Sexual Hunger Page 2

  She swallowed hard. Fixed her eyes on his in the glass, praying the devotion she saw there would never waver. “You could have chosen any woman you fancied. Certainly a more socially acceptable—”

  “Acceptable?” His finger drifted along the column of her neck before following the pendant’s chain to rest directly above her heart. “Pay no attention to my mother’s blather about one’s station in life, or what passes as acceptable in her circles, Maria. You’re like this butterfly: free and uniquely beautiful, because you follow no one else’s preconceived ideas about love and marriage. You came to me—gave yourself to me—expecting nothing in return. Have you any idea how refreshing you are?”

  She smiled shyly, only now allowing herself to relish the gemstones that shimmered in the hollow of her collarbone. The butterfly’s body curved slightly, in beads of onyx. Lustrous sapphires and rubies formed the lower wings and then swirled into spiral antennae. Diamonds and blue topaz made the upper wings seem to flutter when they caught the afternoon light. “I—I don’t know what to say.”

  “Then I’ve performed a miracle! I’ve left you speechless!” He brushed his lips against her temple. “I hope you’ll accept this pendant as a token of the love I intend to rejoice in every day, for the rest of my life.”

  Jason grinned wickedly, cupping her breasts. “And to think I could have been sailing off on one of Father’s ships to once again lose myself in Jamaican rum, island women, and gambling! No, thank you!”

  Maria’s lips curved wryly as she thrust into his caress. “That is a miracle.”

  “That’s what Father said. Jude is just damn thankful I haven’t gotten myself killed during some of my wilder forays,” he added with a chuckle. “Nothing he fears more than bearing up under the mantle of family responsibility, you know. In his way, he’s every bit the vagabond I am. Just indulges in more artistic pursuits.”

  “And he’s very, very good at it, too.” She teased her fingertip along the prongs of the butterfly’s jeweled wings. “I’ll wear this tomorrow, instead of the pearls Jemma loaned me. Your mother will fuss, but—”

  “My mother has a chest of jewelry that rarely catches the light of day. So many exquisite pieces she’s demanded over the years, as payment for Father’s perceived shortcomings.”

  “What a shame! And what a sad commentary on their marriage.” Maria’s hand flew to her mouth. “I’m sorry! It’s not my place to judge or—”

  “You hit the nail on the head. And your outspoken honesty is one more reason I love you,” he murmured. “It’s also another means of defying their authority when they insisted I marry on their terms. So you’re perfect. Absolutely perfect for me.”

  Once again her throat tightened with emotion. While Jason Darington often showered her with compliments and encouragement, this afternoon was a rare treat: his words shone as brightly as the jewels he’d just given her. Maria watched him dress in a fresh shirt and suit then, openly admiring his fine body, his casual donning of the Darington wealth and its trappings. Would she ever forget her meager years of scraping by, looking after her younger brother, when their mother’s untimely death had left them alone on foreign soil?

  Or was this a dream? A vision that would disappear like morning mist in the bright light of day?

  “Have a good time tonight,” she offered.

  “Oh, my friends will see to that.” He deftly tied a fresh necktie and then folded his shirt collar over it. “I’m only succumbing to tradition, spending this evening at the club to avoid loving the night away with my bride. Not that I give a damn about tradition.”

  Maria smiled. She smoothed the broad shoulders of his serge suit, a houndstooth check in shades of umber and cinnamon. “You look very handsomely put together—”

  “Jude chose the fabric. Says it complements my eyes.”

  “—except your hair looks like, well—a pirate’s, after he’s romped with a wayward lady.”

  Jason laughed and checked his reflection. “I should leave it this way. Give the boys something to speculate about, eh?” He swept a comb through his chestnut hair as though good grooming was the farthest thing from his mind. “There. Better?”

  “Until I get my fingers in it again, it’ll have to do.”

  “Can’t happen soon enough.” Jason bent to kiss her, quickly taking her beyond a going-away peck into those realms of passion that once again had her succumbing…surrendering. With a sigh, he released her. “Damn. Better get going before Blackbeard overrules my better judgment.”

  He strode briskly toward the bedroom door and then turned to gaze at her. “By this time tomorrow, I’ll be the happiest man alive because you’ll finally be mine, sweet Maria. Pleasant dreams tonight, love.”

  As his boots beat a rapid tattoo on the stairs, Maria’s body prickled with a premonition. Ecstasy and joy juxtaposed with excruciating pain. Loss of love and life as you now know it.

  “Oh, stifle yourself, Rubio!” she muttered. While she had a glimmer of second sight now and again, Maria preferred to let her renowned brother be the medium—and sometimes one bearer of future tidings was too many. She watched out the window until Jason’s horse-drawn carriage rolled smartly into the street. And then she listened.

  Stillness. A hint of baking beef wafted up from the kitchen, but otherwise the town house felt deliciously peaceful.

  Maria gathered up the skirt she’d stepped out of before Jason could feel how heavy it was, to pluck the letters from the deep pockets she’d sewn into its sides. Quickly she crossed the bathroom that adjoined their separate bedchambers, grateful this house had been built with a master and a lady’s needs in mind. Jason intended to sleep with her every night, but having her own room made it easier to keep the one secret no one but her brother knew. Still, it would be a challenge to carry on her career in the presence of a husband, not to mention the servants—

  Was that the swish of skirts in the hall?

  Maria yanked open the bottom drawer of the armoire, cringing when it creaked. She dropped her mail into it. Was shoving it shut with her foot when someone tapped lightly on her door.

  3

  Mrs. Booth poked her head in. “Will you be dining downstairs to—Lord A’mighty, Miss Palladino! You’re quite nude!”

  Something in her rose to the old biddy’s challenge, despite the way she’d pay for it later. Maria turned to give the housekeeper a full frontal view of her body. “Not really! Would you look at this pendant Jason gave me? Isn’t it the most exquisite—?” She swayed toward the door as she spoke, until Mrs. Booth stepped into the hallway and shut it briskly behind her.

  “Lady Darington has graciously provided you with dressing gowns and all manner of nice attire!” the housekeeper’s voice sliced through the door. “While it’s apparent you are ignorant of proper conduct, Quentin and I have been ordered to humor you until the family can instruct you in—”

  “Yes, I find this quite humorous,” Maria mocked under her breath.

  “—deportment expected of titled society! So when you’ve made yourself decent, you may come downstairs for your evening meal!” Mrs. Booth railed. “And by the powers, I’ll inform Lady Darington she should hire you a maid immediately! To preserve the propriety and decency associated with the family’s fine name!”

  So tempting it was, to fire back with Quentin’s tales of Ruthie Booth and her improper propositions! But while she was the outsider here, she was no fool: Dora Darington and her adolescent daughter, Jemma, had repeatedly warned her against such common behavior, reminding her of her lower station at every opportunity. “Thank you, Mrs. Booth, but I prefer to spend the evening before my wedding in silent meditation.”

  The housekeeper coughed pointedly.

  “Praying for the grace and fortitude to rise into the upper crust from such a humble upbringing,” Maria continued wryly. “It’s probably prenuptial jitters. Every bride gets them, they say.”

  “Prenuptial jitters, my arse! You won’t be getting away with such talk—and such car
ousing in bed—after tomorrow, Miss Palladino!”

  “And neither will you be eavesdropping and tattling, Mrs. Booth. Not to mention using such a tone. Thank you for thinking of my needs. Good evening.”

  Ear to the door, Maria waited until the housekeeper’s footsteps descended the stairs. Had she overstepped? Perhaps baited the sanctimonious old biddy beyond her tolerance? She understood now why Jason insisted on ruling his roost! Asserting his rights as the heir to the Darington title and estates! Once they lived here as man and wife, no housekeeper would be telling her what was proper or acceptable!

  The thought warmed her. She opened the tall doors of the armoire to gaze at the billowing ivory gown she would wear tomorrow, when she would become Jason’s wife—acknowledged by all as his, and therefore a Darington, with all the privileges that came with such prestige. After tomorrow, stodgy Phillip, Lord Darington, and his socialite wife could do nothing further about her deportment…her lower rung on the ladder of life. Although they’d say anything they pleased when guests weren’t present.

  But for now, in the privacy of this chamber overdecorated in candy pink and sunshine yellow—at Jemma’s insistence—she could finally read her mail in peace. It might be days before she had the chance to answer these letters, to pen the paragraphs her editor—her readers!—eagerly awaited.

  Maria opened the drawer more carefully this time, and then rubbed its edges with a bar of soap to silence its squeal. She carried a fat handful of letters to the window seat and then reclined on its plump pillows to rip open the envelopes. Her eyes raced across the handwritten lines of one missive after another: so hoping you can respond personally to my plight…have enclosed an envelope for a reply that must remain absolutely private…would be most pleased to provide the unbelievable details of my sister’s sordid affair…as I live and breathe, you are the woman my heart yearns for….

  She sighed. While her position as social observer and advisor to the lovelorn had its rewards, it wore her thin at times. So many lonely, needy people vying for her time and attention. So many readers of elevated social circumstances wishing to see their gossip in print, and therefore considered gospel by thousands of subscribers. She settled more deeply into the cushions, absently fingering the butterfly pendant and wondering how she’d juggle the inner life she shared with so many readers, now that she was about to marry a man with whom she’d spend her apparent life. Would there come a time when she could reveal her occupation to her husband? Didn’t wives share every little dream and secret with the one they loved?

  Jason will feel slighted. He intends to be the center of my world.

  True enough. Jason Darington, heir to his father’s title, estate, and shipyards, was a fine, feisty lover. A man to be seen with and adored. But he did not understand taking second place to anything.

  Maria sighed. A movement caught her eye on the driveway below and she gazed intently through the lacy curtains: the man approaching the town house could have been Jason, except he wore a flowing poet’s shirt tucked into his fitted trousers. He kept to the shadows of the nearest buildings, using the dusk to his advantage. And damned if he didn’t gaze up at her window, as though he knew she’d be watching for him!

  Jude! Her body prickled. Logic told her no one could distinguish her naked form through the camouflage of the curtains, yet his sly smile suggested otherwise.

  How would he enter the house without alerting Mrs. Booth to his presence? Unlike his brother, this Darington—younger than Jason by mere minutes—felt no compulsion to make an entrance or otherwise attract anyone’s attention. He moved through life in total contentment as long as he was free to pursue his artistic projects. Those who speculated about Jude’s inclinations toward men obviously didn’t know him the way she did, but he allowed such rumors to be his social smokescreen.

  Why wasn’t he attending the bachelor party?

  Maria gathered the letters from the floor and stuffed them back into the armoire drawer. She padded into the bathroom to twist the spigots of the tub and then liberally sprinkled the water with her favorite lime-scented bath salts…the ones Jude had given her upon hearing she found floral scents overpowering. Stepping into the frothy water, she listened for his footsteps on the stairs.

  Moments after she turned off the water and relaxed in the high porcelain tub, her bedroom door opened. Her visitor could’ve been a cat slipping in on velvet paws—at least until his low chuckle gave him away.

  “So you were in the window. Dare I believe you were waiting for me, Maria?”

  She glanced up languidly, immersed in the soothing, scented water. “Believe what you will, Jude,” she teased, “but I believed you’d be at the club with your brother, toasting the demise of his freedom.”

  Jude sat on the rounded rim, letting his fingers drift through the iridescent froth. “Why would any man choose a stuffy old club that reeks of his forebears’ cigars, when he could be drinking in such a sight, such alluring scents, here with you?”

  Maria smiled slyly. “Because he was expected to be there?”

  “Because he’s more a slave to you than to any convention or tradition. May I wash your hair, darling? You know how I love to lose myself in it.”

  Just that quickly Jude had shifted from the world of his privileged upbringing into the intimate realm that centered around her. Like his twin, Jude wore his hair carelessly raked away from his slender face, reminiscent of a windblown angel’s wings. And when he grinned, his close-clipped mustache glimmered in the low light. But there the likeness ended. As night differed from day, Jude Darington ruled an earthier universe where his love of sensory indulgences—his joy in creating pleasure—filled his every waking hour.

  “Yes. Please do.” Although she lounged against the back of the tub, concealed by the dense, scented soapsuds, Maria’s bare body tingled beneath this man’s avid gaze, anticipating what he’d do to her as the hours of the night flew by.

  “Good of him to give you the butterfly before he left. It looks as lovely against your bare skin as I envisioned while I was making it.”

  His voice had dipped into that lower register that made her even more aware of his scrutiny, his intentions, on this night before she married his brother. “Thank you so much, Jude!” she murmured as her fingers found the jeweled pendant. “Never have I seen such a combination of colors and stones! I’m wearing it tomorrow, instead of Jemma’s pearls!”

  “Thank you.” His whisper was a grateful prayer that wrapped around her heart. “May I interpret that as a declaration of your affections? As your unspoken vow to…continue our relations after tomorrow?”

  Was that wistful desperation in his plea? Did he wish he had proposed to her before his twin had? It wasn’t a question she would ask aloud, for the glow in his tawny eyes told of a love deeper and truer, in its way, than the declarations Jason made at the drop of a hat. “I certainly want to continue,” she murmured. “Has your brother said anything to the contrary?”

  Jude shook his head, smiling as he lifted the pendant from her chest. He shifted it, watching light from its jewels play against the wall. “As long as Mum remains unaware of our arrangement—and as long as Jason produces an heir—all requirements shall be satisfied. But not nearly as satisfied as you shall feel by the time I leave here tonight.”

  His quiet promise rang in the small bathroom and in every fiber of her being, for Jude Darington did indeed know how to please her. She shifted beneath the warm water: Jason would’ve been squeezing her breasts, squirming as he freed his erection, yet this man lingered over the details. Made her wonder. And wait. And anticipate. He cupped her chin with his damp hand, to gaze at her with adoring eyes, and she melted. While her mind told her this triangular relationship might be their undoing if—when—someone caught them at it, her heart sang the words to the sensual song Jude inspired every time he came to her. By unspoken agreement, one twin was never present when his brother made love to her or accompanied her in public. It seemed a convenient way to make peopl
e believe she spent her time only with Jason, the man she would marry tomorrow.

  Right now, however, Jude Darington was reaching around her head to let down her hair. Pins pinged to the floor and her raven waves fell around her shoulders, section by slow section. He smelled of old cognac, not because he drank it but because he patted it on his face after he shaved. His silk shirt whispered seductively as he scratched her scalp with his fingernails, easing the tension at her temples…taking his sweet time and thoroughly mussing her hair with his tender massage.

  Her head fell forward in submission. “I love what you do to me, Jude,” she whispered.

  “And I love the way you let me do it.” He cradled her head in one hand and gently pinched her nostrils shut. “Ready?”

  Maria curled her legs against her body so he could submerse her completely. He brought her back up then, stroking the wet, heavy waves of hair out of her eyes. With practiced ease, Jude poured her shampoo into his palm and rubbed his hands together. She felt warm and limp and submissive as he massaged the rich lather from her scalp to the ends of her hair. Her head again lolled forward as he cast his spell, caressed and manipulated the muscles of her upper back with slow, knowing strokes.

  A sigh escaped her. She felt so completely pampered and spoiled. Cherished.

  “Shall we rinse and move on to other delights?” he murmured. “I brought you a surprise.”

  And how had he done that? When she’d seen him in the driveway, his hands were empty—

  “Magic,” he answered. Again he held her head and nostrils, grinning at her. “It’s my mission to keep you guessing. Down you go.”

  As Maria allowed him to dunk her head beneath the water, she realized how much she trusted this man. Even as he held her under for a few seconds longer than usual, she felt the playful vibration of his chuckle: Jude didn’t have a mean bone in his body. She surged to the surface then, sputtering and gasping, laughing with him as she filled her lungs—and then became breathless again, in a different way.