But that didn’t mean he couldn’t unsettle the lovely Marissa, just a little, in revenge for the pain she’d caused him.
“I expect Miss Rotherhild has told you about the ruins of the castle,” he said, with a glance at Lady Bethany.
“Only that the Crusader’s Rose was not there,” the older lady answered. “Is there anything else to tell?”
He hesitated, then lifted an eyebrow at Marissa. “Was there anything else, Miss Rotherhild?”
A spark lit her eyes but she dropped her eyelids to hide it before he could decide whether she was angry or afraid. “No, nothing else. Unless you can think of something, my lord?”
Was she daring him to tell? To ruin her reputation in front of her grandmother and Jasper? He would never do it, of course, but the fact that she would risk it said much of her character. Marissa was a gambler, masquerading beneath the façade of a respectable young lady.
Satisfied he had her measure, Valentine turned back to his friend, examining his features closely for signs of pain, but although Jasper appeared a little pale and drawn, his eyes were clear and alert. “Are you able to travel, Jasper?”
“Yes, of course, old boy. As long as you take it slowly, I’ll be more than happy to return to Abbey Thorne Manor and the ministrations of Morris and your excellent Mrs. Beaumaris.”
Valentine went to arrange the carriage. In the end it was necessary to bolster Jasper with rugs and blankets and pillows, to prevent him from being jolted about too much, and Lady Bethany sat with him to keep a watch over him. Valentine drove the carriage and Marissa rode her horse, while Valentine’s mount was fixed behind the carriage.
But, as usual when it came to Marissa, nothing went as he’d expected. Instead of riding timidly beside him, she rode some way in front, and he found his treacherous gaze fixed on the sway of her hips beneath her skirts, or the bounce of her jaunty hat atop her dark curls. For a time he struggled, and succeeded, in keeping his mind focused on what Jasper and Lady Bethany were saying, but then his thoughts would drift again. All too soon he was remembering the moment in the long grass when Marissa had reached down and closed her hand around his cock. Her warm fingers squeezing, while his face was buried in her lush flesh, in her scent, and she was rising above him like a pagan goddess…
A tremble started in his belly and traveled all the way up to his throat, causing him to catch his breath and tighten his hands involuntarily on the reins. The next thing he knew the carriage came to a violent and jerky stop.
“I say, Kent!” Jasper cried out in complaint.
“Why are we stopping?” Lady Bethany demanded, her hat over one eye as she tried to return the cushions to their proper positions around Jasper.
Marissa had trotted back to join them. “Is there a problem?” she inquired anxiously.
“No, I…It was nothing.” Valentine’s voice was rigid and he couldn’t meet her eyes. “My apologies, Jasper.”
“Well…no harm done, Kent,” Jasper said in a puzzled tone. “Just don’t do it again, eh, old boy?”
“Can we get on?” Lady Bethany said impatiently.
Marissa moved to one side to let him pass and Valentine set the horses in motion again. This time he meant to keep his eyes to the front, but his gaze wasn’t as obedient as he’d hoped. It fastened on her riding boot, and then her trim stocking-covered calf, quickly skimming over the folds of her green riding habit and up, to her gloved hands resting lightly on the reins, and came to a stop on the tiny pearl buttons that enclosed her bodice. Before he could stop himself, he was remembering her breasts under his hands, and his tongue sweeping over her nipples before drawing their succulent sweetness into his mouth.
One of her hands rose and pressed to her throat, and as he met her eyes, Valentine realized she knew exactly what he was thinking.
Because she was thinking it, too.
Marissa Rotherhild was disturbing his peace of mind by simply being here. What madness had made him want to bring her on his quest to find the rose? And how was he going to keep his hands off her delectable person next time they were alone? It was an impossible situation and it couldn’t go on.
Valentine was going to have to find some way to send her back to London, and the sooner the better.
By the time Marissa reached the manor she was more than grateful to climb the stairs to her room and close the door. She needed to think and it was difficult when Valentine was glaring at her back, as she was certain he’d done all the way from Montfitchet.
Did he blame her for what had happened between them at Montfitchet? She thought it more likely he was cross with himself because he’d lacked the will-power to resist her, and was then forced into a marriage proposal. Just as she was cross with herself for the same reason.
And confused. And guilty.
She’d come here to hunt George, after all, not fall in lust with his brother.
And yet she could not deny those moments with Valentine had been wonderfully exciting, empowering, and special. She wanted more. Like one of those laudanum addicts she’d always despised, she couldn’t stop at one draught.
With a groan she tossed her hat onto her bed and sat down to remove her riding boots, throwing first one and then the other across the room, hoping the violence would release some of her pent-up emotion.
Marissa could honestly say she’d never done anything like she did today at Montfitchet. And she’d never felt such a thrilling, dark pleasure as she had when Valentine kissed her and touched her. Her hand rested lightly on her breast, remembering. She’d never thought of herself as a sensual woman, but Valentine had shown her the t
ruth. Was it awful to admit she wanted more? And there was more, she was certain of it, a great deal more he could teach her about herself and physical pleasure. Wasn’t that what husband hunting was all about?