Chapter Three
Jason stared out after her, watching as she turned to peer at the spot he'd just left, seeing the disappointment on her face at finding him gone. She walked back into the open doors of the ballroom. Cat's face was animated as she talked to her friend but Alyssa's was more sedate, perhaps even morose, as she constantly glanced over her shoulder at the moonlit garden.
When she disappeared from sight, he sighed, combing an unsteady hand through his hair. He hadn't expected so much fire in that kiss, so much passion from the young girl. He licked his lips, tasting her upon them and groaning in frustration.
Instead of returning to the gala, he wandered amidst the greenery, lost in a haze of disconnected thoughts that circled around the beautiful vixen in silver. She was passionate, that showed in her actions as well as tonight's kiss. Innocent she might be, but her lips had been warm and yearning as her achingly tempting body pressed against him with naïve abandon.
"Aargh!" he shouted, looking around to see if anyone had heard. He was alone, he noted with relief. Why was he even thinking about her? This was a mistake. With that thought firmly in mind, he walked through the garden to the front of the house and climbed into his coach, ordering the driver to take him home. He would send the coach back for Teddy with a note. Teddy would understand.
The drive home was interminable; the coach seemed too small to handle his thoughts. When it finally pulled up in front of the small townhouse he rented while in London, he jumped out eagerly and jogged up the steps, anxious to be out of his party togs and into something more comfortable.
The butler was at his post, opening the door with his usual reserved, "Good evening, Your Grace." Jason nodded and hurried up the stairs, surprising his valet. Dobbs was reclining in the sitting room of his chamber, reading a book.
"Anything good, Dobbs?" he asked, ripping apart the knot the poor man had taken half an hour and four starched cravats to tie.
"Murder and mayhem, your grace, the usual fare," he said, dropping the book onto the sofa and running over to help his master with the rest of his attire.
"How was the gala?"
"How are these affairs normally?" Jason sighed, sinking down on the side of his bed while he figured out what to do with the rest of the evening. "They are either depressingly boring or interminably long. Neither of which is conducive to a pleasant evening."
Dobbs made sounds of agreement, though his mind was back in his book.
"What does your grace intend to do with the rest of his evening?" he asked, thinking about how long it would take to tie another cravat.
Jason shrugged out of his shirt, handing the barely worn garment to his valet and stretching his broad shoulders. For a gentleman of means, he was very well-formed. The time he spent at his club and working the horses that he loved helped to keep him in better than average shape. His shoulders were wide, muscles curving down his arms and back, his chest broad and well delineated, his body tan from the farm where he kept his horses.
"Go back to your murder and mayhem, Dobbs. I shall dress and go for a ride. It is late enough that I don't believe I shall meet anyone who will die of embarrassment if I'm not wearing a cravat under my coat." He leaned forward and pulled out the plainest of his shirts, buttoning it quickly and tucking it into the breeches he still wore. Yanking out an old jacket that his valet always tried to throw away, he changed from the soft leather shoes he'd worn to the gala into knee-high boots and left the room.
The jacket was a faded black and scuffed from wear. It covered the white shirt he'd left a few buttons open on, exposing his throat and collarbone.
Without his hat, his dark hair was quickly wind blown as he walked toward the stables situated at the back of the property.
No one was present when he entered the building. Instead of causing a ruckus amongst his staff, he went and got his stallion, brushing him down quickly before saddling the big beast himself. The horse, a huge black with a white sock on his front foot, came to him eagerly, nosing at his pockets for the treat Jason normally brought.
"Later, you big baby," he told him, pushing the horse's head up as he went to get his saddle from the tack room. "If you don't watch it, none of the ladies are going to want to look at you. Your belly will get too big."
The horse nickered, turning his head and grabbing a mouth full of jacket, almost knocking Jason off his feet.
Jason laughed, feeling better than he had since he'd nearly been run down by a vixen in the park. He saddled his horse, stepped up and rode off, letting the horse have his head and enjoying the evening air.
It was a pleasure to feel good horseflesh between his legs and to smell the scent of spring in the air. He forgot his worries. So much so that he lost track both of the time and where he was going, finding himself in the middle of a thicket. He knew his horse could find the way home easily, and the huge moon made the evening fairly bright. He was ready to turn around when a shot rang out, startling him.
He ducked before he realized the shot hadn't been aimed at him but was over another small rise. As he was about to turn away, not wanting to disturb a hunter or come upon trouble without his own pistol handy, he heard more shots and a very feminine scream.
Jason kicked his horse in the direction of the sound, tacking around so as not to come unprepared upon whatever drama was unfolding. He snuck up a wide roadway, seeing a coach stopped in the center of the road. Two men lay in their own blood just beyond, presumably dead. Another man was in the ditch closer to him, but just as still. Taking another look at the coach, Jason let loose a whispered round of invectives. He recognized the ornate scrolling and rosettes.
"She's a fine wench. Shall we take her with us?" A man's voice, from the direction of the coach.
"My father shall have your heads if you hurt me," This voice was feminine, very angry and very familiar. The defiance was likely to get her into more trouble than she could handle herself.
Jason raised his eyes to the heavens, muttered a quick prayer that she wouldn't say anything to get them both killed and worked his way over to where the dead highwayman was lying in the ditch. He stole the man's mask and hat, buttoning his jacket so that it covered most of his white shirt. He tied his horse up just out of sight, trusting the animal not to give him away with an ill-timed whinny. Reaching down, he picked up the dead bandit's pistol, silently cursing when he saw that it had already been fired.
He'd have to bluff his way out of this one. The mask covered the top of his face, leaving the bottom half exposed. He moved silently until he could walk around the coach, staring at the scene before him.
* * *
Alyssa kissed Cat's cheek, promising to visit the next day. She thanked Lord Matthew and his wife, Lady Lara, who hugged her warmly.
"Are you sure you don't wish for us to follow you? It is a dangerous place and the roads near your father's estate are menaced with highwaymen." Matthew reached out, tugging on a lock of her hair just as he would his own little sisters.
"No, your grace, though I thank you for the kind offer. My father has sent outriders with me and I am sure they will do admirably to change any highwayman's mind about accosting me."
"Then we bid you good night, Alyssa. I'm sure we'll meet again soon. Especially if Cat has her way," he said, chuckling and handing her up into her coach. She waved at the trio as the coach pulled away and then settled back for the trip.
She closed her eyes, for while it was not late, she was tired; as she tried to rest, a memory of a shadowy figure arose. She could see him, there in her mind's eye; first the outline of his face, then his chin and lips as he came somewhat into the light. Oh, and those lips. The things he'd done with them, the heat of them against her mouth, the way he'd kissed her! It had set her afire with need. She could still feel the ache. Her stomach felt tight, her lower belly strangely empty--as if she needed it to be filled by him.
Him! A strange, anonymous man had given her the first real kiss she would ever know and she didn't even know his name. But oh, God in heaven, what a kiss it had been. Were they all like that? Hot and sweet, his breath pleasant, the taste of his mouth better than the champagne that flowed like water in the gala. His lips had filled her with unimaginable pleasure. Her hand rose to her mouth, her fingers lightly touching the lush flesh as she remembered the way he had kissed her.
And the way his hands had touched her, his palms slightly calloused and rough against the bare skin of her arms, over the soft satin of her gown. She couldn't help but wonder how they would feel on the rest of her body. A shiver of delight shot through her, coiling into her belly, making the lingering ache throb decadently.
With her eyes closed, her mind still on him, she carefully stroked the soft skin of her shoulder, just barely touching with the tips of her fingers. Down and across her collarbone she moved, biting her lip as the feeling grew, need turning into a desperate pulse between her thighs.
Over the soft swell of her breasts, she caressed herself, humming quietly at the pleasure. In her mind, she saw the shadowed stranger's eyes watching her, his gaze following her fingers as she slid them around her breasts, finally pushing her fingers under her gown and shift, stroking her taut nipple. She groaned and shivered, feeling a strange dampness between her thighs. The ache grew until she pressed her legs together, trying to find relief from this unexpected pressure.
Did she dare? Could she press her fingers to that need? She let her palm run over the swell of her breast, feeling the hard little bump her nipple created in the satin, She grew more adventurous. Her hand slid down her stomach, forcing her to bite her lip as little shivers of pleasure burst inside. She cupped the small mound of her sex, pushing her fingers between her legs, rubbing gently but insistently over the top of her satin skirt.
