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When she shook her head, he finally let his hands free and raised one arm toward her. He slid the edge of one finger along her jaw, paying close attention to the detail of her skin. Soft and fine and warm against his, and the hitch in her breath added weight to his blood so that each beat dragged through his heart. "You are too beautiful for me," he whispered.
She started to shake her head, then froze when his thumb brushed her mouth.
Jude rested the pad of his thumb on her bottom lip, memorizing the feel of her breath rushing over him. "You are. People will talk when they see us together."
"Jude—"
"They will whisper and frown, and you will blush with mortification. But I will not mind, Miss York. Do you understand?"
"No," she breathed.
His thumb must have inched forward of its own accord. Her top lip brushed it when she spoke. Her breath came faster. Jude stared at her mouth with the fascination of a hungry predator. "I am not a boy. I have not been a boy for a very long time. And I was never pretty, so there is no point in wishing it so. But there are great advantages to loving a man. You will decide for yourself which you prefer. Boy... ?"
A tiny shift of his thumb and it was resting at the seam of her mouth.
"Or man?"
When her lips parted, he felt a torturous hint of heat and moisture and promise. He dragged his thumb gently across her mouth until he reached her check.
Her breath came faster. She leaned toward him. Jude smiled. "Now shall I escort you to dinner?"
"Pardon?" The word was all gentleness and night. Her eyelids dipped in a sleepy blink as he touched the sensitive skin beneath her ear.
"It's time for dinner, mon coeur."
"Is it?"
When he dropped his hand, Marissa frowned and stepped away, as if recalling that she did not like him.
"Come, we must put on a show."
She hesitated for only a moment, her eyes sweeping up and down his body for one last evaluation. Then she laid her hand on his and let him take her to dinner. This time, her fingers rested more easily against him, and Jude walked into the dining room with a smile that set that young buck's teeth on edge.
The boy would probably ask Marissa to dance at least twice tonight, and Jude would watch happily from the side. He did not mind Marissa entertaining herself, so long as her evening ended with him.
Chapter 5
The music room had been cleared for dancing, as the ballroom was too large for so few people. Marissa's mother perched impatiently in a chair near the piano, waiting for the gentlemen to wander in. The musician at the piano played a happy tune, but Marissa watched her mother frown. Lady York did not approve of leaving the men in the dining room with their port. She felt their absence postponed the merrymaking, and she went to much trouble to keep the house lively in the evenings.
Lady York took pride in having the merriest house party in the country, and it went on for nearly a week instead of the traditional three days. The York estate was well known for hosting country dancing and traveling plays during the hunt. She hired musicians every night, and organized card games and charades if there would be no dancing. But there would be dancing tonight.
The music room was large enough to accommodate quite a few couples, and the fiddler was ready, but they were missing twenty or so gentlemen.
Finally the low notes of male conversation rumbled into the room, and the first few men stepped in.
Jude was not among them. Marissa craned her neck, but did not see him in the hallway either. She had no idea why she was looking for him. He'd been seated across from her at dinner, after all, so she'd gotten her fill of looking. Still, conversation had been impossible, and Marissa had found herself wondering what he'd said to the lady on his right that had made her laugh so. And why had the woman on his left stared at him with such bright eyes and touched his sleeve every few minutes to draw his attention?
It made no sense. He wa
sn't handsome or elegant. He didn't offer a title. Then again, he was interesting. Intriguing, even.
For instance, what had he meant about being a man ? Peter White was hardly a boy at twenty-seven.
"Miss York," a voice said from close by, making Marissa jump as she twisted in her seal.
A gentleman stood there, but he wasn't the one she'd been watching for. "Mr. Dunwoody," she said, offering a wan smile. Mr. Dunwoody had been high on her list of potential lovers earlier in the week. Alas, White had been less polite and more persistent.
"Miss York, may I sit with you?"
