1
" Will you never forgive me for what I did so long ago, Jane?”
The soft question caught her off guard. “Would you do it again if you had the chance?” She could hardly breathe, awaiting his answer.
With a low oath, he glanced away. Then his features hardened into those of the rigid and arrogant Dom he had become. “Yes. I did the only thing I could to keep you happy.”
Her breath turned to ice in her throat. “That’s the problem. You still really believe that.”
His gaze swung to her again, but before he could say anything more, noises in the hall arrested them both.
“It’s gone very quiet in there.” It was the duke’s voice, remarkably clear, sounding as if it came from right outside the door. “Perhaps we should knock first.”
Oh no! As Jane frantically set her gown to rights, she heard Lisette say, “Don’t you dare bother them, Max. I’m sure everything’s fine. Let’s come back later.”
With panic growing in her belly, Jane glanced around for her tucker. Wordlessly, Dom plucked it from the back of a chair and handed it to her.
Without meeting his gaze, she pinned it into her bodice, hoping to hide the tiny holes where Dom had unwittingly ripped it free of its pins.
“Besides,” drawled Tristan, “it’s not as if Dom will seduce her or anything. That’s not his vice.”
Sweet Lord, were they all right outside the door?
“I’m not worried about that,” Max answered. “Miss Vernon isn’t the sort to let him seduce her.”
As Jane tensed, Dom hissed under his breath, “Do the blasted idiots not realize we can hear them?”
“Apparently not.”
Dom furtively adjusted his trousers, which seemed to be rather…oddly protruding just now.
Ohhh. Right. This was one time she wished Nancy hadn’t been so forthcoming about what happened to a man’s body when he was aroused. So that, not his pistol, had been the odd bulge digging into her.
Definitely not a pistol. Her cheeks positively flamed. Faith, how could she even face his family after this and not give away what she and Dom had been doing?
Mortified, she hurried to the looking glass to fix her hair. While she stuffed tendrils back into place and repinned drooping curls, Dom came up behind her to meet her gaze in the mirror. “Before we let them in, I want an answer to my question about Blakeborough.”
Curse the stubborn man. How could she tell Dom she was so pathetic that she hadn’t even managed to find another man to love in all the years they’d spent apart? That she’d been foolish enough to wait around for Dom all this time, when he’d happily gone on living his life without her? Her pride couldn’t endure having him know that.
To her relief, Tristan said, “Well, whatever they’re up to, we have to get moving.” A knock sounded at the door. “Dom? Jane? Are you done talking?”
She met Dom’s gaze with a certain defiance, and he arched one eyebrow in question.
So she took matters into her own hands and strode for the door. Caught off guard, Dom swore behind her and snatched up his greatcoat just as she opened the door and said, “Please come in. We’re quite finished.”
In more ways than one.
Their companions trooped in, casting her and Dom wary glances. Jane looked over to see Dom holding his greatcoat looped over his arm as if to shield the front of him. That brought the blushes back to her cheeks.
She caught Lisette furtively watching her, and she cursed herself for wearing her emotions on her sleeve. Better shift her attention elsewhere before Lisette guessed just how shameless she’d been. "
― Sabrina Jeffries , If the Viscount Falls (The Duke's Men, #4)
2
" Stopping just short of her mouth, he rasped, “Are you still engaged to Blakeborough?”
Her gorgeous eyes narrowed. “My engagement didn’t stop you last night.”
“It would now.”
A coy smile broke over her lips, and she tightened her grip on his neck. “Then I suppose it’s a good thing I am not.”
With a growl of triumph, he kissed her once more. She was here. She was his. Nothing else mattered.
Still kissing her, he jerked both sets of curtains closed. Then he tugged her onto his lap and began to tear at the fastenings of her pelisse-dress. He wanted to touch her, taste her…be inside her. He could think of naught else.
“I take it that you mean to seduce me,” she murmured between kisses.
“Yes.” Seduce her and marry her. And then seduce her again, as often as he could.
“Well then, carry on.”
So he did. He unfastened her clothes just enough to bare her breasts, then seized one in his mouth. God, she was perfect. His perfect jewel.
She buried her hands in his hair to pull her into him, sighing and moaning as if she would die if he didn’t make love to her. Which was exactly how he felt.
Working his hand up beneath her skirts and into the slit in her drawers, he found her so wet and hot that he nearly came right there. He slipped a finger inside her silky sweetness, and she gasped, then began to tug at his trouser buttons.
“You’re all I want, Jane.” As he stroked her, he used his other hand to brush hers away so he could unfasten his own trouser buttons. “The only woman I ever cared about.”
“You’re the only man Iever cared about.” She undulated against his fingers, begging for him with her body. “Why do you think…I waited for you so long?”
“Not long enough, apparently,” he muttered, “or you wouldn’t have gotten yourself engaged to Blakeborough.” He tugged at her nipple with his teeth, then relished her cry of pleasure.
“I only…did it because I was…tired of waiting.” She arched against his mouth. “Because you clearly weren’t…coming back for me.”
“I was sure you hated me.” At last he got his trousers open. “You acted like you hated me still.”
“I did.” Her breath was unsteady. “But only because…you tore us apart.”
He shifted her to sit astride him. “And now?”
Flashing him a provocative smile he would never have dreamed she had in her repertoire, she unbuttoned his drawers. “Do I look like I hate you?”
His cock, so hard he thought it might erupt right there and embarrass him, sprang free. “You look like…like…”
He paused to take in her lovely face with its flushed cheeks, sparkling eyes, and lush lips. Then he swept his gaze down to her breasts with their brazen tips, displayed so enticingly above the boned corset and her undone shift. He then dropped his eyes to the smooth thighs emerging from beneath her bunched-up skirts.
Shoving the fabric higher, he exposed her dewy thatch of curls, and a shudder of anticipation shook him. “You look like an angel.”
She uttered a breathy laugh. “A wanton, more like.”
Taking his cock in her hand, she stroked it so wonderfully that he groaned. “Would an angel do this? "
― Sabrina Jeffries , If the Viscount Falls (The Duke's Men, #4)
4
" All this subterfuge in order to talk to me could have been prevented if you’d just ridden with me earlier today, when I asked.”
“Really?” She smoothed his disordered hair, which was sticking up at all angles. “You wouldn’t have spent the entire trip detailing reasons why I ‘must’ marry you?”
He flinched. “I’m sorry, Jane. Apparently, when I find myself with my back to the wall, I bark orders.”
“I know.” She straightened his cravat. “And in case you hadn’t noticed, I don’t do well with men who bark orders or make plans for me. It makes me want to shove them off a cliff.”
“Or refuse to marry them?”
“That, too.”
“Then I can see it’s a habit I shall have to break, if I am to keep you happy.” He glanced away. “Sometimes it’s just…I don’t know…easier to bark orders than to ask. Safer. No one has a chance to say no.”
It hit her then. That was precisely why he felt more comfortable ordering people about, setting up plans, being in charge. Because when he wasn’t in control, there was a chance he’d be left out in the cold. Left in a house with oblivious servants and a brother who despised him for taking his mother away by the simple fact of being born.
Left alone. Her poor, dear love.
Jane kept her eyes trained on his cravat. “But if you don’t ever give people a chance to say no, you can never know if they will rise to the occasion or not.”
He tipped up her chin until she was staring into his eyes. “I wronged you terribly by not trusting you to rise to the occasion, didn’t I? If I’d married you and carried you off to the garret, I daresay you would have stayed by my side. Loved me. Cherished me.”
Tears stung her eyes. “I like to think I would have. I certainly would have tried. It would have been worth it to be with you.”
“Leaving you was the biggest mistake I ever made,” he said earnestly. “I once told you I would do it again, given the chance. But I was lying, to myself as well as you. I could never do it again. Certainly not now that I know what it’s like to have you for my own. You have no idea how much I’ve missed you all these years.”
It was all she could do not to burst into tears right then and there. But that would only alarm him. So she choked them down enough to say, “No more than I missed you, I expect.”
With a groan, he kissed her, long and hot. It was a sweet promise of things to come, a portent of their future together.
When he was done, she wiped away tears. “To be fair, if we had married then, who knows what would have become of us? I doubt I would have liked your running about the country as a spy, leaving me alone for weeks at a time. And I daresay you would have had trouble concentrating on your work for worrying about me.”
His grateful smile showed that he appreciated her attempt to mitigate his betrayal. "
― Sabrina Jeffries , If the Viscount Falls (The Duke's Men, #4)
5
" God, Jane, you’re exactly as I imagined. Only better.”
“You’re exactly…as I imagined,” she said in a strained tone. “Only bigger.”
That got his attention. He drew back to stare at her. “Are you all right?”
She forced a smile. “Now I’m rethinking the seduction.”
He brushed a kiss to her forehead. “Let’s see what I can do about that.” He grabbed her beneath her thighs. “Hook your legs around mine if you can.”
When she did, the pressure eased some, and she let out a breath.
“Better?” he rasped.
She nodded.
Covering her breast with his hand, he kneaded it gently as he pushed farther into her below. “It will feel even better if you can relax.”
Relax? Might as well ask a tree to ignore the ax biting into it. “I’ll try,” she murmured.
She forced herself to concentrate on other things than his very thick thing--like how he was touching her, how he was fondling her…how amazing it felt to be joined so intimately to the man she’d been waiting nearly half her life for.
Then it got easier. She actually seemed to adjust to his size. And when he slid his hand down from her breast to stroke that special spot between her legs that sent her flying, it was most effective. She wasn’t quite flying, exactly, but she was definitely leaping a bit.
A giggle escaped her at that thought, and he bit out, “Something strike you as funny, sweeting?”
“I never guessed that…this would feel…so odd.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
The hint of a future for them melted her even more than his hand down there. And that’s when he began to move, sliding out and then back in. Heavens. That was intriguing. Rather nice, actually. The more he did it, the better it felt.
Then he removed his hand so he could better grip her hips, and he plunged harder into her. Oh, now that was quite…oh my. Very, very nice.
His gaze burned into her as he drove deep. “Less odd now?” he managed.
“Definitely…less odd.” She kissed the taut line of his jaw. “Quite…enjoyable, in fact.”
He grunted and buried his face in her hair the way he was burying his…thing inside her, and it was deliciously sinful. Now she really was flying, up toward the sun.
As if he realized it, he dug his hands into her hips and thrust fiercely, repeatedly, and she met his rhythm with a pushing of her own that sent her soaring.
“Dom…oh, Dom…oh my…”
“Jane,” he rasped as his strokes grew frenzied. “It’s always…been you. Only you.”
“Only you,” she echoed.
She’d been fooling herself about Edwin. There had only ever been one man in her heart. And as he drove himself deep inside her, he sent her vaulting into the sun.
When he followed her into the bliss, she clutched him close to her chest and prayed that he would let her inside his heart as deeply as she’d let him into hers. That she wasn’t making a mistake by taking up with him again.
Because it was too late to go back now. This time, he had her for better or worse. "
― Sabrina Jeffries , If the Viscount Falls (The Duke's Men, #4)
6
" I never dreamed it would be as amazing as that,” she whispered.
“I did.”
“Really?” Her soft voice was a caress. Everything about her was as smooth and silky and sweet as whipped cream.
Well, except for her tart opinions. And her fierce determination to make him tell everything in his soul. Though he had to admit that after confessing his secret fears to her earlier, he felt freer, as if the boulder he’d been carrying for years had dropped from his back.
“I knew it would be perfect.” He gave her a lingering kiss, then drew back to cup her pinkening cheek. “With you it could be nothing less.”
Shyly avoiding his gaze, she finger-combed his short hair. “Nancy always said that sharing a man’s bed was something to ‘endure.’ That marriage was more pleasant without it, but it was required for having children so she’d had to put up with it.”
He skimmed a hand down her lightly freckled arm. “And what do you think, now that you’ve experienced it for yourself?”
“I think I could ‘endure’ it with great enthusiasm.” Jane flashed him a mischievous smile. “But I’m not really sure. Should we try it again so I can make certain?”
Stifling a laugh, he tried to look stern. “We’re lucky none of the grooms have stumbled over us already.” He managed to sound even-toned, though the prospect of taking her again--here, now--was already making him hard. “Speaking of that, we’d better get dressed, before someone finds us here naked.”
A sigh escaped her. “You do have a point. Though I don’t know how you can be so sensible and industrious when all I feel is lazy and content.”
“I’m not being sensible and industrious at all.” Reluctantly he slipped from her arms to go hunt up his drawers. “I’m simply being selfish. The longer you stay naked, the more chance that I will attempt to ravish you again.”
“That sounds perfectly…awful,” she said as she struck a seductive pose.
God save him.
He swept his gaze over her thrusting breasts, her slender belly with its delicate navel, and her auburn thatch of curls. The taste of her was still on his lips, the smell of her still in his nostrils. He wanted her again. And again and again…
Muttering a curse under his breath, he tossed her shift at her. “Put some clothes on before I combust.”
She laughed, a delicate tinkling sound that tightened his cock. Fortunately for his self-restraint, she did as he bade and donned her shift. Only then was he able to breathe, to concentrate on putting on his trousers rather than on the erotic sight of her drawing her stockings up those luscious legs.
He turned and nearly stumbled over the carriage lamps. “These are a lost cause, now that I recklessly dashed them to the floor in my…er…enthusiasm, sweeting.”
“Good,” she said cheerily. “Now you can’t run off to London without me tonight. "
― Sabrina Jeffries , If the Viscount Falls (The Duke's Men, #4)
7
" Jane knew from Dom’s flinch that he’d been hoping for a different response, but she couldn’t help it--she spoke the truth.
When he acted like a gentleman, as he had at dinner, she remembered exactly why she’d fallen in love with him. But when he reminded her of how he’d made assumptions and, worse yet, used those assumptions to decide her future for her, she couldn’t bear it. Because he was still doing it, still demanding his way and dictating terms and ignoring her concerns.
She understood the courtly gentleman. It was the autocratic devil she had trouble understanding.
And she might as well admit it. She twisted her head to look up at him. “I don’t know how I feel about you anymore.”
The pain that slashed over his features only confused her further. Was he genuinely hurt by the thought that he’d killed her love? Or was his pride merely bruised because he hadn’t been able to step right back into her life as if the past meant nothing?
“At least tell me the truth about Blakeborough,” he said hoarsely. “Do you love him?”
“Why does it matter?”
His eyes ate her up. “If you do, I’ll keep my distance. I’ll stay out of your life from now on.”
“You’ve been doing that easily enough for the past twelve years,” she snapped. “I don’t see why my feelings for Edwin should change anything.”
“Easily? It was never easy, I assure you.” His expression was stony. “And you’re avoiding the question. Are you in love with Blakeborough?”
How she wished she could lie about it. Dom would take himself off, and she wouldn’t be tempted by him anymore. Unfortunately, he could always tell when she was lying. “And if I say I’m not?”
“Then I won’t rest until you’re mine again. "
― Sabrina Jeffries , If the Viscount Falls (The Duke's Men, #4)
8
" At least tell me the truth about Blakeborough,” he said hoarsely. “Do you love him?”
“Why does it matter?”
His eyes ate her up. “If you do, I’ll keep my distance. I’ll stay out of your life from now on.”
“You’ve been doing that easily enough for the past twelve years,” she snapped. “I don’t see why my feelings for Edwin should change anything.”
“Easily? It was never easy, I assure you.” His expression was stony. “And you’re avoiding the question. Are you in love with Blakeborough?”
How she wished she could lie about it. Dom would take himself off, and she wouldn’t be tempted by him anymore. Unfortunately, he could always tell when she was lying. “And if I say I’m not?”
“Then I won’t rest until you’re mine again.”
The determination in his voice shocked her. Unsettled her.
Thrilled her.
No! “I don’t want that.”
His fingers dug into her arm. “Because you love Blakeborough?”
“Because love is a lie designed to make a woman desire what is only a figure of smoke in the wind. Love is too dangerous.”
He released a heavy breath. “So you don’t love him.”
His persistence sparked her temper, and she pushed free of him. “Oh, for pity’s sake, if you must know, I don’t.” She faced him down. “Not that it matters one whit. I don’t need love to have a good marriage, an amiable marriage. I don’t even want love.”
It hurt too much when her heart was trampled upon. Dom had done that once before. How could she be sure he wouldn’t do it again?
Eyes gleaming in the firelight, he said in a low voice, “You used to want love.”
“I was practically a child. I didn’t know any better. But I do now.”
“Do you? I wonder.” He circled her like a wolf assessing its prey’s weaknesses. “Very well, let’s forget about love for the moment. What about passion?”
“What about it?” she asked unsteadily as he slipped behind her. Nervous, she edged nearer the impressively massive pianoforte that sat in the center of the room.
“What part does passion play in your plan for a safe and loveless marriage?”
She pivoted to face him, startled to find that he’d stepped to within a breath of her. “None at all.”
He chuckled. “Does Blakeborough know that?”
“Not that it’s any of your concern, but Edwin and I have an arrangement. He’ll give me children; I’ll help him make sure Yvette finds a good husband. We both agree that passion is…unimportant to our plans.”
“Really?” He raised an eyebrow. “It certainly aids in the production of those children you’re hoping for. To quote a certain lady, ‘You can set a plan in motion, but as soon as it involves people, it will rarely commence exactly as you wish.’ You may not want passion to be important, sweeting, but it always is.”
“Not to us,” she said, though with him standing so close her legs felt like rubber and her blood raced wildly through her veins. “Not to me.”
With his gaze darkening, he lifted his hand to run his thumb over the pounding pulse at her throat. “Yes, I can tell how unimportant it is to you.”
“That doesn’t mean…anything.”
“Doesn’t it?” He backed her against the pianoforte. “So the way you trembled in my arms this morning means nothing.”
It meant far too much. It meant her body was susceptible to him, even when her mind had the good sense to resist.
And curse him to the devil, he knew it. He slipped his hand about her waist to pull her against him. “It means nothing that every time we’re together, we ignite.”
“People do not…ignite,” she said shakily, though her entire body was on fire. “What an absurd idea.”
She held her breath and waited for his attempt to kiss her, determined to refuse it this time.
But he didn’t kiss her. Instead he fondled her breast through her gown, catching her so by surprise that she gasped, then moaned as the feel of his hand caressing her made liquid heat swirl in her belly.
Devil take the man. "
― Sabrina Jeffries , If the Viscount Falls (The Duke's Men, #4)
9
" Though she could feel Dom darting glances at her the whole time, she couldn’t face him, couldn’t even look at him. Not just now, when she was still in turmoil about what they’d done.
About what he’d said to her at the end. It will also give you a chance to decide what you want.
That was the trouble. She didn’t know what she wanted. Well, she did know--she wanted to marry Dom the courteous gentleman. But not Dom the Almighty. She wanted the Dom who mourned for the six children who’d lost their mother needlessly, not the Dom who was sure Nancy was a whore because she’d married his bastard of a brother.
But what if both parts were him? What if she couldn’t have one without the other? Why, he hadn’t even said he loved her!
Then again, neither had she, so she could hardly fault him for that. Their past was still too raw, and they were both still afraid. Perhaps he’d been waiting for her to say it. She’d certainly been waiting for him. Because then she might really believe he meant to make a life with her again, and not go running off at the first sign of disaster.
Like, perhaps, if Nancy proved to be bearing George’s son.
“Since it’s such a beautiful morning,” Dom said, “I was thinking that someone might prefer to ride in the phaeton with me. What do you think, Jane? Shall you join me?”
He was asking. Deliberately asking, not ordering. And she could feel his expectant gaze on her, indeed, feel everyone’s expectant gazes on her. But her thoughts were too jangled right now, and an enforced ride with him would only jangle them more.
Especially since they’d be trapped together for half the day. She wouldn’t be able to escape. Not that she necessarily wanted to escape. Did she?
Oh, Lord, she couldn’t handle this at the moment. “Actually, I was looking forward to chatting with your sister in His Grace’s coach. If you don’t mind.”
Only then did she meet his gaze. It showed nothing of his thoughts, which made everything worse. She’d begun to recognize that bland expression; he only wore it when he was protecting himself. And if he felt a need to protect himself, then she’d hurt him.
She swallowed hard. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him. Perhaps she should ride with him. Clear the air. Perhaps she was being a coward.
“Whichever you prefer,” he said curtly. Then he walked briskly down the steps to his waiting phaeton, leapt in, and set it going.
And the decision was made for her. Again.
No, she couldn’t blame this one on him. This one was entirely hers. She’d sent him running away.
Everyone knew it, too, which was nowhere more apparent than in the carriage once they were all settled in and headed off. "
― Sabrina Jeffries , If the Viscount Falls (The Duke's Men, #4)
10
" No, she couldn’t blame this one on him. This one was entirely hers. She’d sent him running away.
Everyone knew it, too, which was nowhere more apparent than in the carriage once they were all settled in and headed off.
Lisette was unusually silent. The duke’s wooden expression said that he wished he could be anywhere else but here. And Tristan was studying her with a cold gaze.
He did that for a mile or so before he spoke. “You’re a cruel woman, Jane Vernon.”
“Tristan!” Lisette chided. “Don’t be rude.”
“I’ll be as rude as I please to her,” he told his sister, with a jerk of his head toward Jane. “That man is mad for her, and she just keeps toying with him.”
Guilt swamped Jane. And she’d thought that spending half a day trapped with Dom would be bad? She must have been dreaming.
“It’s none of our concern,” Lisette murmured.
“The hell it isn’t.” Tristan stared hard at Jane. “Is this about Nancy? About the fact that if she has a child, Dom will lose the title and the estate?”
“No, of course not!” How dared he!
“Tristan, please--” Lisette began.
“That’s why you jilted him years ago, isn’t it?” Tristan persisted. “Because he no longer had any money, and you’d lose your fortune if you married him?”
“I did not jilt him!” Jane shouted.
An unnatural silence fell in the carriage, and she cursed her quick tongue. But really, this was all Dom’s fault for never telling his family the truth. She was tired of being made to look the villainess when she’d done nothing wrong.
“What do you mean?” Lisette asked.
Jane released an exasperated breath. “I mean, I did jilt him. But only because he tricked me into it.” When that brought a smug smile to Tristan’s face, she narrowed her eyes on him. “You knew.”
“Not the details. I just knew something wasn’t right. But since it was clear that neither you nor my idiot brother were going to say anything without being prodded into it, I…er…did a bit of prodding.” He smirked at her. “You do tend to speak your mind when you get angry.”
Jane scowled at him. “You’re just like him, manipulative and arrogant and--”
“I beg to differ,” Tristan said jovially. “He’s just like me. I taught him everything he knows.”
“Yes, indeed,” Lisette said with a snort. “You taught him to be as much an idiot as you.” She glanced from Tristan to Jane. “So, is one of you going to tell me what is going on? About the jilting, I mean?”
Tristan cocked an eyebrow at Jane. “Well?”
She sighed. The cat was out of the bag now. Might as well reveal the rest.
So she related the whole tale, from Dom’s plotting with Nancy at the ball to George’s involvement to how she’d finally discovered the truth.
When she finished, Tristan let out a low whistle. “Hell and thunder. My big brother has a better talent for deception than I realized.”
“Not as good as you’d think,” Jane muttered. “If I hadn’t been so wounded and angry at the time, I would have noticed how…manufactured the whole thing felt.”
Lisette patted her hand. “You were young. We were all more volatile then.” Her voice hardened. “And he hit you just where it hurt, the curst devil. No wonder you want to strangle him half the time. I would have strung him up by his toes if he’d done such a thing to me! "
― Sabrina Jeffries , If the Viscount Falls (The Duke's Men, #4)
11
" All right, then. While it might be beyond her power to stop desiring him entirely, she didn’t have to let him control the attraction. In her years of dreaming of him--the admittedly chaste dreams of a virgin--she had been in control, making him burn and yearn, making him regret that he’d ever put her aside.
Perhaps it was time to fulfill those dreams.
She opened her eyes to find him watching her with a heavy-lidded gaze that promised all manner of sensual pleasures if she would just give herself over to him. She would make him keep that promise…but without giving up herself.
Edwin would undoubtedly disapprove of this dalliance, but just now she didn’t care. Dom was about to learn that she wouldn’t be ruled by him or any other man.
Looping her arms about his neck, she rose up on tiptoe to kiss his mouth. This time she was the one to instigate the duel of tongues and lips that sent her senses reeling. This time she was the one in control.
Until Dom pulled down her bodice and corset and shift to bare her breasts. Oh, sweet Lord in heaven. He was more wicked--and more wonderful at this--than even she could have imagined.
But she could be wicked, too. Remembering what Nancy had told her about men, she reached down between them to cup the hard length of him through his trousers.
He jerked back. “What are you doing?”
How wonderful to be the one to shock him! Though she noticed he didn’t step away or pull her hand off him. And his flesh seemed to grow beneath her very fingers. “Don’t you like it?” she said in what she hoped was a sultry-sounding voice.
“Good God, yes.” He practically groaned the words. “But where the blazes did you learn to do it?”
“Nancy said men like to be touched…down there.”
“Wonderful. Now the sinner is instructing the saint,” he muttered before he took her mouth again, giving her no chance to protest that she wasn’t as saintly as he assumed.
But clearly he’d guessed because he leaned into her hand, letting her fully explore the male appendage that Nancy had only described in furtive whispers.
To Jane’s delight, the more she rubbed him through his trousers, the more his kiss changed, grew bolder, hotter, fiercer. How delicious! They had certainly never done anything like this in their youth. Perhaps if they had, he wouldn’t have been so content to toss her aside.
It was definitely making her ignite. Or perhaps it was his hands roaming her body doing that. Whichever the case, an unfamiliar ache began between her legs that made her want to squirm. So she focused on caressing him with renewed vigor, hoping to regain control over this…insanity.
He grabbed her hand to still it.
She tore her mouth from his. “What? Am I doing it wrong?”
“If you do it any more right, I will embarrass myself.” He fixed her with a dark stare. “Or perhaps that’s what you want. Another way to torture me.”
“I don’t know what you mean. Am I doing it right or am I torturing you? Which is it?”
He searched her face, then, apparently satisfied with what he saw there, smiled faintly. “Both.” Taking her by surprise, he dripped onto the pianoforte bench and tugged her across his lap. “Here, I’ll show you.”
As he drew her skirts up to her knees, she froze. “I don’t know if this is…such a good idea, Dom.”
“Oh, trust me, it’s a fine idea.” He smoothed his hands up her stockings and past her garters until he came to her drawers. “Before you go running off to seal your ‘arrangement’ with Blakeborough, you should at least have a taste of passion. Just so you’ll know how important it really is.” Pressing his mouth to her ear, he added, “Men aren’t the only ones who like to be touched there, sweeting. "
― Sabrina Jeffries , If the Viscount Falls (The Duke's Men, #4)
12
" So he could talk to Jane and find out what had happened between her and Blakeborough after he left. He could finally get an answer to his marriage proposal.
Proposal? Jane would probably call it a marriage command.
He groaned. Perhaps it wouldn’t be a bad idea to talk to her while he waited. He could always pack her off in another hackney before it was time for Meredith to return home. Yes, that would be best.
Climbing inside the hackney, he doffed his hat and shrugged out of his box coat. But all of his perfectly logical reasons for being there went right out of his head the moment he saw her looking so luscious and lovely in her sunny gown.
Because he desired only one thing. Jane. In his arms. Now.
She must have seen the feral need flare in his face, for her eyes went wide. That was the only reaction she had time for, however, before he dragged her into his embrace so he could take her mouth in a hard, urgent kiss.
God, he wanted her. He would never stop wanting her. Fisting his hands in her puffy sleeves to hold her still, he plundered her mouth the way he ached to plunder her body.
Suddenly she shoved him back. “What are you doing? That’s not why--”
He clasped her head in his hands, dislodging her bonnet, which tumbled to the floor. Then he kissed her again, demanding her to kiss him back, to need him back. It took her a moment, but then she moaned low in her throat and melted against him.
And he exulted. She was soft, so wonderfully soft, his Jane. So wonderfully giving. Surely she wouldn’t be responding to him this way if she had cemented her engagement to Blakeborough.
But then, he’d thought that last night.
He jerked back, gratified to see from her flushed cheeks, reddened lips, and bright eyes that she was now as eager and aroused as he. Indeed, she was already looping her arms about his neck to draw him close once more.
Stopping just short of her mouth, he rasped, “Are you still engaged to Blakeborough?”
Her gorgeous eyes narrowed. “My engagement didn’t stop you last night.”
“It would now.”
A coy smile broke over her lips, and she tightened her grip on his neck. “Then I suppose it’s a good thing I am not.”
With a growl of triumph, he kissed her once more. She was here. She was his. Nothing else mattered. "
― Sabrina Jeffries , If the Viscount Falls (The Duke's Men, #4)
13
" Dom, are you out here?” called a voice from somewhere beyond the stables.
Damn it all. It was Tristan.
Swiftly Dom donned his shirt. “Be quiet,” he whispered to Jane, “and he’ll go away.”
Tristan’s voice sounded again, even nearer now. “I swear to God, Dom, if you ride off to London in the dark and make a liar out of me before Ravenswood, I will kick you from here to France!”
“He won’t go away,” Jane whispered back, a hint of desperation in her voice. “He promised Ravenswood that you wouldn’t head for London with broken carriage lamps, and now he’ll want to make sure that you don’t.”
Which meant his arse of a brother wasn’t going to stop looking for him. Any minute now, he’d be striding into the harness room.
Then Jane would have to marry Dom.
As soon as the thought entered Dom’s head, it apparently occurred to her, too, for she paled and stepped near enough to whisper, “Please. Not like this.”
He stared at her ashen face, and his stomach sank. He couldn’t force her to wed him. After what had happened between them years ago, she would never forgive him for taking her choice away from her yet again.
Besides, he didn’t want to force her into anything. The only way he could prove that he didn’t intend to run roughshod over her for the rest of their lives was to walk away now. Even if it killed him.
Bloody hell. “I’ll draw Tristan away from the stables,” Dom said tersely as he shoved his stocking feet into his boots. “That will give you a chance to finish dressing and sneak back into the house.”
Relief spreading over her face, she bobbed her head.
He buttoned up his shirt. “It will also give you a chance to decide what you want.” Gathering up his coat, waistcoat, and cravat, he added in a low murmur, “But know this, Jane. I am not, nor ever intend to be, a man like your father. Somewhere inside of you, you must…” He winced. “You surely do know it.”
He waited long enough to see uncertainty flicker in her eyes. Then he strode out of the harness room and closed the door behind him. "
― Sabrina Jeffries , If the Viscount Falls (The Duke's Men, #4)
14
" In the course of my discussion with Ravenswood, I tried to get him to tell me how you got your scar, but he wouldn’t. He said I’d have to ask you.”
Jane’s words came suddenly into his head: That’s why you haven’t shared this with your own family? That’s why you keep all of us out? Because you think it was your fault? Oh, my sweet darling, none of it was your fault.
When Dom didn’t answer right away, Tristan went on, “I told Ravenswood you’d always brushed off the question with some nonsense about a fight you got into. But that isn’t true, I assume.”
Dom ventured a glance at his brother and winced to see the hurt on his face. Jane had said, Every time you refuse to reveal your secrets, Dom, I assume that you find me unworthy to hear them. Apparently, that was how he’d made all of them feel. As if he were somehow too important to let them into his life.
Only God could have stopped this disaster, and contrary to what you think, you aren’t God.
When she’d said it, he hadn’t understood why she would accuse him of such a thing. Why she sometimes called him “Dom the Almighty.”
But he understood now. By shielding his guilt from the world, he’d shut himself off from his family. From her. He’d pushed away the very people he should have embraced.
Having just watched Jane retreat into fear and shut him out, he now knew precisely how painful it could feel to be on the receiving end.
If he wanted to change all that, he would have to start opening his heart, letting his family--and her--see the things he was most ashamed of, most worried about. He would have to trust them to understand, to empathize, to love him in spite of everything.
The only other choice was to keep closing himself up until, as she’d said at that ball last year: One day that church you’re building around yourself shall become your crypt. He didn’t want that.
He took a steadying breath as he and Tristan walked up the steps to Ravenswood’s manor house. “As it happens, I did receive my scar in a fight. But it was a fight against the militia at the Peterloo Massacre.”
When Tristan shot him a startled look, Dom halted at the top of the steps to face him. “If you want to hear the story, I’ll tell you all about it. Right now, if you wish.”
Tristan searched his face, as if not quite sure he believed what he was hearing. “I’d like that very much.” Then he broke into a grin. “But only if we do it over a glass of Ravenswood’s brandy. That’s the best damned brandy I’ve ever tasted.”
“One of the privileges of being a spymaster is that you can get your hands on the good stuff,” Dom said lightly, though his stomach churned at the thought of revealing his most humiliating secret, even to his brother.
Still, as they headed inside, Tristan clapped him on the shoulder, and that reassured him. Telling Tristan about Peterloo represented a beginning of sorts, toward a closer friendship than Dom had allowed himself to have with his brother in recent years.
Jane would be proud. "
― Sabrina Jeffries , If the Viscount Falls (The Duke's Men, #4)
15
" You’re all I want, Jane.” As he stroked her, he used his other hand to brush hers away so he could unfasten his own trouser buttons. “The only woman I ever cared about.”
“You’re the only man Iever cared about.” She undulated against his fingers, begging for him with her body. “Why do you think…I waited for you so long?”
“Not long enough, apparently,” he muttered, “or you wouldn’t have gotten yourself engaged to Blakeborough.” He tugged at her nipple with his teeth, then relished her cry of pleasure.
“I only…did it because I was…tired of waiting.” She arched against his mouth. “Because you clearly weren’t…coming back for me.”
“I was sure you hated me.” At last he got his trousers open. “You acted like you hated me still.”
“I did.” Her breath was unsteady. “But only because…you tore us apart.”
He shifted her to sit astride him. “And now?”
Flashing him a provocative smile he would never have dreamed she had in her repertoire, she unbuttoned his drawers. “Do I look like I hate you?”
His cock, so hard he thought it might erupt right there and embarrass him, sprang free. “You look like…like…”
He paused to take in her lovely face with its flushed cheeks, sparkling eyes, and lush lips. Then he swept his gaze down to her breasts with their brazen tips, displayed so enticingly above the boned corset and her undone shift. He then dropped his eyes to the smooth thighs emerging from beneath her bunched-up skirts.
Shoving the fabric higher, he exposed her dewy thatch of curls, and a shudder of anticipation shook him. “You look like an angel.”
She uttered a breathy laugh. “A wanton, more like.”
Taking his cock in her hand, she stroked it so wonderfully that he groaned. “Would an angel do this?”
His cock was a rod of iron. “Jane…” He covered her hand to stay it, but she ignored his attempt.
“I love it when you can’t control yourself,” she whispered. “I love having you at my mercy. You have no idea…how much I enjoy seeing Dom the Almighty brought low.”
He barely registered her words. What she was doing felt so good. So bloody damned good. If she stroked him much more…
“I want to be inside you.” He gripped her wrist. “Please, Jane…”
Her sensuous smile faltered. “You’ve never said ‘please’ to me before. Not in your whole life.”
“Really?” Had he only ever issued orders? If so, no wonder she’d refused him last night.
Perhaps it was time to show her she didn’t have to seduce him to gain control. That he could give up his control freely…to her, at least. “Then let me say it now. Please, Jane, make love to me. If you don’t mind.”
She stared at him. “I…I don’t know what you mean.”
He nodded to his cock, which looked downright ecstatic over the idea. “Get up on your knees and fit me inside you.” Realizing he’d just issued yet another order, he added, “Please. If you want.”
Jane got that sultry look on her face again. Like the little seductress she was rapidly showing herself to be, she rose up and then came down on him.
By degrees. Very slow degrees.
He had trouble breathing. “Am I hurting you?”
Her smile broadened as she shimmied down another inch. “Not really.”
Stifling a curse, he clutched her arms. “You just…enjoy torturing me.”
“Absolutely,” she said and moved his hands to cover her breasts.
He was more than happy to oblige her unspoken request, happy to thumb her nipples and watch as her lovely mouth fell open and a moan of pure pleasure escaped her.
His cock swelled, and he thrust up involuntarily. “Please…” he said hoarsely. “Please, Jane…”
With a choked laugh, she sheathed herself on him. Then her eyes went wide. “Oh, that feels amazing.”
“It would feel more amazing if you…would move,” he rasped, though the mere sensation of being buried inside her was making him insane. When she arched an eyebrow, he added, “Please.”
“I could get to like this,” she said teasingly. “The begging. "
― Sabrina Jeffries , If the Viscount Falls (The Duke's Men, #4)
16
" I love it when you can’t control yourself,” she whispered. “I love having you at my mercy. You have no idea…how much I enjoy seeing Dom the Almighty brought low.”
He barely registered her words. What she was doing felt so good. So bloody damned good. If she stroked him much more…
“I want to be inside you.” He gripped her wrist. “Please, Jane…”
Her sensuous smile faltered. “You’ve never said ‘please’ to me before. Not in your whole life.”
“Really?” Had he only ever issued orders? If so, no wonder she’d refused him last night.
Perhaps it was time to show her she didn’t have to seduce him to gain control. That he could give up his control freely…to her, at least. “Then let me say it now. Please, Jane, make love to me. If you don’t mind.”
She stared at him. “I…I don’t know what you mean.”
He nodded to his cock, which looked downright ecstatic over the idea. “Get up on your knees and fit me inside you.” Realizing he’d just issued yet another order, he added, “Please. If you want.”
Jane got that sultry look on her face again. Like the little seductress she was rapidly showing herself to be, she rose up and then came down on him.
By degrees. Very slow degrees.
He had trouble breathing. “Am I hurting you?”
Her smile broadened as she shimmied down another inch. “Not really.”
Stifling a curse, he clutched her arms. “You just…enjoy torturing me.”
“Absolutely,” she said and moved his hands to cover her breasts.
He was more than happy to oblige her unspoken request, happy to thumb her nipples and watch as her lovely mouth fell open and a moan of pure pleasure escaped her.
His cock swelled, and he thrust up involuntarily. “Please…” he said hoarsely. “Please, Jane…”
With a choked laugh, she sheathed herself on him. Then her eyes went wide. “Oh, that feels amazing.”
“It would feel more amazing if you…would move,” he rasped, though the mere sensation of being buried inside her was making him insane. When she arched an eyebrow, he added, “Please.”
“I could get to like this,” she said teasingly. “The begging.”
But even as he groaned, she began to move, like the sensual creature that she was. His sweetheart undulated atop him, her head thrown back and her eyes sliding closed, and for the first time in his life, he was happy to give himself up to someone else’s control. To relish her pleasure, which was also his pleasure.
Somehow he’d stumbled into paradise, ruled by his own personal angel. His own personal siren.
“You like having me…in your power, do you?” he said.
“Yes, oh, yes.” Her eyes brightened as she rode him, harder, faster. “Say it again.”
“What?” He could hardly think for watching her take him. For being inside her so deeply he fancied he could feel her heart, her very soul.
“Please.” Her face was flushed, rapt. “Say…’please’ again.”
“Please.”
Why had he never thought to say it before? This was all he’d ever wanted--to have the enthralling, intoxicating Jane in his arms, in his life. Forever.
A “please” from time to time was little enough to give for that. “Please, my wanton angel.” He clutched her close, his rhythm quickening. “Please…be mine. Please…marry me.”
His release approached like a carriage thundering toward the heavens. Toward paradise. And as the blood roared in his ears, he plunged his cock deeply and emptied himself inside her, crying, “Please…Jane…love me!”
“I do.” With a hoarse cry of her own, she strained against him and found her own release, milking his cock with the force of it. “I do, my darling…I do. "
― Sabrina Jeffries , If the Viscount Falls (The Duke's Men, #4)
17
" Dom stood dumbfounded as Jane disappeared into the street. Then he hurried to catch up to her, to get some answers.
She knew. How the blazes did she know?
The answer to that was obvious. “So, Nancy told you the truth, did she?” he snapped as he fell into step beside her.
Jane didn’t reply, just kept marching toward the inn like a Hussar bent on battle.
“When?” he demanded. “How long have you known?”
“For nine years, you…you conniving…lying--”
“Nine years? You knew all this time, and you didn’t say anything?”
“Say anything!” She halted just short of the innyard entrance to glare at him. “How the devil was I to do that? You disappeared into the streets of London as surely as if you were a footpad or a pickpocket.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “Oh, I read about your heroic exploits from time to time, but other than that, I neither heard nor saw anything of you until last year, when you showed up at George’s town house. It was only pure chance that I happened to be at dinner with Nancy that day. As you’ll recall, you didn’t stay long. Nor did you behave as if you would welcome any confidences.”
Remembering the cool reception he’d given her, he glanced away, unable to bear the accusation in her eyes. “No, I suppose I didn’t.”
“Besides,” she said, “it hardly mattered that I knew the truth. I assumed that if you ever changed your mind about making a life with me, you would seek me out. Since you never did, you were clearly determined to remain a bachelor.”
His gaze shot back to her. “It was more complicated than that.”
She snorted. “It always is with you. Which is precisely why I’m happy I’m engaged to someone else.”
That sent jealousy roaring through him. “Yet you let me kiss you.”
A pretty blush stained her cheeks. “You…you took me by surprise, that’s all. But it was a mistake. It won’t happen again.”
The blazes it wouldn’t. He intended to find out if the past was as firmly in the past as she claimed. But obviously he couldn’t do it here in the street. He glanced up at the gloomy sky. Or right now.
She followed the direction of his gaze. “Yes,” she said in a dull voice. “It looks like we’ll have a rainy trip back.” She headed into the innyard. “Perhaps if we hurry, we can reach Winborough before it starts. Besides, we’ve got only three hours until sunset, and it’s not safe to ride in an open phaeton after dark.”
She was right, but he didn’t mean to drop this discussion. He needed answers, and once they were on the road, he meant to get them. "
― Sabrina Jeffries , If the Viscount Falls (The Duke's Men, #4)
19
" What happened to him?”
Dom came up beside them. “Jane shot him.”
“She missed his privates by only a couple of inches,” Victor said in an admiring voice.
“A pity she didn’t hit them.” Nancy darted past Jane to stare down at Samuel with her hands planted on her hips. Then, to Jane’s shock, she kicked him in the ribs. “That’s for lying to me.” She kicked him in the knee. “And that’s for kidnapping me.”
“Nancy, darling--” he choked out.
“Don’t you ‘darling’ me, you worm!” She ground her heel into his wounded leg. “You held a pistol to my head, you disgusting, reprehensible--”
“Enough,” Victor said, pulling Nancy away from Samuel. “I think he’s got the point.”
“You bitch!” Samuel cried after her. “I could have made you a rich woman! We could have had the whole thing, you frigid little--”
Jane kicked him herself. As a choked howl escaped him, she glared down at him. “Now, you listen to me, Samuel Barlow. Next time you come near my family, I’ll make sure I hit your privates! And furthermore--”
“Perhaps you should take the ladies home,” Victor told Dom, “while we bring the three scoundrels to the magistrate’s and have them held until charges can be brought. I begin to think they’ll be safer with me and Tristan than with the ladies.”
Dom chuckled. “I believe you’re right.” He slipped an arm about Jane’s waist to pull her away from Samuel. “Come on, sweeting, time to go. "
― Sabrina Jeffries , If the Viscount Falls (The Duke's Men, #4)
20
" Fiancé. The very word scraped him raw. Dom had met Blakeborough half a dozen times back when he’d been courting Jane, but their paths hadn’t crossed since then. As Dom recalled, the earl had been too handsome for his own good.
Through the years, however, rumors had begun to circulate about the man’s disposition--that he was a curmudgeon of sorts, cynical about women and about marriage in general. Which is why Dom had initially been surprised to hear that Jane was engaged to the arse.
Still was engaged to the arse.
Dom scowled. He’d spent the entire trip imagining what he would do when confronted with the man.
The idea of challenging Blakeborough to a duel over Jane was tempting, but not remotely practical. For one thing, it would hurt Jane’s reputation. For another, it might result in Dom losing her anyway. Because if afterward Dom had to flee to avoid prosecution, she might not agree to leave England with him. Besides, it would be awfully hard to drag Rathmoor Park out of arrears from afar.
Dom had even considered telling Blakeborough that his fiancée was no longer chaste. But that would send her into an apoplectic fit, and rightly so. A gentleman didn’t impugn a woman’s reputation to gain what he wanted. Even if what he wanted was the woman as his wife.
No, he would just have to hope that Jane did the right thing and broke with the fellow. In the meantime, Dom would pray he could speak to the man with civility…or at least without wanting to call him out. "
― Sabrina Jeffries , If the Viscount Falls (The Duke's Men, #4)
