“No.” Her gaze locked with his. She possessed the ability to speak with him through nothing more than her eyes. She knew exactly why they had never danced.
Crossings’ duchess, her mother, had watched over her eldest daughter with the ferocity of a lioness. It wasn’t that Jasper had not found Nia to be exceedingly lovely, but he’d made all the common assumptions about her. How had he missed it? How had he missed her?
He slid his hands down her back and felt a surge of anger for her.
She’d been so damned trusting of her father until it had almost been too late.
“For what it’s worth,” he said, “I think you did the right thing.” He didn’t explain what he meant. She would know. With Dewberry, she’d have lived the life she had been raised for, but she’d have died inside. It would have been slow.
It would have been a travesty.
“Thank you,” she said. So very proper. “I had doubts. When my father showed up at your townhouse, I questioned my sanity.”
He rubbed his chin along the top of her head, having grown fond of the scent and feel of her hair, finding an odd satisfaction when it caught in his beard, which had grown out longer than normal.
“I had the servant who sent for your father sacked,” Jasper said. And then he stared over her head at the other couples. “I didn’t want to think about you, and yet my home, which had felt perfectly normal earlier that morning, felt oddly empty after you left.”
Such a confession was not at all like him.
She tilted her head back, and Jasper nearly lost himself in the stars in her eyes. “You came to my father’s house, though. You were there.”
“Not by accident.” But now he’d gotten himself into a devil of a situation. Because he liked her. He genuinely liked Lady Gardenia Hathaway. And he wanted her.
But these irrational feelings reminded him of his father, and he’d seen the result far too many times.
She’s nothing like the others.
She was special. And yet, these were claims his father had made each time he brought home his most recent true love.
But Nia was gazing back at him, and she licked her lips. It was an invitation he’d not refuse.
The two of them were anonymous travelers. No one would find them worthy of any gossip. This was a rowdy country festival, and those who remained had set propriety aside.
Barely rocking side to side now, Jasper captured her mouth with his. “Sweet,” he whispered. She tasted like the wine they’d tasted earlier, all temptation and promise.
Her lips parted, and he remembered how perfectly her breasts filled his hands, how the tips tightened in his mouth.
And then he imagined all the other places he wanted to kiss her—low on her belly and the petal-soft skin of her inner thigh. He’d lick her folds and taste the opening of her seam.
She had already embraced the little pleasures he’d shown her, but there was so much more.
What would she taste like? Would she quiver with each stroke of his tongue? Would she writhe against his face?
Her hands curled around his neck, and Jasper tried reining his thoughts in before the tent in his breeches grew any more prominent.
“Let’s go back to the inn,” he suggested.
This time, she nodded.
She’d caught him, like a fish on the hook, and he didn’t give a damn. He would wave the white flag eagerly, just to have this woman in his bed.
In his life.
It wasn’t just the liquor talking, was it?
There was more. More to her. More to these feelings.
Jasper wrapped his hand around hers, leading her away from the dancers. No words were needed as they walked back toward the inn.
