“Lucky chap. Will you be married soon?”
“I don’t know. Yes. Perhaps. We have become ever so fond of one another. We’re so much in love that I call him Tommy instead of Thomas.” She was painfully aware that she must sound like an idiot.
“And what does he call you?”
Gwen blinked. It was a consuming task to make up all these lies. “I... I would rather not say.”
“It must be something scandalous then. Precious, or darling, or honeycake.”
Honeycake? This talk of marriage and suitors was growing uncomfortable. His charcoal pencil had gone still on the page.
“Are you almost finished with your sketch?” she asked.
“For the most part.” He leaned back and examined his work. “Why don’t you come have a look?”
When she arrived in his vicinity, he pulled her right down on his lap. She knew she ought to protest, but he wasn’t being rude or rough. On the contrary, his arms encircled her very gently as he held the book before them. His cheek touched hers. He was so large, so warm.
She tried to concentrate on his sketch, which was quite impressive for the short amount of time he’d taken to draw it. It was mainly her face and shoulders, and breasts. Oh, she didn’t know why she should feel this sketch was all about her breasts, except that her nipples had gone alarmingly taut now that he was near. Was this how Tilda felt when Drustan held her? When Drustan kissed her?
“Do you like it?” Jack asked. His soft hair brushed against her cheek. “It’s only a quick study. I could draw you for hours and not capture all your bewitching charm.”
Such flattery, and his gaze was so intense. He must be falling in love with her, to look at her that way. She wished Tilda had come with her, because Tilda would have known how to flirt and play along with this man.
“Would you like to see some other things I’ve drawn?” he asked, as she gawked at him like a hooked fish.
“Yes, that would be lovely.”
He shifted her in his arms. Shifted her closer, she noted, as he flipped back through some of the pages. She did not know much about art, but she knew the drawings had some boldness that made them attractive to her. He’d sketched elegant horses and great city buildings, and a variety of persons, both ladies and gentlemen. In the middle of the book, he skipped past a few pages. Gwen thought she saw a flash of large, round breasts and naked legs, but she wasn’t sure.
“I’m especially proud of this.” He showed her a sketch that covered two pages, a detailed rendering of a huge manor and courtyard, and a fountain with water spraying from the middle. It brought to mind King Arthur’s Lady of the Lake.
“How beautiful,” she said. “I’ve never seen a real fountain. Not like that.”
“Haven’t you? Many grand houses and parks in England have them.” His arm eased closer about her waist. “They’re pretty to look at, aren’t they? Like you.”
She turned to him with a shy smile, and he chuckled.
“You’re blushing pink as a rose, Rose. How modest you are, for a wild meadow nymph.”
“Oh, I am not a nymph.”
She looked back at his drawings, trying—and failing—to ignore the subtle caress of his thumb beneath her breast. The blush in her cheeks seemed to be spreading to other parts of her body. “I can’t believe how talented you are,” she blathered, to fill the silence. “You made a lovely likeness of me in such a short time. Really, you are a commendable artist.”
“It’s easy to make art when one is inspired.” He shifted her on his lap, so she was turned more toward him, and then he tilted up her chin. “I suppose it is shocking to say, but I would like to kiss you.”
Goodness, he meant it. As much as she had craved to be kissed, she knew it wouldn’t be proper to allow it. “You shouldn’t, sir.”
“Why not?” Their lips were almost touching. His eyes were so blue. “Call me Jack, won’t you? We’re friends, you know, sitting here together in this pretty meadow on a sun-filled day. Why not have a little kiss? Especially when you’ve been flirting so shamelessly.”
She opened her mouth to protest this accusation, and that was the moment he took advantage, brushing his lips across hers. She went very still, shocked by the whispery warmth of contact. He made a low sound of encouragement and cupped her face before she could pull away.
Oh my. He was not just kissing her once, but many times. His lips tensed and molded to hers as his fingers wove into her hair. She’d dreamed of being kissed on countless occasions, but her dreams had never approached this heady reality. He grasped her face between his thumbs and flicked his tongue inside her mouth, at the corner and along her lip. After a moment of flailing, she tried to respond and kiss him back in the same sensual fashion. And she thought, take me away to your castle, dear sir. Thank you, flowers and trees. Thank you, heaven and earth, and Jack, for granting me this last adventure before my wedding to the duke.
He moved her again on his lap, setting her off balance so she was obliged to open her hands upon his chest. How hard he felt, how very solid. Her palms slid up to his shoulders as he deepened their kiss. She ought not to grope this stranger, and she certainly shouldn’t allow him to kiss her this way, but she couldn’t find the power to stop him. Every aspect of him compelled her, from his wild artist’s hair to his manly chest, to the firm, muscled thighs that supported her. He opened a hand over her breast, and she didn’t even think of telling him no. His thumb brushed across her nipple through the coarse wool of her dress, a teasing pleasure that resonated all the way down to the private place between her legs.
She should tell him not to do such a thing. She knew it was wicked, but it felt so good. He whispered something to her, some endearment, but all she could think was how excited and full her middle felt. She gave a needful little sigh, her lips trembling against his. His hand traveled down and molded around her bottom, caressing and squeezing as boldly as she’d squeezed his shoulders. She pushed back from him.
“Please, sir,” she said. “You should not.”
He was handsome, yes, and maybe falling in love with her, but the castle was a fantasy. Too soon, she would have to leave this meadow, and return home to prepare for her wedding to the Duke of Arlington.
Jack released her, though he did not put her off his lap. His gaze burned hot as ever as he took her hand. “I apologize if I offended you. I forgot myself for a moment.”
“So did I. It’s this meadow, I suppose, and the fact that you are...” She ducked her head, touching her lips. “That you are very handsome.”
“Ah, Rose. There you go, flirting with me again. What a naughty girl you are, when you have a young man named Tommy in love with you. How unfaithful you’ve been.”
She looked up sharply. “No, sir. Not unfaithful.” She stared over his shoulder, thinking how to keep up the fiction and still explain how she’d lost herself in his arms. “I... I know I said he was my fellow, but the truth is... Tommy and I are only...mostly...friends.”
Jack gave a gentle tsk. “Then you lied to me about having a beau. If you were my lady, I believe I’d spank you for such behavior.”
It was impossible to tell if he was joking, or serious, or bemused, or actually, truly disappointed in her. “You wouldn’t really?” she said. “You wouldn’t spank a grown woman?”
“I have and I would. Some naughty misses require an occasional bottom-reddening to keep them in line. Nothing vicious, you understand. Just enough sting to make them feel remorseful for their misdeeds.”
He moved his hand over her knee, the movement animating the muscles in his chest. A spanking? Rose, the village girl, felt her breath come faster with a squalid sort of excitement. Gwen, on the other hand, was scandalized. “I can hardly...believe...”
“Don’t men spank their women in Wales, then?” he asked in surprise. “Have you never been spanked, Rose?”
She shook her head quickly. “No, never. Not since I was a child.”
He tightened his hands on her waist and press
ed a gentle kiss to the corner of her lips. “Do you wonder what it would feel like if I spanked you?”
Yes. No. God save me. “I suppose... Well. I wonder if I ought to go check on my horse.”