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He'd done nothing at all. Not a kiss. Not a stolen touch of her hip. Not a winking suggestion that she resume her exploration of his legs while they were away from the manor.
Jude had been a complete gentleman during the ride, and now the horses were happily walking the last few yards toward home.
Marissa's thoughts, however, had been less than ladylike. She still didn't think he was an attractive man, but she'd revised her opinion of his thighs.
Yesterday in the garden, his muscles had been just as hard as she'd expected when she'd touched him. Like stone, but stone that was warm and flexing and contoured into fascinating curves. Every shift of his body had felt like the pull and push of a mountain beneath her hand. And on his horse ... my Cod, on his horse, his thighs had bulged and tightened and pressed with fantastic indecency against his breeches. Marissa had found her breath coming quick and shallow by the time they'd reached the ruins.
Yet, they'd done nothing but stroll. He'd been perfectly respectable, and Marissa was close to snarling with impatience. They were playing at betrothal. She'd earned a kiss!
The packed earth of the stable yard thumped beneath the horses' hooves as boys approached to take the reins. Jude dismounted with a grace that defied his large size... and the large size of his horse.
He reached to help her down, and his hands finally curved around her body, but they didn't linger. He let her go, and Marissa barely managed to not stomp her foot.
Frustrated, she only raised her chin higher. "Thank you for the ride, Mr. Bertrand. I had a wonderful time."
Hands behind his back, he walked with her along the side of the stable. "Why so cross then?"
"I am not cross."
"Really? I was about to start quoting from The Taming of the Shrew."'
"And now you've called me a shrew. Lovely."
"You say that as if it were my last offense among many."
"Mm."
Jude took her arm and swung her gently around to face him. "What is it, mon coeur?"
"Why do you call me that? Your heart seems quite content to keep its distance."
"Docs it?" He touched her temple, sweeping a strand of hair back. His lingers brushed the edge of her little riding hat, and she worried it had lost its jaunty angle. Did he not think her pretty enough? Did he not desire a kiss at all?
His eyes told her nothing as he watched her. "I had no idea you wanted it near," he murmured.
And he was right, of course. She wanted nothing to do with his heart, and she was suddenly afraid of the challenge she'd nearly issued.
"We'll be late for luncheon," she whispered, stepping back from the trap of his gaze.
He studied her a moment longer, his dark eyes keeping his thoughts secret, and Marissa let out a sigh of relief when he simply offered his arm. A kiss was one thing, but talk of his heart had been foolish on her part. She did not know enough about her own heart to have that conversation.
He led her into the manor without another word, and at the bottom of the stairs, he bid his farewell and bent over her hand. Marissa was holding her breath, anticipating the brush of his mouth against her skin, when someone called her name.
She looked up in surprise at the eager female voice and spotted her best friend rushing across the entry.
"Beth!" Marissa squealed over the top of Jude's bent head. "You're here!"
He released her hand, and Marissa stepped forward into her friend's embrace.
Beth's mother had been ill for nearly a year, so Marissa hadn't seen her at all during the past Season in London. She'd missed Beth so much that she felt tears prick her eyes.
In that moment, Marissa realized why she'd gone with Peter White. It hadn't just been wickedness or lust. She'd been lonely.
Beth's tight embrace said that she'd been lonely too.
Marissa breathed in the familiar clean scent of Beth's dark hair. Their housekeeper made the soap herself, and it smelled like nothing else but Beth.
"Who is this?" Beth whispered in her ear.
