Page 38 of The Devil to Pay

“Yes, of course. You have made a splendid job of the library and even, it appears, got Jacob to help to put the books back, something I’ve not managed over the past three years. You are to be congratulated. Still, it frees you from the task, which is all to the good.”

“Damn you, Davenport, that’s not why I did it,” he said, hurt by the accusation, and a little guilty as it was partly accurate but only in very small part and… and no. It wasn’t true. He didn’t want to go, God help him. He ought to. He very definitely ought to, but he couldn’t. Not yet.

She snorted and shook her head and Jules observed her as she stood before him. Her chin was up, as usual, her expression challenging, but her arms were crossed, not in a defensive pose, but as if for comfort, to hold herself steady. Jules' heart ached for her. Did anyone ever stand beside her, take her part? Did anyone ever ensure she got enough rest, that she ate properly, that her needs and wants and desires were cared for?

“Where did you go today?”

“To Monmouth. To the dressmakers, as it happens,” she said, a glint in her eyes that dared him to make sport of her. As if he would. “I have decided to take your advice. I am going to the dance at the weekend. Perhaps I have been foolish in refusing to go. I am not hideous, after all, and I have many skills that would make me an admirable wife to a man of ambition. Just because I didn’t take in society, does not mean I could not make a decent match with a man who wished to better himself. So, I must thank you for that, and of course, for everything you have done here with the library. You have more than made amends for the trick you played on me so you may go with a clear conscience. No harm done.”

Jules blinked at her. He had the sense the words had been prepared and rehearsed. Not that it made them any less accurate. So, she had seen sense. That was good. Excellent, in fact. He need not worry now. He could leave knowing she would find herself a worthy husband who would see she didn’t wear hideous gowns, who would treat her as an equal and appreciate just what a magnificent creature he had been lucky enough to take as his own.

He felt sick.

Must be the cognac.

“I will, of course, be more than happy to carry on with my critique of your work if you should still wish it,” she said briskly, as if speaking to a business acquaintance. “But that can be done by correspondence in the future. So… if that’s all?”

Jules stared at her. Incensed. He had been dismissed. Again!

“That’s it, is it?” he demanded, his voice cool enough, though anyone who knew him well would recognise the dangerous tone as one that usually preceded accusations of public disorder.

“What else is there?” she asked, with the imperious lift of one amber eyebrow.

“What else?” he echoed, the words little more than a growl as he stalked towards her.

A look of alarm flitted across her face before she steeled herself and stood ramrod straight, hands fisted at her sides, chin up.

“What else?” he repeated, a chaotic mix of emotions churning inside him. Lord, but she made him furious, so… so bloody angry but… “This is what else, Davenport,” he said, and pulled her into his arms.

He hadn’t meant to do it. At least… he didn’t think he’d meant to do it. But whatever his intentions, it was too late now. He kissed her hard, his arms locking about her as she gave a little squeak of alarm. For a bare second, he was embracing a marble statue, and then she softened in his embrace, flinging her arms around his neck and kissing him back with such enthusiasm he nearly fell over. Jules put out a hand, grasping the mantelpiece for support and dragging his mouth from hers with some difficulty, as she had him in what amounted to a headlock.

“Christ, Davenport, let a fellow breathe, will you?” he gasped.

She blushed, looking utterly mortified and stammered an apology.

“Oh, stow it,” he said with a laugh. “I didn’t say stop.”

So he kissed her again, and she responded with alacrity. Not that she had a clue what she was doing, but she wasn’t letting that stop her. She pressed close and Jules wondered if he’d run mad, but Lord, she was wonderful. An appalling, managing creature, trying her best to take over when she didn’t have the slightest idea what she ought to do, but still, utterly wonderful. In the end, he took her face between his hands to hold her still.

“Stop trying to win, you dreadful girl,” he scolded her, quite unable to keep the warmth and amusement from his voice. “It isn’t a competition. Like this….”

For once she held still as he brushed his lips gently over hers, pressing soft kisses to first her upper, then lower lip before running his tongue over the seam of her mouth. She opened on a soft sigh, and he pressed closer, showing her the way of it, encouraging her to mimic the sweet slide and tangle of tongues. She caught on quickly, and Jules knew he’d made an error in judgement, for now she had gained some skill and the result was terrifying. His heart hammered in his chest, lust a fire blazing out of control in his blood and an ache in his loins that was going to drive him distracted. He wanted her. Hell, he had wanted her from the start but now… now she was here, in his arms, and he could have her… if he was prepared to marry her.

He pulled back abruptly, breathing hard.

“Good God, Davenport. I was right. You are dangerous.”

“D-Dangerous?” she repeated, sounding agreeably dazed, which was something. At least he wasn’t the only one afflicted with this madness.

“Yes, dangerous. A danger to yourself, as well as me. What are you thinking, letting me get so carried away? Don’t you have the slightest sense of self preservation? You should have slapped me, for heaven’s sake. Good God, you ought to have screamed for help.”

“But I didn’t want to,” she said, and with such candour Jules was hard pressed not to kiss her again.

Instead, he put some distance between them, running a none too steady hand through his hair.

“Well, anyway… I… I ought to go,” he said, feeling like an absolute bastard, for he had no business treating her in such a way, but he wasn’t about to marry her and if he stayed…. He sucked in a breath. “It’s for the best. We’ll kill each other or… something, if I stay,” he said, giving her a rueful smile.

She laughed unsteadily, still looking utterly stunned, which was a balm to his pride. Her hair was coming loose, a tumble of liquid copper about her shoulders, and her pale skin was flushed, her lips red from the ferocity of their kisses. Christ, if he took her to bed, it would be like nothing else on earth. That thought galvanised him into action, for there would be no bed sport with Davenport unless she had a ring on her finger and so he must go. Now. This moment.