has been difficult to attract your attention,’ she said, blinking at him again.
Which was another odd thing. He had always favoured buxom redheads. She was that in spades. If she’d made any effort at all to catch his eye, he was sure he’d have responded. With all the talk of getting her to bed, he was responding now, in an involuntary and physical way.
Then he glanced at her gun, which was still pointed at his middle, and felt the tightness in his breeches easing. ‘You have my full attention tonight. If I did not notice you before?’ He shrugged. ‘At Almack’s and the like, young ladies seem to make an effort to be underfoot and in the way. Did you express an interest in making a match with me?’
She bit her lip. ‘Until recently, I did not realise how urgent it was that I marry … you.’ There was a strange pause, as though she had only just remembered to be enamoured of him, specifically. ‘You are the catch of the Season, Lord Kenton. And I am shy in gatherings and did not know how to gain your favour, other than this. As they say, “We should be woo’d and were not made to woo”.’
‘Shakespeare?’ Jack’s heart beat iambic pentameter in time with her words. There was no quicker way to gain his attention than quoting the Bard. But she could not know him as well as that, or she’d never have lured him out in the garden. ‘And you say it is urgent that you find a husband?’
‘Oh, yes.’ She nodded again vigorously.
He stared down at her jiggling chest and had to force his mind back to the primary reason that a young lady might have for an urgent marriage. If there was a child in less than nine months, he must hope that it looked more like its mother than its father.
Spayne should have considered this and been more specific before sending Jack on this mission. He had requested a rich daughter-in-law. But he must have known that marriages resulted in babies. Considering his own past, Jack had no right to quibble about legitimacy. If Spayne was so desperate for an heir to act as he had, would it really matter if the child was Jack’s or someone else’s?
Then the moonlight cast a particularly bright beam through the lattice of the gazebo and he saw the dusting of freckles on her white shoulders, like cinnamon and sugar on a blancmange. Spayne’s possible objections could be damned along with the earl himself. A man had needs and the luscious body of Miss Cynthia Banester was suited so perfectly to Jack’s that she might have been heaven sent.
He threw his hands in the air in a gesture of helplessness. ‘Far be it from me to stand in the way of a lady who knows her own mind. You are from a respectable family. You seem intent on having me.’ And he’d have her as well. Though she was damned prickly on the subject tonight, if she was the victim of a previous fall from grace he need have no scruples about the rather unusual nature of his side of their union. A little deception was a good thing, when shared equally between partners. ‘I am yours. Since you will not let me have a kiss, let us seal the bargain.’ He dropped a hand and thrust it out to her for a shake.
She gave him a sidelong glance, as though searching for the trick, and cautiously offered her left, elegantly gloved hand.
‘The right,’ he said firmly. ‘Else it shall not be official.’
She stared at him, then at the little pistol she held, and then back to him before cautiously setting it down on the bench beside her and offering her right hand.
He seized it and dropped to a seat on the bench behind him, pulling her forwards into his lap, pinioning her wrists between them so that she could not retrieve her weapon. She was a pleasant weight against him. His member, which had flagged at the sight of the gun barrel, sprang to life again.
‘Unhand me this instant,’ she said, giving a wiggle that was quite delicious.
‘In a bit,’ he agreed. ‘When I am sure you will not just take up arms against me and once we have established that I am the aggressor and not the victim. If you mean us to be discovered, it would do my pride an injury to have the world thinking you had trapped me into marriage at gunpoint.’ He wrapped an arm about her waist, drawing her farther forwards until she was very near to straddling him. The kicking of her slippered feet against his legs accentuated the rocking, creating a friction that inflamed his imagination as well as his body.
‘It is better that they think I am to blame, taking advantage of an innocent girl. I shall admit that I was overcome by your beauty and acted in haste to secure you. When your father demands an immediate marriage, I will agree.’
‘You would really do that for me?’ She ceased struggling, her body settling against his in relief.
Her sudden gratitude made him feel almost heroic for wanting to ravish her. He was doing her a service. ‘Of course, my pet,’ he said. ‘But we must do our best to sell the story, so that all might believe it. I am the swain, overcome by desire. And you are the hapless maiden, caught in my clutches.’
‘I am,’ she said sceptically.
‘Of course,’ he reminded her. ‘See, I am clutching you.’ He brought his hands to her bottom and squeezed it, adjusting her in his lap.
‘Oh, dear.’ The contact between them was intimate. If she had any understanding of anatomy, it would explain why Cyn Banester was finally nonplussed.
He raised a hand to her face and drew one finger down her cheek, tangling with a red curl. ‘Now I will take the kiss you offered. When I am through with you, you shall scream and bring the house down upon us, so that I might plead convincingly for your hand.’ Those wide green eyes were blinking at him again, more expectant than frightened.
It made him feel strangely dizzy, probably from a loss of blood to the brain. When she looked at him like that, he could not seem to think clearly, even though it would be better to take such a major step with a clear head. He was sure there were things he was missing in all this. Probably some vitally important reason to postpone the decision until morning. But with one last look at her lips, he threw his reservations aside, closed the last inches between them, let the full breasts crush against his vest front and pressed his lips against hers.
Until recently, Jack had had little experience with true ladies of any kind. One could hardly count bored wives and randy widows as genteel. They’d been seeking a bit of adventure and he’d been happy to provide it. But he had never kissed the sort of young lady he was kissing now. She was of limited experience, cautious, unworldly, but with all the grace, innocence and sweetness of a Juliet. So he did his best to be a worthy Romeo, demonstrating all the ardour of first love, but with just a bit more confidence than that doomed lad would have managed. If this first kiss had to last him until the wedding night, then it must be memorable.
Her mouth opened in surprise like the first bud of May, and as he delved into it he felt the growing, urgent heat in his loins. It was a heat that must go unanswered tonight, he reminded himself. But that did not mean he should not give her reason to be eager for more.
He must have succeeded. When he pulled away from her, he felt her mouth trying to find his again, even as he kissed his way down her throat. ‘Your lips, like cherries,’ he whispered. ‘And breasts as white as …’ No matter how much he wanted to taste them, it could not be wise to use two food references in a row. ‘As white as matched doves.’ He could almost hear the groans and the thunder of boots as the gallery hammered on the kicking board to express their disgust at his hyperbole. He was but a hackneyed mummer with no right to improvise. But the words seemed to work on Cyn, for the sigh she offered was of contentment and not protest. He stared down at her body. ‘Do I dare to touch them? I
