Gran's gaze turned steely. "Actually, he cannot afford it because he is very near to being appointed Chief Magistrate. Any appearance of impropriety toward a client's sister might scuttle that appointment." Gran searched her face. "Unless, of course, he married the woman. A rich wife of rank would enhance his chances."

It took all of Celia's control to appear unconcerned, though her heart clamored in her chest. Jackson was in line for an important appointment? Why had he never mentioned it?

Because he knew what you'd think of his overtures. Because he knew it would put you on your guard while he was pretending to desire you madly.

No, she couldn't believe that his sweet kisses and caresses had been calculated. They'd been too reckless, too impa.s.sioned. Could such a thing really be feigned? He'd always been forthright with her-it wasn't in him to misrepresent himself.

Was it?

She forced a smile to her lips, determined not to let Gran's words affect her until she could learn the truth. Gran was known for her devious strategies. This might merely be one more of those.

But to what purpose?

"I don't know why you think Mr. Pinter would be caught in an impropriety with me, of all people. He can't stand to be in the same room with me."

"Yet he beat your suitors this afternoon so he could gain a kiss from you."

Celia gave a brittle laugh. "Rather, so he could avoid having to pay his portion of the rifle they would have owed me if I'd won. Mr. Pinter is nothing if not careful with his money. Didn't you hear the whole tale? He gave me a peck on the forehead. Hardly the action of a man seeking my favors."

With an attempt at nonchalance, she bent to pick up a book. "In any case, even if he was trying to court me, it's not as if I would fall for his tricks. I have three perfectly eligible suitors here this week-why should I care if a Bow Street Runner dangles after me?"

Gran watched her carefully. "So you have no feelings for the man."

"I have a duke practically in my pocket," she managed. "What would I want with Mr. Pinter?"

Who made her blood race and her heart soar. Who made her hope, for the first time, that she might still find a man to love her. A man she could love.

Love? He'd said nothing of love or even affection. He'd spoken only of desire. For that matter, he'd said nothing of marriage.

Then again, if what he wanted was a rich and influential wife, he'd be a fool to make that too obvious too soon.

Blast it all! Gran was muddling her mind, playing with her heart. And for what? To make sure she didn't marry too low? It was hardly fair, under the circ.u.mstances.

"I do find it odd," she went on, "that you should care how Mr. Pinter feels about me. I thought all you wanted was to have some man marry me. He would be as good as any."

Gran winced. "Not if he is after your fortune. That is what happened to your mother, and I regret to this day that I did not see beneath your father's winning smiles and t.i.tle to his mercenary motive."

Celia swallowed past the lump in her throat. "Well, since Mr. Pinter has no t.i.tle and barely knows how to smile, you needn't worry. If he has a mercenary motive, he's hiding it well." She surrept.i.tiously kicked her tucker under the table as she stepped forward. "Now, let's go have some tea, shall we?"

After another hard look about the room, Gran took the arm Celia offered and let her granddaughter accompany her out the door. But while they walked down the corridor, Celia's mind kept stumbling over Gran's revelation.

A rich wife of rank would enhance his chances.

It wouldn't be the first time a man had pretended to find her fetching for his own reasons. But if Gran's suspicions about Jackson's motives proved true, it would definitely be the last. Because Celia would rather enter a loveless marriage with the Duke of Lyons than be used by Jackson Pinter.

Chapter Eleven.

That night, Jackson stood in the corner of Halstead Hall's s.p.a.cious ballroom, downing one gla.s.s of punch after another and wis.h.i.+ng he could be anywhere else. But of all the events of the house party, he couldn't miss his lords.h.i.+p's birthday ball. Even Lord Basto had chosen to stay this evening instead of going home to his sister, though he'd said he would return to London later.

Jackson surveyed the room, trying not to fix on the one person who interested him. Celia was merrily dancing with that d.a.m.ned Lyons, letting the duke put his hands all over her while Jackson could only stand and watch.

He'd made a muck of things today. He'd let his feelings show, and now he was paying for it. All evening, Celia had vacillated between ignoring him entirely and giving him veiled glances that he didn't know how to interpret.

Meanwhile, he couldn't tear his gaze from her. She danced like a creature from another realm-a sparkling fairy of the forest. He must have been under some enchantment to think he could ever have such a sprite for his own, yet the illusion persisted, no matter how he fought it. After tasting her this afternoon, he ached to claim her before them all.

Sheer madness. She belonged here among her kind, not in Cheapside with a b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Perhaps one day, if he became Chief Magistrate ...

But she would never let her brothers and sisters lose their fortune. She would choose a suitor long before then.

That suitor could be you.

He stifled a bitter laugh. What a ridiculous pipe dream. So far she'd given no indication that their encounter this afternoon had meant anything to her but a moment's enjoyment. If she'd wanted to be caught with him, wanted to force the issue, she could have. It certainly would have solved her problem of how to gain a husband, because he would have offered for her right then.

But she'd panicked at the idea of her grandmother catching them together. No doubt their interlude had just been a case of a gently bred female indulging her curiosity about men.

It wouldn't be the first time a lady dallied with a man beneath her rank merely because he gave her pleasure. He'd seen plenty enough young ladies with infatuations for their footmen that came to nothing, plenty enough gently bred females who swooned over tutors they had no intention of marrying. There was no reason to believe that Celia felt more for him than just an unwise desire.

And even if she did have some vague notion that they could marry, even if he could set her mind at ease about his not being interested in her fortune, it wouldn't make a difference. She couldn't possibly be happy married to him, given his station and hers. How could she?

The butler appeared at the entrance to the ballroom and announced in a voice that could barely be heard over the music, "Mr. and Mrs. Desmond Plumtree and Mr. Edward Plumtree."

Jackson's jaw dropped. "What the devil are they doing here?" he muttered as Desmond strolled in with his wife and son.

"Desmond is still my nephew, after all," said a voice very near him.

Mrs. Plumtree, of all people. That put Jackson instantly on his guard. He still had no idea why she'd shown up in the north wing this afternoon, or if she realized he'd been in there alone with her granddaughter.

"I beg your pardon, madam," he said stiffly as he tossed back the remainder of his punch and girded himself for doing battle with Mrs. Machiavellian Plumtree. "I meant no disrespect."

"Believe me, I understand your surprise." She stared over to where her nephew and great-nephew stood talking to Stoneville and looking awkwardly about them. "It was Minerva's idea to invite them."

"Even after the two of them threatened her life?"

"Minerva doesn't see it that way. She considers it a misunderstanding borne of Desmond's idiotic resentment of our family. But Jarret has been working with Desmond and Ned to make their mill more successful, and he and Minerva thought it might be a good idea to mend fences. I confess I was eager for that, too. They are still my family, after all."

The dance ended, and the duke led Celia over to a chair on the wall opposite from the Plumtrees. She didn't seem to have noticed their entrance-no doubt she'd been too busy dancing to hear them being announced. The duke said something to her, then headed off to the room that held the punch table.

The minute the man was gone, Ned broke away from his parents and sauntered over to where Celia sat. She caught sight of him, and the blood drained from her face.

Jackson's eyes narrowed.

"I don't think all your grandchildren agree with your a.s.sessment," he said, nodding to where Celia had risen stiffly to greet Ned.

Mrs. Plumtree followed his gaze. "Celia has never liked the fact that Desmond hires children in his mills. Even though Jarret has put an end to that practice, she still dislikes her cousin for it."

"It's not Desmond she's reacting to."

Ned stepped nearer and she took a quick step back, raising the hackles on the back of Jackson's neck. He moved forward, but Mrs. Plumtree laid a hand on his arm. "It is none of your concern, Mr. Pinter."