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Before either one realized what he was doing, before either one could summon the willpower to stop it from happening, he had her in his arms, and his mouth took hers with an unstoppable passion, stronger than anything he had ever experienced. His kiss plunged them both into an ardor of sensations as his hand found her breast and released it from the confines of her bodice. Her body was soft, pliable, and he knew in that moment she was made for him, only him! A sweet fragrance enveloped and tantalized him as he bent his head to suckle at her rosy nipple and tease it into pertness.
Jessie couldn’t believe how wanton she had become. How could she allow him such license? Her body trembled for his touch. Her will was no longer her own. Her legs buckled beneath her, and she clung to him for support. Faith! Her better sense screamed and demanded to be heard, but her need, a need that had been growing from the first moment she saw him took precedence.
Jessie was in heat. She knew it and closed her eyes against the blast of rockets that dispelled all logic. Her heart pounded and her mind called—Rodrigo, Rodrigo, Rodrigo!
The Spanish rogue making love to her fought against himself. He had to stop. What was he doing? He had sworn to leave her be, yet he burned for her. The absolute need to have her in his arms, to make her his own, had taken over his ability to control himself. His ardor was unrestrained, but he suddenly thought of her innocence and what he was doing to it!
Even as he kissed her again, he fought with himself and broke free to hug her in an embrace that screamed potent abuse at him. How could he have done this to her? He was almost rough as he took her shoulders and pushed her away. His sigh was long and took great effort before he whispered, “Jessie...run from me! Run from me now. I am a cad and a blackguard. You deserve so much better. Run, Jessie, and never look back. Remain with me and it will destroy you if you allow it to.”
His words stung. A man in love would not say such words...would he? No. A man in love would choose the moment to declare himself. She managed to straighten the bodice of her gown, covering her nakedness, and stepped away from him. She was stunned by her own behavior, completely devastated by the fact he had made it clear he was not in love with her. He desired her. What he felt was lust, only that. Her pride made her say, “Destroy me? No, I think not, sir. I, too, do only what I wish to do, and a moment before, it was my object to be...amused.”
She hid her face as she turned, for she could feel the heat in her cheeks. She didn’t see that her words had tickled his temper, bristling him into stiffness, and he inclined his head. “Very good, my lady. It seems I was incorrect in assuming that you are not like all your kind.”
This, too, stabbed at her heart. She felt blinded by the blow. Jessie was strong, and that strength got her through the pain her heart exuded. She felt crushed. She gathered her courage and gave him a wide smile. “It is fitting, I think, for we are well met!”
He laughed, and it was a harsh, clipped sound. “Touché! Your tongue neatly puts me in the place I deserve, for I am the scoundrel here, am I not?” He moved away from her, wondering how much of what she was saying was bravado. He had seen the hurt in her violet eyes. He could not deny he had hurt her. She was like a wounded child striking a pose for the sake of her pride, or was she in truth like all women...taking, always taking?
“Again, Don Rodrigo,” Jessie said quietly. “We find ourselves in accord.” He had offered his arm, and to display how little she cared, she put her hand on it and allowed him to lead her out of the room and to a place where she would have to ignore her feelings and keep up her head amongst the crowd of people. She couldn’t allow him to see how totally, how fully, he had broken her heart.
Rodrigo was furious with himself. He knew the truth...did he not? She was but a child who had become infatuated with him. Her innocence was obvious, and he had taken advantage of it. He was, indeed, the cad he had called himself. The dowager was upon them, Sir Warren not far behind, and he said, “Ah, here is your aunt...and your beau, Sir Warren. I bid you good night, spitfire, but you may be certain I will make myself present for further lashings tomorrow.” So saying, he kissed her hand and backed off. Why had he told her that? It was not his intention to ever see her again. He had no control over himself, and he meant to keep away. Why had he said he would call on her?
Jessie had no time to think. Her aunt was chattering at her, and Sir Warren, too, was attempting to make conversation. She put a hand to her head and said, “Auntie...I...please, I need to go home. I have such a headache.”
“Why, yes, of course. I will have our carriage called for immediately,” her aunt said, studying her face.
Jessie felt tears well up in her eyes. She could not, would not, cry. Truth glared in her face, telling her she was hopelessly in love with Rodrigo and that he did not love her. There, that was the truth.
* * * * *
Later that night as she lay in bed, she remembered all too well and all too vividly the touch of his hand, the feel of his hard, lean body, the look in his black devil eyes, and his kisses...oh faith! What was she going to do? She knew from the outset he would not want her forever. His feelings for here were but a passing fancy, nothing more.
She said it out loud, just in case hearing it might trigger a thought to prove this wrong. “He does not love me. He would rather forgo his passion than take me as his wife.” There, it reverberated through the air and slapped her cheeks. He will return to Argentina, and you will never see him again. She loved him with every measure of her young, lively body and mind. They laughed as one. They teased and conversed as one. Their ideals were so very similar. How had she allowed herself to fall so far?
Love? It was a hurting thing. Devil take her for a fool. Fools always ended in hell. She was in hell. He had aroused such wondrous feelings and desires in her. He had brought her to herself. If she was wanton with him, it was because he drew that which was in her to the fore. He had done this to her. He had known what he was doing...so why, why bring her to this point?
All week, Rodrigo had played the gallant. He had charmed her, he had flirted with her audaciously, sweetly, and yes, even boyishly. Was it all a show? Had he not felt something? He had teased her with those black eyes of his. He had delighted her spirit, allowed her to be herself without judgment. He had never overstepped as he awakened her imagination, and took hold of her heart with his deft handling. She had forgotten who he was—the Spanish rogue, the devil rake, Don Rodrigo the heartbreaker.
Ah, Jessie, she told herself as a tear found its way down her cheek, you’ve done your poor heart in. He was the only man for her, and he...well, he would soon be leaving England and would not even remember her name. Yet—she didn’t quite believe this. He had a warm heart. She was sure of it. He did care for her, she had been aware of that throughout. He cared enough to tell her to run from him.
He believed she would be better off with an Englishman of wealth and title, but he was wrong. She would only be better off with the man she loved, and that was him. What was she going to do? How would she ever heal?
Don Rodrigo doesn’t love me.
But Jessie was a fighter by nature. She didn’t buckle beneath the first blow. She drew strength from it and answered the challenge. Don Rodrigo spent all his time with you these last weeks. He couldn’t help himself, and perhaps he thinks he can walk away. You need to show him he can’t. You need to make him see you are the one for him. You need to show him how to love! With that determination, exhausted, she closed her eyes and fell asleep.
* * * * *
Rodrigo was not so lucky. He found himself tossing and turning fitfully. He had left the Jersey’s ball with every intention of going to White’s and passing an hour or two at the gaming table, but no sooner had he stepped out onto the street than he felt suddenly blue-deviled. In that frame of mind, he walked and discovered himself in front of his lodgings. There, in a convulsion of agitation, he silently damned all women...but even then, ended such cogitation by saying out loud, “Indeed...damn them all...save one with the violet eyes that slay.”
He stomped up the stairs to his bedroom. A session some moments later with a very good bottle of brandy lulled him into quiet. He was sexually frustrated, but no other would do for him.
June had been an outlet, but he hadn’t visited her in over three weeks because he found he was no longer drawn to anyone other than Jessie. How had this happened? She had wound her fingers around his soul, and he wouldn’t have it! June’s eyes...what color were they? He couldn’t remember. What color hair—yellow, that’s it. Instead of picturing her, however, an image of Jessie’s laughing violet eyes came to mind, as did her flaming red hair and cherry lips. Ah, bah! He poured himself another drink.
~ Eleven ~
JUNE KEENEN STOOD AT HER bedroom window and gazed out at the dimly lit street. Her curved amber brows were drawn over her small thin nose. Her lips were pursed in a pout, her hand was on her slender hip, and one long, white leg was on display as she turned to pace the floor of her bedroom.
Her black lace negligee trailed in a long line from her neat waist, and did little to hide her curvaceous and womanly charms. She surveyed her room with dissatisfaction, but it was not the blue and gold décor that displeased—it was the fact she was alone.
