‘You may relax, my lord.’ His gaze sharpened. It must be the first time anyone had addressed him so. ‘I do not want to marry you, I have not changed my opinion since we discussed this last night.’
‘Why not?’ He leaned forward, wrists on his knees, intent.
‘We desire each other, we have from the beginning. But that is all that it is – and it is no basis for a marriage, especially an unequal one. I would like a nice conventional affaire, you apparently would not.’ She shrugged, sure she was hiding the insecurities – He does not want me any more, he has had what he wants, he has realised what a quagmire I have drawn him into… ‘Besides, if you are going to cut your hair, I may not desire you any more.’
‘More than likely. Good thing that I have no intention of doing so.’
‘You want me to desire you? You will not make love to me but your pride insists that I pant and pine, is that it?’ She bounced out of the chair, propelled by indignation. Men had all the power, all the arrogance, all the insolent nerve in the world, while women –
A pair of hands bracketed her waist. ‘Stop flouncing.’ He moved like a ghost. The ghost of a cat.
‘I am not – What are you doing?’ She did not turn around. Did not move. Through the sensible cotton of her morning dress his hands
were warm and sure and felt very permanent, anchoring her there.
‘Being seduced.’ His hair brushed her ear as he bent and kissed the angle of neck and shoulder, the one inch of exposed flesh. ‘I am hoping you will pant and pine. Guinevere, I want to do the right thing, I want to treat you as you should be treated. I should be strong enough, but it seems I have sufficient self-control about everything else but you when you tell me you might… pant and pine.’
‘I would like to be treated as an adult woman who can make a decision about what is right for her.’ She tipped her head a little so it rested against his.
‘Touché. Je cède à toi.’ I yield to you. ‘You are right and I should not presume to make your decisions for you.’
‘Especially when they happen to coincide with what you want, deep down,’ she said.
‘There is that.’
I love you, Guin thought. I love you, but this time I am not going to snatch at love or security. She had eloped with Francis without thought or restraint and she had seized the lifeline that Augustus had offered her without worrying about anything else – how it might make him an object of fun as a doting old husband, that it might cause a rift with his family. Neither had happened, but that was luck, not her own forethought. Jared might seem calm and in control but he must be in turmoil inside. That was no condition to make a decision about something as vital as marriage.
Her gown gaped suddenly and she realised those clever fingers had not been caressing her, they had been dealing with fastenings and ties. His hands came round to cup her breasts, the heat streaking down as he toyed with her nipples through the fine linen of her shift.
‘Shouldn’t we be planning?’
‘Later.’ Jared said, still behind her as he dealt with her corset strings. ‘Much, much later.’
Chapter Twenty Three
‘We have circumstantial evidence but no proof,’ Jared said, much, much later as they lay on the chaise and watched the sky darkening into evening through the turret window.
‘A confession would be very handy.’ Guin played with their hair, plaiting a lock of hers and two of his together, admiring the way the black offset the golden brown. ‘But even if we can lay hands on Thomas he would not be so stupid as to put his own neck in the noose by talking. He tried to lure me out for a ride in the gig, you know. Then he accompanied Faith and me into the garden – both times armed with a club. I can’t help wondering what he would have done if the gardener hadn’t arrived just then.’
Jared closed his eyes for a second. When he spoke his voice was harsh. ‘Don’t think about it. He is never going to be able to harm you again. What we need is a confession before witnesses. A magistrate or two, for example.’ When she relaxed he took the plait from her and used the tip of it to tease her nipples, then bent to lick the tense points.
‘Where are we going to get two magistrates from?’ She let her hand slide down over his chest, enjoying the sensation of hair on her palms, then over his admirably flat belly, dipping her finger into his navel until he caught her hand.
‘Witch. You should allow your poor exhausted lover to rest before making more demands on him.’
‘You are as exhausted as a racehorse that has been for a stroll before breakfast. Magistrates?’
‘My father is one. But we need more.’ He fell silent, thinking.
‘Jared.’ Guin rolled over so that she was lying on top of him, her hands crossed on his chest to support her chin as she watched him think. Although he wasn’t brooding solely on his sister-in-law. At least, she hoped not, because there was unmistakeable evidence of a renewal of interest. She took care not to wriggle. ‘Do you think your sister-in-law realises what her friend Elizabeth has been doing?’
‘I hope not. I imagine she knows that Mrs Quenten has been trying to make life uncomfortable for you, playing tricks. Bella might be amused by that.’ He shrugged, an interesting experience when he was flat on his back and she was on top of him. They were both silent for a moment, very still, enjoying it. ‘I was infatuated with her when I was seventeen: she could be the reincarnation of Lucretia Borgia now for all I know.’
‘She has certainly proved herself capable of lies and deceit to get what she wants, even at the cost of someone else. Did you see her at Ravenscar?’
‘No. I went in the back way, unannounced, and left by the same door. I do not believe that anyone but my father saw me. He will tell her though. I mentioned that I had encountered her in Whitby.’ Jared smiled again, although this time it held no warmth. ‘I wonder when he will tell her that he has invited us to stay.’
‘Us?’