"Widows are often just as eager to marry a marquess as virginal young ladies," he informed her. "And a gentleman doesn't slake his desires on the women in his household who feel they cannot refuse his attention."
"So," she drawled, tapping her index finger against her cheek, "you don't chase widows or slake your desires on your female servants. So that means you must chase women of dubious character." She looked him in the eye. "Except that you don't. Because you're rich and titled, and actresses, dancers, opera singers, and women of dubious character don't require chasing. They require gifts of jewelry and cash. And you've plenty of cash to buy jewelry, don't you, Jays? You can pay for companionship and pay to be rid of it"
Jarrod met her gaze. "Did it ever occur to you that I might have a special lady friend with whom I share a pillow?"
It had. And Sarah fervently prayed that was not the case. She selfishly hoped Jarrod paid for his companionship instead of sharing a pillow with a special lady friend. "Do you?"
"Yes."
"Thank goodness." Sarah breathed a sigh of relief. "You don't mind?" he asked.
"Of course not," Sarah said. "I'd prefer you pay for your companionship. That makes it business. And when it's business, there's less chance of romantic entanglements."
"Didn't you understand what I said, Sarah?" Jarrod was bewildered by her reaction. "I said I have a special lady friend with whom I share a pillow."
"You lied," she replied.
"I looked you in the eye and said yes."
"And you lied," Sarah told him. "And for that you must pay a penance."
"How did you arrive at that conclusion?"
"You're a man of honor, Jays, and no
man of honor would ever admit such a thing to an innocent young lady like me."
Jarrod snorted. Her logic was convoluted at best, but she'd arrived at the truth just the same.
"And now, it's time."
He gave her a wary look. "For what?"
"To pay the piper and do your penance."
"Sarah…" He said her name in a tone of voice that was part warning and part seduction.
"I want more lessons, Jays, and I believe you mentioned kissing, seduction, the art of slipping out of a hot, overcrowded ballroom and into the cool night air, or something equally outrageous." She gave him what she hoped was a come-hither look. She was playing with fire and knew it. "Besides, aren't you the least bit curious to find out if I do have the modesty to wear a petticoat beneath this dress?"
"Ladies who play with fire often get burned," he cautioned.
"I hope so," she breathed fervently. "For I'm on fire for the taste of another one of your kisses."
* * *
Chapter Twenty
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When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul
Lends the tongue vows.
— William Shakespeare, 1564-1616
They disappeared from the crowd of dancers, quickly working their way around the refreshment tables at the far end of the ballroom toward the opened terrace doors. Jarrod caught sight of Griffin and Alyssa standing near the terrace doors, but he didn't let the possibility of Griffin and Alyssa seeing them deter him. Placing his hand on the small of Sarah's back, Jarrod guided her around the punch table and through the last set of doors, where they slipped into the cool dark of the evening.
Jarrod led her down the terrace steps along a lantern-lit stone path to the garden. He didn't stop until he reached the entrance to a thick hedgerow maze.