Jarrod rubbed his hand over the stubble on his chin. He shouldn't venture out in the company of a lady without shaving or donning a fresh shirt, but since it was still early and the lady in question was liable to sneak out the front door if he took the time to do either, Jarrod decided against it. Most of the ton would be home in bed by now, and the few still out and about would probably look as disreputable as he did. "If all else fails, I can always purchase you a husband."
He meant it as a joke, but Sarah wasn't smiling. "If all else fails, I can always ensure that you'll have wasted your money. Good-bye, Jarrod."
"Not so fast," Jarrod cautioned. "I'm going with you to the hotel."
Sarah frowned. "That's not necessary…"
But Jarrod had already shrugged out of his dressing gown and was reaching for the jacket hanging on the back of his chair. He shoved his arms into the sleeves of his jacket and pulled it on over his shirt, ignoring the linen neckcloth still draped across the chair. "We'll take your coach to Ibbetson's. I'll wait until you're safely inside the hotel, then hire a hack to bring me back here." He looked at her. "That way there will be less risk of being seen together."
"There won't be any risk if you'll just hire me a hack and let me go back on my own," Sarah told him.
"Hire a hack?" Jarrod's heart skipped several beats as he narrowed his gaze at her and dared her to he. "Tell me you didn't come here in a hired hack. Alone and dressed like that?"
"I didn't," she said. "Mr. Birdwell dropped me off at the top of Park Lane and returned to the hotel."
"He dropped you off? You walked from the top of Park Lane?" Jarrod was incredulous. "In that downpour?"
"It was less than a mile," Sarah offered. "And I made it safely."
"You were soaking wet."
"I got soaked leaving the hotel. A little more rain didn't hurt. So if you'll just find me a coach, I'll be out of your way."
Jarrod raked his fingers through his hair in an obvious show of frustration. "Confound it, Sarah, have you any idea of the danger you were in?"
"I made it in under ten minutes."
"You could have had your throat slit or been raped in less time than that."
"You're joking," she said. "On Park Lane? In the heart of Mayfair?"
Jarrod shook his head. "I'm not joking. This may be the heart of Mayfair, but pickpockets and footpads still roam the streets. Just last week, Lady Gentry and her daughter were set upon and robbed at knifepoint, three doors down from here, within moments of alighting from their coach after returning from the opera." Jarrod placed his hand beneath her elbow and escorted her to the front door. "I'll see you to the hotel, Sarah, and I'll hear no more arguments about it. Wait here," he ordered. "I'll be right back." He opened the door and started down the steps, then changed his mind, and turned to look at Sarah. "I want your word that you'll stay where you are while I hail a coach."
Sarah shook her head.
Jarrod closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and counted to ten. Twice. "All right," he said, at last, holding out his hand. "Come with me."
Sarah shook her head once again.
"Am I to assume that you won't promise to wait and you won't come with me without some sort of inducement?" Jarrod concluded.
"You are correct, Lord Shepherdston."
Jarrod arched his eyebrow. "Would you consider monetary inducement?"
"I'll consider a loan of fare for the hired hack as long as I'm the only passenger in it."
Jarrod grinned suddenly. "Sarah, Sarah, Sarah. What am I going to do with you?"
"You could tutor me," she reminded him.
"Not a chance."
"Suit yourself," she said, "but I came for lessons in seduction, Jays, and I don't intend to leave without one."
"I'm afraid you're going to have to," Jarrod said. "Because I'm not taking you to bed."
"You don't have to take me to bed to keep your promise," Sarah suggested.
"My promise?" He arched his eyebrow.
Sarah moved closer. "Your promise to kiss me."
Jarrod eyed her approach warily. "Will you give me your word of honor that you'll wait here while I secure transport for us to Ibbetson's?"
"If you give me your word of honor that you'll kiss me like a lover instead of a sister."
Jarrod didn't know how she managed, but Sarah had read his mind. He was fighting the inevitable. Jarrod knew it was simply a matter of time before he gave in to her demand and he was weary of fighting. Because the truth was that he was as eager for a taste of her as she was for her first taste of passion.
He exhaled a long breath, then took her in his arms. "All right, Sarah, I concede. But don't say I didn't warn you." He leaned down, bringing his lips within a hairsbreadth of hers. "Because you're about to receive your kissing lesson."
* * *
Chapter Six
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Give me a kiss, and to that kiss a score,
Then to that twenty, add a hundred more:
A thousand to that hundred: so kiss on,
To make that thousand up a million.
Treble that million, and when that is done,
Let's kiss afresh, as when we first begun.
— Robert Herrick, 1591-1674
Seconds before his lips touched hers, Jarrod made one last desperate attempt to save himself. He tried to back away, tried to give her room to retreat, but Sarah showed no signs of retreating. Standing on tiptoe, she leaned toward him, lifted her chin, and pursed her lips…
He stared down at her upturned face and the way she puckered her lips and was lost…
Sarah tried to keep her eyes open as Jarrod closed the distance between his lips and hers, but her eyes closed of their own accord as Jarrod covered her mouth with his. As she exchanged breaths with him for the first time, Sarah fulfilled the romantic dream of a lifetime.
Jarrod Shepherdston was finally kissing her. And his kiss was a thousand times better than she had ever imagined. Sarah marveled at the tenderness with which he covered her mouth, then gave a startled gasp at the unexpected feel of his tongue against her lips.
Jarrod used his tongue to tease, tantalize, and seduce and although she was willing and incredibly eager, it was apparent to Jarrod that sweet, innocent, tempting Sarah had never kissed a man before.
It was equally apparent to Jarrod that he never wanted any other man to have the chance.
"Heaven help me!" he murmured, a heartbeat before he redoubled his efforts and lavished her mouth with attention, paying particular interest to her plump bottom lip, savoring the texture, flicking his tongue over it, touching the roughness of the myriad tiny abrasions she made with her teeth each time she bit her bottom lip.
Jarrod captured her breath, swallowing the soft sigh that escaped her lips as he deepened the kiss. She tasted of his whisky and the tart sweetness of untutored innocence and that combination released a storm of hidden emotions. Jarrod moved his mouth over hers, kissing her harder, then softer, then harder once more, testing her response, slipping his tongue past her teeth, exploring the sweet hot interior of her mouth with practiced finesse.
He made love to her mouth, teaching her everything he knew about the fine art of kissing in her first lesson.
And Sarah proved herself a most excellent student by following his lead. She moved her lips beneath his and kissed him back with a newfound talent and enthusiasm that inspired him as much as it surprised him.
She progressed rapidly, mirroring his actions and inventing a few of her own as she moved from student to teacher in the space of a few heartbeats. The jolt of pure pleasure he felt as she experimented with her tongue and teeth and mouth, finding additional ways to entice him, shook him down to his toes, threatening to steal his breath away along with his control.
The idea should have terrified him. It should have sent him running back to his study, should have had him barring the door to keep her out, but Jarrod welcomed her in. He traced the elegant line of her neck with the tips of hi
s fingers, then tangled his fingers in her hair and leisurely stroked the inside of her mouth with his tongue.
Sarah was ignorant of the language of love, but her body was not. It recognized the ancient mating ritual and responded in kind. Her breasts plumped, the tips of them hardening into insistent little points, clamoring to be noticed. The surge of current that went through her body at the boldness of his kiss settled in the region between her thighs, causing an unrelenting ache for something she couldn't name — something she suspected he would have no trouble recognizing or supplying.
Sarah moaned softly, pressing herself against him in an effort to assuage the aching as she returned his kiss, following his lead, learning the taste of him, the thrust and parry of his tongue and the rasp of his teeth.
He heard her soft moan and somewhere in the midst of kissing her, Jarrod forgot she was an innocent. He held her close against him with one hand splayed against her bottom, while he used his other hand to blaze a path from the soft curls at the nape of her neck, over her shoulder, down her arm, and between their bodies. He slipped his hand beneath her cloak and pushed her nightgown off her shoulder, gently cupping the soft underside of her breast.
Sarah gasped at the pleasure his touch engendered and Jarrod rubbed the pad of his thumb across the hard tip of her breast, then filled his palm with the weight of it.
Jarrod answered Sarah's gasp by gathering a fistful of cotton and lifting the hem of her nightgown. She nearly yelped in astonishment as he slid his hand beneath the fabric and placed it against her bare bottom. The sudden, startling impropriety of his touch sent her senses reeling, but Sarah didn't pull away. She settled more comfortably in his arms, yielding to his naughty breach of etiquette, opening herself up to more of his alluring surprises, welcoming the erotic sensation, as he sent more shivers up and down her spine.
Jarrod didn't disappoint her. He was wedging his thigh between hers, exposing the length of her naked leg, allowing her to feel the hard ridge at the front of his breeches, when the front door opened.
* * * * *
"What the devil!" Jarrod growled as the front door swung open and a blast of cool air and rain hit him in the face.
"Good morning, my boy. I know I'm early, but I saw your lights and — " Lord Robert Mayhew finished shaking the rain off his umbrella and looked up. "Good heavens!"
Jarrod let go of the hem of Sarah's nightgown, but not before his godfather caught sight of an extremely shapely bottom and extremely bare leg and hip.
Lord Mayhew took one glance at the scene in front of him and quickly turned his back. "I beg your pardon, Jarrod. I knew we wouldn't be riding in this downpour, but I never thought… I didn't realize you might — " Mayhew cleared his throat, and apologized once again. "I'm terribly sorry. We can forgo breakfast. I'll dine at the club."
"Wait! Please!" Jarrod shook his head as if to clear it. What the devil had happened to his self-control? His discipline? What the devil had happened to his good sense and his good intentions? He had just managed to do what he said he wouldn't do and had compromised her in the marble entry hall of his town house in full view of anyone coming down the main staircase from upstairs and anyone coming up the front walk and in the front door. Thank goodness he'd sent the staff to bed hours ago and thank goodness they had yet to begin their morning routine, or the footman who was normally stationed in the hallway would have gotten an eyeful. Just like Lord Rob. Because Jarrod had been so consumed by the pleasure of making love to Sarah Eckersley's mouth that he hadn't heard Lord Rob's coach drive up or the sound of his godfather's footsteps on the walkway. "I was about to take Sar — the young lady — home and we've need of private transportation. May we use your coach?"
"Yes, of course," Lord Mayhew answered, eager to make amends for his untimely interruption. "It's parked out front and my driver is entirely trustworthy."
"Thank you, sir," Jarrod answered respectfully. Bending slightly at the knees, he swung Sarah up into his arms.
Mayhew stepped aside to allow Jarrod to pass.
"I'll return shortly, sir," Jarrod called over his shoulder as he carried Sarah to Mayhew's coach. "Please, make yourself at home."
Lord Robert waved him off. "Don't bother about me. Take your time, my boy. No need to rush." He grinned at Jarrod. "I'll wait."
Blushing furiously, Sarah buried her face against Jarrod's shirtfront as the driver jumped down from his perch and opened the vehicle door. Jarrod handed her up into the coach. Sarah settled onto the forward-facing seat and waited as Jarrod climbed in and sat beside her.
"Where to, sir?" the driver called down.
"Ibbetson's," Jarrod answered. "Around the park." The shortest way to the hotel was through the park, but at this time of morning, it was also the most congested. The members of the ton who hadn't yet made it home to bed would be taking the shorter route through the park, and the early risers, like he and Lord Mayhew and his Free Fellow colleagues, who would normally be saddling up for their morning horseback rides along Rotten Row, would be making their way to their clubs for coffee and breakfast.
"Do you think he saw me?" she asked as the coach pulled away from Jarrod's front gate, merging with the early morning traffic.
Jarrod knew his godfather had seen quite a bit, but he didn't have the heart to tell her the extent of the damage. "Only your leg," Jarrod replied. "Not your face or your…" He stopped.
"Just my leg? Nothing else?"
"A bit of leg. That's all."
"Are you certain?"
"Fairly certain," Jarrod answered. "And there's no need to worry. Lord Rob is the soul of discretion."
"Lord Rob?" Sarah felt slightly ill.
"Yes." Jarrod nodded. "Lord Robert Mayhew. My uncle and my godfather."
Sarah covered her face with her hands. She had never met Lord Mayhew, but she had heard Jarrod speak of him for as long as she could remember. "Oh, dear lord…"
"It's all right," Jarrod consoled. "He doesn't know you."
"He knew my father," Sarah reminded him. "If not personally, then as the rector of Helford Green. Papa christened you. And your godfather was there, wasn't he?"
"I suppose he was." Jarrod traced the frown lines on Sarah's forehead with the tip of his finger. "I really don't recall the details."
Jarrod's attempt at levity was lost on her.
"Then he might remember Aunt Etta."
"It's possible," Jarrod told her. "Lord Rob knows a great many people. But I doubt he'd remember your aunt from seeing her once at my christening. It's been thirty years. If he's acquainted with your aunt, it's far more likely that he remembers her as Viscountess Dunbridge."
"What if he sees me with Aunt Etta? What if he realizes who I am?" If he learned her identity, Jarrod's godfather could pressure his godson to do the right thing. Lord Mayhew could pressure Jarrod into finding her a protector, a guardian, or a husband. Sarah shivered involuntarily at the thought. Or worse. Because his opinion mattered to Jarrod, Lord Mayhew might be the only man alive who could coerce Jarrod into marrying her. And marrying her against his will was the last thing Sarah wanted from Jarrod Shepherdston.
"Sarah, sweet." Jarrod took her face in his hands and looked her in the eyes. "I honestly don't think Lord Rob recognized you from the shape of your leg or your lovely derriere."
"My derriere?" she squeaked. "I thought you said he only saw a bit of my leg."
"I said I was fairly certain he only saw a bit of your leg," Jarrod corrected. "But he might have seen more."
Sarah's blush came close to matching the vibrant, shiny copper color of her hair and the freckles scattered across her nose. Knowing that Jarrod's godfather had seen her bare leg was enough to make her blush; knowing he might have seen her bare bottom was enough to give her hives.
"That will never do, you know?" Jarrod stared down at her with an unreadable expression on his face.
"What?"
"Blushing at the mere suggestion of a gentleman seeing previously unexposed parts of your anatomy. N
ot in the profession you intend to pursue."
"I'm not blushing at the mere suggestion of a gentleman seeing previously unexposed parts of my anatomy," Sarah informed him. "I'm blushing at the idea of your godfather seeing them. It's almost as bad as having my father walk in during my kitchen bath."
"Kitchen bath?" Jarrod raised his eyebrow in query. "What is that?"
Sarah closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again and smiled. She had known Jarrod for so long she often forgot how very wealthy he was and how different their lives had been. "The stairs in the rectory are too narrow for anyone to carry a full-sized bathing tub into the bedchambers. Whenever I wanted to soak in a full-sized bath, I had to do so in front of the fire in the kitchen. And once, when I was three and ten, my father entered the kitchen while I was bathing. I don't know who was more surprised or who was more embarrassed." She made a face at the memory. "I thought I would die of mortification. And Papa wouldn't look me in the face for over a week."
Jarrod took a deep breath. "You do realize that if you take a lover, he'll have the right to see you in the bath or in any other state of dress or undress."
Sarah nodded. "You aren't likely to remind me of my father or of your godfather."
"I'm not your lover," he reminded her.
"Yet," she said, leaning closer.
"You demanded a kissing lesson, Sarah, and I gave you one. That's as far as it goes."
Sarah averted her face, shrugged her shoulders to hide her disappointment and the hurt he'd carelessly inflicted, and pretended a nonchalance she didn't feel. "And I learned a great deal from it, Jays. It will just have to do until I find another young man to further my education."
"Sarah…" Jarrod spoke her name through clenched teeth.
"Unless you change your mind."
"I'm not going to change my mind."
"Whatever you say, Jays." She shrugged her shoulders once again. "Your loss is another gentleman's gain."
Jarrod looked at her. "I've no doubt of that," he said softly. "No doubt at all." Especially after the kiss they had shared. Jarrod's body still ached with wanting. He ached with wanting. Jarrod hated to admit it, even to himself, but he was beginning to hate the idea of Sarah with other young men. And he felt duty bound to discourage her. "If I were you, I wouldn't set my hopes on a young gentleman."