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"Most boys are sent to school at that age, you know. Earlier even."
"And I'm sure they all suffer from it. And your poor mother ... I missed my brothers horribly when they were at school. She must have been devastated."
"We are close as ever. The story has a happy ending."
"I'm glad," she breathed, and Jude couldn't help but kiss her.
Their mouths met in desperation. A wildness unlike any kiss they'd yet shared. A threat hung over them. This charade might soon come to an end, and then they'd have no excuse to touch each other. No excuse to kiss.
But the charade shouldn't matter. He'd determined to convince her to love him and, pregnancy or not, he still could. She felt it too, after all, the threat of an ending. Her hands clutched him tight, and she kissed him as if she wanted to devour him before it was too late.
If it weren't for Peter White's imminent arrival, Jude would take her hair down. He'd run his fingers through the heavy red-blond locks and see her as no other man had. He'd carry her into the stables and lay her down and show her that she could not dismiss him.
He could overwhelm her with pleasure. He knew he could. A woman like Marissa would bloom under a wicked tutelage. But lust was a crumbling foundation on which to build a future. Lust would not support a year together, much less a life.
In that moment, he saw that he wanted everything, not just her lust.
So instead of sweeping her up into his arms, Jude set her back. "We'd best get this over with and return before we're missed."
"Yes," she said, though her voice was soft enough to get lost in the rustle of the trees around them.
She turned and trudged on without taking his hand.
"Marissa!" a voice hissed just as she drew even with the stable. "Is that you?"
"It's Miss York," she snapped back.
"Yes, of course. I meant no offense."
"What did you wish to speak with me about, Mr. White?"
"I feel as if we left things in an unfortunate state the last time we met. I desperately wish to rectify that, Miss York. I know you must have some feelings for me, else you wouldn't have—who in the world is that?" Peter White took a few frantic steps back.
Jude smiled.
"It's Mr. Bertrand," Marissa answered, her tone a bit too dismissive for Jude's taste.
"Well, what's he doing here?"
"He's here to be sure you don't cause offense, Mr. White."
"I would never seek to cause you harm, Marissa. You must believe me!" He threw his hands high in a dramatic gesture, and Jude tensed. He'd hung back to give them a semblance of privacy, but he was within two seconds of knocking Peter White to the ground the man raised a hand in her direction.
"Be that as it may," Marissa continued in a cool tone, "I only met you here to insist you cease writing to me."
"I can't give up—"
"You must give up. You attempted to trick me into marriage alter I'd twice refused your offer. You meant to take that choice from me, and I'll never forgive you for that."
"But you're ruined!" Amazingly, the man actually sounded sincerely concerned for her future.
"If you're implying that no man will want me, I'm forced to tell you that you're quite wrong. Mr. Bertrand has offered for my hand, and I've accepted."
"That's... that's not possible!" White's head turned toward Jude. "What kind of a man would take another man's leavings?"
Jude had been lounging against the side of the stable, but he stood straight at those words. "Pardon me?" he drawled as violence crept into his blood.
"Urn ..." White backed up again, stumbling a bit over a clump of grass. "Please understand. She may be carrying my child!"
