Louise Allen - Those Scandalous Ravenhursts Volume Two - The Shocking Lord Standon

But he had seen it, seen Jessica’s eyes in the shimmer of the stones, and the compulsion had gripped him and he had bought the set. Madness. He could always resell them. They were of the best quality, an investment.

Gareth set the case down and lifted the finest piece from its setting. A great diamond-cut emerald designed to be a brooch or to sit in the front of the tiara or to fasten to the necklace. It lay in his palm, the colour of Jessica’s eyes when she was angry.

A glint of gold caught his eye and he looked down the length of his naked body. It was scattered with gems where he had discarded each piece. The earrings lay on his flat belly, twinkling indecently amidst the central arrow of dark hair. The diamond necklace snaked over his thigh, an unsettling contrast with hard, masculine muscle. A gold chain slithered down his chest as he shifted and he started as it caressed his left nipple.

His fist clenched over the great gemstone as he stared down, uncomprehending, at the blatant evidence of his own arousal. Bloody hell . What had brought that on? He was as rampant as a stallion and he had not even been thinking about sex. Surely to God he was not aroused by handling jewellery? That was a perversion he had never heard of before and had no wish to contemplate now.

There was a pain in his palm, as sharp as the insistent nagging in his groin. He opened his hand and glared at the emerald as though it could answer his puzzle.

‘Oh, no.’ The words were a whisper. The stone did not speak, but his imagination did, taking the image of the parure, decking his memory of Jessica’s white, naked body with it. Only it was no memory, this was impurest fantasy, for the Jessica he could see now was not a desperate, cold fugitive. She was warm, smiling, turning to him, holding out her hands…

‘ No! ’ Gareth swept the sparkling ornaments to one side and rolled off the bed, pacing across the room as though to shake off an incubus that had descended upon him in his sleep. How could he? It was dishonourable, disgraceful—and downright painful.

Up until two minutes ago he would have sworn an oath on everything he held most dear that his intentions towards Jessica Gifford were chivalrous and good. He would protect her through this masquerade and then, from a distance, ensure her well being in modest comfort and security for the rest of her life. Yes, he had kissed her, but in anger—and he had not enjoyed it. Much. And she had understood about that. He hoped.

Gareth made an abrupt turn and paced back again, swearing as his naked left instep made painful contract with an earring. He enjoyed flirting with her a little as he tutored her in the arts of seduction. Of pretended seduction, he corrected himself. But mild flirtation was almost second nature to him—and she gave no sign of being either alarmed or confused by it. No, rather she appeared amused by the entire exercise.

It was simply that he was unused to being so close to a woman, yet not sexually involved with her, that was all. And certainly not a woman he had seen naked. He winced as his right foot made contact with the other earring and he bent to scoop them up and toss them into their case.

He hadn’t had a woman for a while, that must be it. His restless pacing brought him up in front of the tilted cheval glass and he stared critically at his reflected image, glaring at his offending penis. It had, thank Heavens, subsided somewhat. How long was it since he had made love? Too damn long. The treacherous member stirred hopefully and he snarled at it as though it were an uncontrollable wild animal, not part of his own body.

Common decency insisted that he stop thinking about Jessica like that. All it would take was a little self-control. And that, of course, he had in abundance. Of course.

* * *

Jessica was sitting eating a particularly succulent slice of ham when Gareth finally arrived at Half Moon Street for his breakfast. She had risen early, having succumbed to the first clear, sharp morning for days and taken a brisk walk around Green Park with a footman trailing with reasonably well disguised resentment at her heels.

Now she was eating with an appetite, contemplating her surprising new life with some pleasure. The shock of her adventure had subsided, she was amused and stimulated by her lessons in flirtation. Maude was proving a true friend, if a worrying one. Her nerve-racking imposture had not yet begun and Jessica realised she felt as though she were on holiday.

‘Good morning,’ she said, observing that Gareth flinched at the brightness of her greeting. In fact, now she looked more closely, he appeared to have spent a night of either severe insomnia or indulgent dissipation. Or possibly both. ‘Would you like to sit down and I will fetch you some breakfast?’ He appeared to drag his gaze to her face with an effort. ‘You seem a little tired.’

‘Yes. Yes, I am. Tired.’ His eyes roamed over the buffet, then back to the table. ‘I will have coffee, thank you. Nothing more.’

She lifted the silver pot and poured, adding a dash of milk and no sugar, just as he liked it. ‘Would you like some toast?’

‘No. Thank you.’ Gareth took the cup and sat opposite her. ‘There is no call for you to wait upon me.’

It was not said with a smile. Jessica felt the sick knot of embarrassment tighten in her stomach and knew she was colouring up. She had presumed upon her position, one of the unforgivable sins for a governess. She was treating this breakfast table as though she was truly mistress of the household and not an amateur actress incompetently learning to play a part. And she had summoned Gareth to come to breakfast without a second thought. There were doubtless all kinds of ways in which she had offended and now Gareth—Lord Standon—was displeased.

‘I beg your pardon, my lord.’ She folded her hands in her lap, dropped her eyes to her plate and wondered how soon she might slip from the room.

‘What the devil?’ He grounded his cup with enough force to crack porcelain. Jessica winced. Causing him to shatter Bel’s Spode morning service would simply be the last straw. ‘What are you apologising for? I’m the one behaving like a bear with a sore head.’

‘I was presuming too much upon my position, my lord. I should not have asked you—’

‘Your position ? Your position is the mistress of this house and as a lady—and the only one in residence—I would hope you would feel free to take charge of any meal in it and order the servants as you see fit. And what is this my lord nonsense?’

‘I thought you were offended by my presumption. And asking you to call was indiscreet.’ He smiled and the knot unravelled itself and she unclasped her hands. It was all right. And in any case, she had to get used to being liberated from the restricted position she had disciplined herself to accept in the past. She had a personality, opinions—and she could give herself permission to exercise both

‘It was a touch unconventional, perhaps, but I came in through the mews and the back garden.’

‘You are not usually so…tense,’ she ventured. ‘Or at least, not in my short acquaintance with you.’

‘I am usually too lazy to be tense, is that what you mean?’ His smile was wry. ‘Indolent, perhaps? Normally I see little merit in losing one’s temper or becoming fraught over problems. A little thought, a little calm planning and most things resolve themselves. At the risk of labouring the point, Jessica, I am angry with myself because I have miscalculated over something, not with you.’

‘And that cost you a night’s sleep?’ she asked sympathetically, nudging the plate of toast and the butter in his direction and controlling the quirk of her lips as he reached out and took them. She risked pushing the ham across as well, then topped up both their coffee cups.