Bronwyn Scott – Scandal At The Christmas Ball: A Governess for Christmas / Dancing with the Duke’s Heir (страница 10)

‘You have no idea how much.’

This kiss was different. No tasting, no sampling, no pretence, this was a raw kiss. A hungry kiss. A kiss which was every bit as sultry as their surroundings. A passionate kiss, and a very adult one. Joanna clung to Drummond, for if she did not, she was sure her legs would not support her. All her energy went into that kiss. Their tongues tangled, their hands stroked and roamed. Hers on his back, sliding inside his waistcoat, flattening over the hard wall of his chest. His skin was heated, his shirt damp. His chest rose and fell rhythmically.

Their kiss deepened. She arched against him, pressing herself into him, shuddering as the evidence of his arousal pressed against her thigh, relishing the way her touch made him groan. Panting between kisses, she was drowsy with heat and with passion. His hand cupped her bottom. His other stroked up from her waist, brushing the side of her breast, drawing a sharp intake of breath from her, which he took for a protest. ‘No,’ Joanna said, ‘don’t stop.’

He kissed her again, and she kissed him back, matching him, kiss for kiss, touch for touch, eyes drifting shut, lost in the sensations he was rousing. His hand was on her breast now, carefully cupping, then his thumb, swirling circles round her nipple that made her ache for more, that made her want to tear off her clothing, for it was so tantalising, so delightful, and yet not nearly enough.

Who knew that passion could be as intense as this? she thought dimly as Drummond kissed her throat, the hollow of her neck, his tongue lingering on the fluttering pulse there. Positively aching for the feel of flesh on flesh, skin on skin, her clutching hands tugged at him, down his back, the sleek, taut muscles of his buttocks, pulling him closer. She was shockingly aware of his manhood, a hard ridge nudging against her belly, and felt her own throbbing response inside. Who knew that it could be like this? So urgent yet so sweet, kisses like cloying honey, her blood roaring in her veins. Dear God, who knew?

It was Drummond who brought them back down to earth. His kisses slowed, became less intense, his hands smoothing, easing her upright, creating space between them where there had been none. Joanna stood, eyes glazed. His hair was dishevelled. His eyes too were glazed. His cheeks slashed with colour. His cravat was askew. And his smile...

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Joanna said. ‘You have a very, very sinful smile.’

He laughed. ‘That is because I’m having very, very sinful thoughts.’

‘I think I may be about to swoon or palpitate for the first time in my life. Does that mean my thoughts are sinful too?’

Drummond swore under his breath. ‘I need a cold bath, not further encouragement. In fact, now I come to think of it...’

He pushed his damp hair back from his brow, picking up her cloak, draping it around her shoulders before shrugging into his greatcoat. His smile had become distinctly mischievous. ‘What are you thinking?’ Joanna asked. Drummond grinned. ‘What are you...?’ She squeaked as he caught her up in his arms, holding her high against his chest. ‘Drummond!’

‘We need to cool down,’ he said, striding back through the succession house, out of the heavy door, carrying her as if she weighed no more than a sparrow. His boots crunched on the hard-packed snow which had become crusty as the temperature dropped.

Joanna clung, still laughing, feeling his laughter reverberating in his chest, until he stopped, just inside a high-walled garden, letting her slide to her feet, though keeping his arms around her waist. ‘Are we cool enough now?’ she asked. ‘Has the danger passed?’

‘Perhaps, but we better make doubly sure,’ Drummond said, falling backwards into the deep snow, and taking her with him.

Monday, 28th December 1818

Drummond was reading the London papers in the library when Joanna found him. Fortunately he was alone, for one look at her face told him she was quite distraught. Casting The Times on to the floor, he hastened to her side. ‘Don’t say anything,’ he said, putting his finger to her lips, before ushering her into the little room off the main reception area where they had first encountered each other on Christmas Eve. As he hoped, it was empty. The fire had been set but not lit, but the tinder box was lying conveniently by the grate. He settled Joanna in a sofa by the hearth, locked the door, and saw to the fire. ‘Fear not, we won’t be disturbed. What on earth has happened to overset you so badly? Do you want me to get you a medicinal brandy?’

She shook her head. She was quite pale, though there were two high spots of colour on her cheeks, and her eyes were bright with tears. Drummond sat down beside her, chafing her hands between his.

She stared at him in mute anguish, her throat working. A tear tracked down her cheek, and then another followed. A sob escaped, and she began to tremble. ‘It is just so bloody unfair,’ she said, throwing herself against Drummond’s chest.

He wrapped his arms around her and held her as she sobbed. Such deep, shaking sobs that racked her, there could only be one explanation. The justice she had been anticipating was not forthcoming. Sickened, he tightened his hold around her, smoothing her hair with his palm.

Lying in the snow yesterday afternoon, her body pinned under his, the laughter in her eyes had turned to desire as he kissed her, abandoning restraint, his tongue sliding into her mouth, tangling with hers, his hands roaming over her curves. Rolling on to his back, pulling her on top of him, he had found the contrast of the freezing snow, the heat of her mouth, her body, intoxicating. And it had been the same for her. When their snowy kiss came to a lingering end, he had no doubt she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

It was one thing for them to agree that they were destined to follow separate paths, that this affaire or whatever the hell it was, had a very finite life, but it was quite another to act on this knowledge. He was not only playing with fire, he was playing with his very future, but he could find no appetite to halt the charade, no matter how many very sound reasons there were. Holding her now, soothing her violent sobs, he felt a fierce desire to protect her, to fight whatever battle it was she needed help fighting. It was not his battle though, and she would likely spurn his assistance for his own good. And hers. Whatever that may turn out to be.

Joanna had stopped crying. Her breathing had slowed. She sat up, and before he could offer his kerchief, had retrieved her own, a small, practical square of cotton, which she used ruthlessly on her red-rimmed eyes and nose. ‘I’ve made your shirt damp, I’m afraid,’ she said in a small voice.

‘I’ve plenty other shirts.’ He covered her hands with his. ‘I take it that Her Grace did not offer you satisfactory terms?’

‘Oh, she offered me extremely generous terms,’ Joanna said bitterly, ‘but the one thing she has not offered me is justice. She merely wishes to buy my silence and that is grossly unfair, no matter how generous the settlement. The problem is, I’ve no option but to accede, if I wish to prosper. There, we have that in common too, though I fervently wish we did not.’

Recovering her composure, she folded her kerchief away and pushed herself upright. ‘The two people who owe me a grovelling apology are quite notable by their absence,’ she said, her eyes sparkling, not with tears now, but with fire. ‘Her Grace is merely the intermediary. I was so excited when the invitation to Brockmore came, I didn’t think about the fact that it should have been preceded by a letter from another.’ She pushed a damp tendril of hair back from her cheek and sighed. ‘I didn’t want to tell you the about the whole sordid episode until it was satisfactorily resolved, but now it can have no happy ending—or at least, not the happy ending I’d hoped for.’

‘Then you better tell me now, for if you don’t, how am I supposed to help?’

He was rewarded with a tremulous smile. ‘That is very gallant of you, but I fear my situation is beyond rescuing, even by you.’

‘I’ll be the judge of that, once I know what we’re dealing with.’

‘It’s a long story, Drummond.’

‘The one thing I’m not currently short of is time. Fire away!’

‘Well, if you are sure.’ Joanna clasped her hands together, angling herself to face him. ‘About three years ago, I was employed by Lady Christina Robertson to act as governess to her eldest daughter. Lottie was then sixteen, and due to make her debut the following year. Lady Christina is...’

‘A doyenne of society,’ Drummond said drily. ‘I was introduced to her at the Richmond ball actually, on the eve of Waterloo. Her husband was at that time a bigwig in the Foreign Office. You were mixing in rarefied circles.’

Joanna snorted. ‘A governess does not exactly mix but—yes, I had by any standards secured a prestigious position and Lottie was, unlike some of my previous charges, an excellent pupil. I was—am—very fond of her.’ She bit her lip. ‘That is why it hurt so much when she betrayed me.’