“Miss Ritter made Jude behave?” Nevett put down his newspaper and looked over his glasses at his wife. Her eyes were snapping, her cheeks stained with color. She looked alive for the first time in months, and something inside him, something that had been tense for far too long, relaxed. “How did she do that?”
“He was acting like a fool, flapping his handkerchief and insulting the ladies by suggesting how they could improve their costumes and their teeth—”
“Their teeth?” Nevett showed his own teeth in annoyance.
“Yes, their teeth.” Nicolette’s exasperation couldn’t be more clear. “I couldn’t do anything with him. He ignored my glares, and he’s a little old for me to take him by the ear and drag him away to sit in a corner, so I ran to get Caroline. She put up with his silliness for a few minutes, then she snapped at him—and from that moment on, he was the perfect gentleman. He charmed all the ladies. They’re still gossiping about the change in him, I vow, and Lady Pheodora could scarcely take her eyes off him.” Nicolette subsided in the chair opposite Nevett. “Although I thought her examination seemed more wary than infatuated.”
Nevett cast the paper aside. Was this news of a potential daughter-in-law? “Who’s Lady Pheodora?”
“Lady Pheodora Osgood of the Rochdale Osgoods.”
Nevett searched his mind until he remembered the connection. “A family of singularly plain people. Is she a beauty?”
“Not at all.” Nicolette giggled softly. “Do we care? She’s female, she’s English, and she’s breathing.”
“Are we in such desperate straits?”
“I’m not. You’re the one who’s so worried about grandchildren you hired a governess for your adult son.” Swinging her foot, Nicolette flipped off her slipper. “Other females could easily be lured into his net if he used the proper bait.”
“It irks me that he has to fish at all. In my time, I was chased by all the—” Nevett abruptly recalled his listener and shut his mouth.
“You were chased by all the debutantes.” Nicolette dimpled at him. “I don’t remember it like that.”
“Not with you,” he said gruffly. With one look he’d been smitten and felt a right old fool for imagining himself in love with warm eyes and a gentle smile. He had told himself he was the duke of Nevett, that he was doing Nicolette a favor by making her a duchess, and he had settled a substantial sum of pin money on her. He’d made sure his sons would treat her well in the event of his death, and the arrival of another son had puffed his conceit and given him yet more hope for the future.
Then Michael’s death had broken both their hearts and set him on a new mission—to get Jude married and the future of the family secured.
It was only in the last few days, with that governess underfoot all the time—did she never return to her home?—that he’d realized he’d accomplished two goals. Nicolette no longer sat alone and read, or stared into space, and not once had he come upon her when she had tears on her cheeks. She was lively and amused, and for that he was grateful to his damned foolish-looking son and the spirited Miss Ritter.
As if she read his mind, Nicolette said, “I had to speak quite firmly to Lady Reederman about Miss Ritter.”
“What did the old cat do now?”
“She suggested that I not invite such guests who would besmirch the other guests with a soiled reputation.”
“Let me take care of the matter.” He spoke coolly, but he was furious. Lady Reederman was, after all, only a countess, and one who frequently got above herself. This time she had gone too far. When he was done with her, she would never again admonish his duchess, nor would she ever dare criticize his company.
“I handled it.” Nicolette’s smile showed a hint of teeth. “I told her that if she wished to approve my guest list, she could take a position with the Distinguished Academy of Governesses as a social counselor and I would perhaps hire her. Until that day, I suggested she bully debutantes and green young men and others who are easily intimidated.” She nodded firmly. “She didn’t stay long after that.”
“Brava!” Rising, he extended his hand to her. She took it; he pulled her to her feet and into his arms. “You’re magnificent.”
“As magnificent as Miss Ritter?”
He wasn’t blind. Miss Ritter was very attractive. But he wasn’t stupid, either, and he blinked at his wife as if astonished. “I hadn’t noticed. Is she supposed to be magnificent, too?”
Nicolette laughed and linked her arms around his neck. “That was exactly the right thing to say.” And she kissed him.
He was the luckiest man in the world.
“I’ve never enjoyed the zoo as much as I have today.” Jude lifted his mouth from Caroline’s and watched as her head fell back against his shoulder.
Her eyes were closed. She gave a shuddering sigh, and the smile on her lips made him want to kiss her again.
As they walked through Nevett’s gardens, they had pretended to be at the Royal Zoological Gardens. They had giggled at the monkeys’ antics (which the unimaginative might say was nothing more than the waving of branches in the wind) and watched the elephants stomp in their cages (homing pigeons in their crates). It had been a carefree day filled with enticing banter. Even when he professed to be affected by French mannerisms and overwhelmed with concern for his style, she hadn’t cared. She’d teased him, gently dragging him back to his real self, and he’d found her insight to be irresistible.
Finally, it had ended like this, with passionate kisses he knew should never take place.
“Now we must behave.” She brushed her glorious, flyaway hair back from her delicate face. The sunshine turned her tan complexion to gold, and the color in her pink cheeks matched the early roses that bloomed in the arbor around them. “For we swore we wouldn’t kiss again.”
She was a splendid creature, with a husky voice and skin the texture of a baby’s, and Jude couldn’t keep his hands off her. “How can we help it?” He lowered his voice to a rasping whisper, and with exaggerated alarm said, “We’re trapped behind the lion’s cage. He’s roaring at us, furious that I have taken his lioness for my own.”
Caroline laughed a protest, her teeth gleaming, her exotic eyes sparkling with pleasure.
“He wants to rip my throat out, but I’ll face any danger to possess the graceful strength and the glorious mane of the most graceful and dangerous cat of all—the Caroline-cat.”
Lowering her head, she looked at him through her lashes. “You’re ridiculous.”
She was right about everything. He was ridiculous, and they shouldn’t be hiding in the garden and kissing. But although he knew better, he couldn’t resist the innocent taste of her mouth.
Leaning into her, he brushed her lips, again and again, until like a flower to the sun, she lifted her face to his. The scent of the roses was thick around them, but not so rich and sweet as the scent of her hair. He pressed his body against hers, trying to meld them into one, and he wanted to do so much more than that. He wanted to carry her off to his bedroom and ravish her like a lion triumphant.
Only two things stopped him. He couldn’t take this woman who had been subjected to so much indignity and agony and strip her of the one thing she still possessed—her innocence. His actions were even more nefarious when he considered his intention to use her like a cape waved before the bull of society. The ton now knew that Lord Huntington paid court to the infamous Miss Caroline Ritter, and the resulting fuss would keep the two Moricadians distracted and entertained while Jude discovered, and put a stop to, their plans.
But he didn’t want to think of the Moricadians just then. For the first time since Michael had been murdered, Jude felt alive. In fact…he’d never felt so alive in his life. “Teacher, will you give a good report of me to my father?” he teased.
Caroline caught her breath. “I always give him a good report.”
“What does he say about that?”
“He wants to know why you’re still wearing those ridiculous clothes.”
Jude looked down at himself in feigned indignation. “Some men have no sense of style no matter how carefully they’re shown the way.”
“Hm. Yes.”
He loved watching her prevaricate. “Don’t you love my style?”
“I’ve come to accept it, which is not quite the same.” She started to withdraw her hands from around his neck. “We should stop.”
“We should.” But he caught her to him, turned her until she was pressed against the warm rough stone wall, and kissed her again. Her breasts rested against his chest, and her lips opened beneath his.
Yet she did more than passively accept his attentions. She sought them; she answered him in a way that fired his blood. That was her secret; she was a maiden, yes, but she was no shrinking violet. She was brave, she was strong…
He murmured, “You’re a lioness.”
“I know.” She used her teeth to nibble his lip. “Sometimes I think…I mean I wonder…”
“What?” he asked, intrigued by the diffidence with which his usually straightforward governess spoke.
“The duchess said something to me the first day I came here, and I’ve thought about it ever since. She said I must be angry about the way my father and society treated me.” Caroline smiled as if inviting him to laugh at her.
Yet why had she brought it up? “Are you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous! Why would I be? You know the story of my disgrace, of course.”
“I do.” He allowed her to push him away. “I agree with Mum. You were shamefully used and cruelly punished, while Freshie was lauded for his virility, and you were so much less able to care for yourself. If someone had played such a trick on me, I’d be furious.”
“Well, I’m not,” she said quickly.
Thinking of his reaction to Michael’s death, he said, “I’d want revenge.”
“No! Revenge. Indeed not.” She fussed with the ribbons on her bonnet. “I take total responsibility for my foolishness.”
“Yet you’re still thinking about what Mum said to you.”
“I am not still thinking about it.”
“Of course you are, or you wouldn’t have said—”
Her lips curled back, baring her teeth, like a lioness on the attack.
He recognized that expression. He’d seen his stepmother wear it when one of her sons—or Nevett—pushed her too far. Jude knew he had two choices. Conciliate—or run.
He didn’t want to run. He wanted to be there with Caroline, so he set himself to soothing her. “I think the tea yesterday was a marvelous success, don’t you?”
Her tautness eased. Her eyes, which had been fierce, became thoughtful, interested…focused on him. “No, I don’t. What were you thinking? Your performance at the tea yesterday was a disgrace. Flipping your handkerchief! Prosing on about me when you should have been praising the debutantes!”
“I didn’t mean to displease you.” Jude liked knowing he had brought her attention back to him. To them. “I got confused.”
“Confused?” She rested against the garden wall.
He put one hand on either side of her head and leaned toward her, close enough that his lips touched hers with each movement. “I flirt with you during my lessons, and it seemed natural to flirt with you at the tea.”
“That’s prattle.” She strove to sound normal, but he caught the faint breathlessness in her voice.
“Truly! It’s easy to flirt with you. I know what to say, how to act. Those other girls are young and silly. They don’t appreciate me or my advice.”
“So few of us do.”
He laughed. “Once I mastered the art of attending to the ladies, I thought I did well.”
“Yes,” she admitted, “once you mastered it you did do well.”
She didn’t realize how much attention had been paid to her instruction and the meekness with which he followed it. She didn’t realize that when she dispatched him to visit with other young ladies, she sent a message of absolute confidence in his attachment to her. Today society buzzed about Miss Ritter and Lord Huntington, and nothing the duke of Nevett said would make any difference to the rumors—that was supposing his father ever bothered to go into society, which he seldom did.
Did Mum know? Jude wouldn’t venture a guess. She was an acute observer of human nature, but since Michael’s death she hadn’t bothered to look past the bounds of her own home. Perhaps she hadn’t noticed the tension between Jude and Caroline, or perhaps she thought they had it under control.
He wished that was true. He couldn’t resist Caroline. She was truly the finest flirt he’d ever met, but more than that, she tugged at his senses. For the first time since he’d returned from Moricadia, passion threatened to sweep him away. But while this seemed likely to become obsession, he held the reins in their relationship. She might tempt him unbearably, but ultimately, he was in control. He directed her movements. She would unwittingly help him, and be none the wiser and not hurt at all.
With that in mind, he incited trouble. “Comte de Guignard fell in love with you yesterday. I saw it happen.”
“I know.” Her eyes were serene.
“What will you do?” he asked curiously.
“Do?” She frowned, puzzled by the question. “Why, nothing, or nothing any different for him than for any other man who…”
“Who falls in love with you?”
She inclined her head. “It used to happen with great regularity. Now I’m more circumspect, and thus I avoid attention.”
He wanted to laugh aloud at her artlessness. Goose was as in love with her as ever, young Vickers wallowed in love for her, even Routledge fancied himself a suitor. Still, he probed to see how greedy she might be. “But Comte de Guignard is wealthy, has a title, and he could take you away to a country where no one has ever heard of you.”
“I’ve learned a few things since my debut. Just because a man loves me doesn’t mean he wants to marry me—and I’m not going anywhere with anybody anyway.” She made her statement with great satisfaction. “I’ll never again expect a man to take care of me.”
This situation required careful handling. “But Comte de Guignard is from the Continent, and surely older than your former suitors—”
“Most of them.” She shrugged.
“You’ll be considerate of his character, will you not?”
She looked startled. “Of course. I understand that men of his age are…”
While she hesitated, trying to be kind, he started laughing. “You’re a dear, dear girl.” He leaned down and with his mouth stirred the soft downy skin behind her ears. When she bent her head to accommodate him, his lips caressed her hairline. He took advantage of every movement, using each sweet yielding to make way for another wave of glory. He touched her face, her neck. A silver button rested in the base of her throat, and he found his fingers toying with it, opening it. Another button lay below that, and he opened that one, too. The baby-soft skin of her cheeks was softly tan; here the skin was paler, creamier, untouched by sun. He stroked her, exploring that tiny vee of flesh, and that one little liberty caused passion to rampage through him.
Swiftly he unbuttoned the rest of the buttons, opening them almost to her waist. Reverently he slid his hands beneath the material and parted the edges. Her undergarments were plain white and utilitarian, but he didn’t care. It was the body beneath them that made his blood race. Her corset pressed up on her breasts, her chemise covered them, but in the sunshine, the material was almost transparent. He could see the glow of her skin and the darker shape of her aureoles and nipples. Cupping the sweet flesh, he moved his hands in slow circles and watched as her nipples tightened. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from the sight, but he knew she watched him, lids heavy, and she made no move to stop him. The silence was profound; he couldn’t hear birds or insects, he could hear only the panting as they breathed.
And he couldn’t resist any longer. He wasn’t going to hurt her. He wasn’t going to take her. But he wanted, needed to taste her. Put
ting his mouth to her breast, he sucked on the nipple through the cloth. He drew it into his mouth, savoring the moment, the woman, the pleasure. Somehow he knew he’d never forget this moment in the sunlight and the fresh air with the scent of roses and of Caroline rich in his nostrils.
As he used his tongue on her, soft moans sounded from her delicately parted lips. Her head fell back against the wall. Her eyes closed. Her palms pressed tightly against the stone as if to restrain herself from touching him, and she trembled with need.
And he had to stop. It wasn’t fair to use this girl, who had struggled so desperately to make a living, just because he couldn’t maintain control of his own impulses.
Gathering her into his arms, he rested his cheek on her head and spoke into her hair. “I can’t wait until the Lawrences’ ball.”
“Good. You want to go meet the ladies.”
“Mum consulted me on your gown. I can’t wait to see you in it.” It was true. For the first time in his life, he was in the position of knowing just what a lady was going to wear—and anticipating her appearance. It was an odd feeling, almost proprietary, as if he were a husband.
“I’m not going,” she answered coolly, but she allowed him to hold her.
“Of course you are. You have to supervise me.” You have to be there to charm de Guignard and Bouchard.
“The gossip my presence would inspire would be disastrous for you and your cause.”
“My cause.” He was deadpan.
“Your father wishes you to be married, and you’ve said you wished it also.” She disentangled herself from his embrace. Today, in this light, her eyes were the color of the green sea on a sunny day, and they ruthlessly considered him. “Is that not true?”
Of course it wasn’t true. Jude had other plans on which to concentrate. The discovery of the Moricadians’ plot. The instruction of his father as to the correct way to handle an adult son. But he knew that no matter whether he told Caroline that he wished to marry or not, she would still do her best to find him a mate, because she’d told him what she wanted—she wanted to take her sister to France to live with their mother’s family in peace and happiness. And she would do everything to succeed.