“Yes. Did I mention my predilection for your freckles?”
“Several times. But they are unfashionable,” she said stupidly.
“Are they?” Nick bent over, picking up her now empty mug. “First the chocolate tart, and now your cider. I find it utterly amazing you ever manage to put a forkful of food your mouth.” He stood, leaning over her. He cocked his head, his lips grazing over the base of her ear. “I wish to kiss every freckle,Jem, that marches across your nose. And anywhere else you may have them.”
“I—” She snatched the cider mug out of his hand. “You—" She panted helplessly as her body tingled from the brief touch of his lips. “You are forward,Mr. Shepherd.” Jemma took a deep breath, causing her breasts to push across her bodice.
Nick's gaze flicked down immediately.
“Do not.” He gave her a hungry look. “Pretend ignorance of what lies between us.”
“There is nothing between us.” Jemma tried desperately to compose herself. “You are a bloody horrible man," she spat weakly.
“Yes. I am the very Devil himself.” His forefinger lingered against her arm.
Heat seared into her skin from his touch. She must get away from him, though she longed to have him strip the clothes from her body. Lay her down in the tall grass around the tree. Show her the things her body yearned for. A host of wildly provocative thoughts ran through her mind none of them appropriate for a virginal, nearly betrothed young lady.
“If you’ll excuse me, I must find Mr. Corbett.” The words were shaky, skittish. “I have lost my taste for the festival and wish to go home.” She shied away from him, terrified of the feelings he invoked in her. “Please give me my parasol.”
He held out the much-abused accessory. “Jem.”
Jemma's heart stopped. Why must he call her that? Why speak as if it were an endearment?
“You must stop calling me that,” she said firmly, though her knees were wobbly, and her legs quivered like a bowl of jelly. Afraid he’d see how her eyes filled with tears, she turned away. “Please stop this senseless baiting of me.”
“It is not senseless, and it is not baiting. It is something else entirely. Were you not so innocent, you would know the difference.”
Jemma jerked the parasol from his hands, his words shaking her to the very core of her being. Because he was right.
Nick bowed to her, his glorious hair twinkling with hints of red. “Good day, Miss Manning. I am sorry if I caused you any distress.”
He didn't mean it. He wished to distress her endlessly. Jemma could tell by the quirk of his lips. She wished to ask him what there was between the two of them but wasn’t sure she should hear the answer. Nodding to him politely she headed back in the direction of the festival, wishing again she'd shothiminstead of Wren that day behind the Green Parrot.
* * *
Nick did not returnto the festival, instead he walked around the perimeter to his horse in order to avoid Jem. He'd no wish to see her with Augie. Particularly now.
Marching back to Corbett’s brougham, her skirts swinging from her long unladylike strides, she did not look back at him. Thank God, she did not, for he might have run to her and kissed her senseless.
He’dplannedto meet her today. He wished all of Hamilton to see them. He'd even thought that he would seduce her under this very tree, hoping the vicar's wife or some other upstanding citizen would discover them. That had been his plan at any rate. Only when the chance had come, he found himself unable to act, or at least act with most of Hamilton in plain view.
IfonlyJem were empty headed, dull andcommon. Lovely but stupid, as so many women he met were. If only he didn't actuallylikeher. Whatever transpired now between he and Jem would not be done for revenge. He had not thought he would want her so much. Or have a care if he hurt her.
I will hurt her whether I wish it or not.
He thought back to last night at the Governor's mansion and the game of cards he’d played with Augie, Manning, and Corbett. Manning's hands shook so badly his cards kept fluttering to the table top, though the man tried to keep his voice even. He grimaced every so often in pain that led him to reach up and rub his chest with his free hand. Manning’s eyes were bloodshot, and his skin held a grayish hue. The man was not well and would likely die soon, whether at Nick's hands or not.
Corbett the elder regarded Nick with the assessing gaze of a cautious alligator who wonders the price if he leaves the water to eat a tasty pig on shore. The Governor drank heavily, his words to Nick rife with meaning and innuendo. He was uncertain whether Corbett knew who he was but suspected he did.
Augustus, unaware of the undercurrents swirling about the table played poorly and stupidly, allowing the others to win nearly every hand. Nick assumed Augustus played dice the same way, which was why Preston Jones wished to speak to young Corbett. Nearly half the men in Bermuda held Augie's markers. Just how in debt was he?
Nick had gone to his room after the last hand, wondering how much more subterfuge he could tolerate. He wished to make both men suffer, and to do that he needed to ruin the traitor's daughter. He would force Manning to confess his sins and leave the man to die on this island, his daughter ruined. Nick thought he would just strangle Corbett outright. Perhaps make sure he had an accident on the stairs or something.
At least thathadbeen Nick's plan when he left the Governor's mansion this morning. And it had seemed a solid plan, one in which he would relish torturing the men who had dared injure the Dunbars.
“Please stop this senseless baiting of me.”
“Bloody hell.” Nick spat and climbed his waiting horse.
