Chapter Eighteen

Make Me Love You

Jasper was caught, tangled in the spider’s web that he’d created as he stared at Frederica. Gorgeous, stubborn, breathing heavy, Frederica.

He stood so near that he witnessed her hazel eyes darken, and he could count the beats of the vein thumping along her neck. It pulsed with passion, passion for him.

But he blinked first, ceded his want of her to his reason, his lonely, miserable reason. “This is ridiculous, Miss Burghley. Agree to leave now.”

She patted the bench. “Jasper James Fitzwilliam, Viscount Hartwell, you haven’t moved me. I don’t think you can.”

But his Butterfly hadn’t moved, either. The enchanting woman was so near, smelling of rosewater, with her defiant lips turned up to him, lips that demanded he school them.

Why fight her?

Nothing made sense.

Nothing would. It was time to realize that this… That they’d… He wanted her. Badly. Solely. “I surrender, Frederica. Spin your cocoon, make me yours, like you claim.”

A heated sigh left her. “Forget everything. Retreat, Hartwell. Flee, and we’ll both pretend that nothing has changed.”

“My brother, Fitzwilliam-Cecil, served in the military. I don’t know the meaning of the word retreat.” He snapped a quick nip on her nose. “Maybe I could make you love me, Frederica with my kiss.”

“I doubt that, Jasper, pasty marzipan Jasper. I don’t like your kiss. I recall it to be dry, dry like salt.”

“You spewed this nonsense before. That was morning breath. Not wide-awake breath.”

“Perhaps, but then maybe you drool. That would be horrible. All this time and anticipation to discover you were a wide-awake soggy kisser—that would be heartbreaking.”

He inched his face closer, but she didn’t sway or skitter away. Jasper would have to do all the work. Cupping her chin, he raised it a little. Then he brushed her defiant mouth with his own.

The plump offering felt soft, but she didn’t open for him, and no amount of angling, or leaning down would convince her, as if she meant to hate everything.

“Out of practice, my lord?”

He stopped and raised his head.

Unmoved, maybe bored, she returned his stare. “Is that it?”

No. Not at all. “A warm-up, like an entrée to my dessert.” He ran his index finger along the thumping line of her elegant neck. “I’m not done yet, my dear. I must hear you say that you want my kiss. Say yes and let me be the first to kiss the bride.”

“Yes.”

When she closed her eyes, he lifted her into the air.

She scrambled and curled her arms about his shoulders. “Jasper?”

He carried her to the high top of the pianoforte and set her there.

Her head was above his, but her delightful throat was Jasper’s. He raked his nose along the curve of it, leaving his hot breath to set her on fire. “You should burn for me as I do for you.”

The scent of her sweet rosewater filled his nostrils, guiding him, and he intended to find every place it anointed her. “I love your perfume, Frederica. Maddening like you.”

“Sorry. I didn’t—”

“Shhh—Pasty, salty, marzipan is warming up.”

Her fragrance led him to her jaw, and he trailed kisses there. Then he found it along her neck, so he tasted the cream of her skin. Nipping and nibbling her glorious throat, he loved every moan churning from her bosom and how her arms tightened about his shoulders. Her short, tidy nails seemed to claw through his tailcoat, his waistcoat, even his shirt, as if to reach his skin. And he wanted her to touch him, to discover his strength, to know his shoulders were made for her to cry upon, to hold on to when she was frightened, or to brace against when passion trembled through her limbs.

Jasper tugged down heaven, every curly lock of her chignon. Soft tresses covered his hands, and he wrapped his fingers in them and drew her face to his. “You are the most beautiful woman who ever drove me completely insane.”

“Take my lips, already. Be done with me, my lord.”

Her voice was soft, just a whisper of complaint.

“Why would I rush this, Frederica, and plant a sloppy kiss? No, this must make amends for every time I held back or laughed off the need to embrace you.”

“Oh.”

“Oh, yes.” He snuggled closer, his fingers measuring and reconfirming the location of every curve, of each ticklish spot. He slipped a pinky to the corded silk of her collar and undid its lace, freeing the gullet of her neck, the perfect place to plant a wish. And he did so with a kiss. “I wish this spot to be mine, Frederica. No one else’s.”

Panting, she squirmed, but there wasn’t anywhere to go but heaven.

She blocked his mouth with her hand. “Jasper, I can’t promise that, for the man I marry will have me, body and soul.”

“You’re not married yet.” He suckled the lifeline of her palm. “Admit that you want me, too. Let the truth set us free.”

“You’re a much better flirt than I, sir. Now, put me down. This isn’t safe. It’s not good.”

“Then I still must not be doing this right, Frederica.” He reached up and brushed her lips. This time they opened a smidgeon. “Not good enough, Frankincense. Must I persuade you all over again? I want all of your kiss.”

Returning to her sensitive neck, he savored her heady rosewater and retraced his path, cheek-jot, jaw-jot, throat-jot, neck-jot, mouth-jot…jot, jot, jot.

Her fingers drew him closer, tugging on his cravat like reins, but he took each palm and drank kisses from them. Then he lowered her hand to the pianoforte. “Am I still at the bottom of your list? You think the vicar can please you? He can’t. Neither can the barrister, or any other man, for they don’t know you. They should never know you.”

She released a breathy, “J-a-s-p-e-r, please.”

“A proper invitation, Frederica? I need a yes.”

“Yes, yes. Jasp—”

He claimed her lips. A full kiss, for the first time, with him enjoying everything—a tantalizing tongue, Shakespeare’s inside lips, and outside lips, too. Heaven, it was. She was warm and wet and welcoming…

Deeper, falling deeper in want of her, he brought his hands to her lower back, massaging the tight muscles that pianists bore for their labors.

Then Jasper was rewarded, for Frederica relaxed in his arms. Her death grip on his shoulders loosened, and she allowed him more access to her sweetness, angling her face to better meet his.

And she was delicious, sugar and spice, everything nice, everything a man should treasure.

He glanced up and captured her wide eyes, dark as mahogany. They weren’t scared, as they’d been when they’d awoken together the morn after the duke’s celebration. Her gaze seemed happy, and Jasper saw himself in her pupils. The reflection mirrored a man who was joyful. She was his. “I want to be the only one to kiss you like this. The only one.”

Her fingers wove into his hair. With simple kisses to his ear, her raspy breath flowed in and out, in and out, around the lobe. “And what of you, Jasper? Am I the only one you will kiss like this?”

Gads, yes. Her power over him would push him over the edge if he weren’t already falling for her.

She stopped and put her hands to her sides. “I shouldn’t tease you. Or you me.”

“I’m not teasing, and I’m not done with kissing you.”

“Not done?”

No, he wasn’t. Wasn’t enough time in the world for him to be done. “Frederica Eugenia Frankincense, we’re just beginning.”

…

Frederica closed her eyes as Jasper kissed her again. His arms were about her, tight like bands about her ribs. Never had she felt more secure, more loved than she did in his arms.

But he didn’t love her. Right?

He didn’t. She knew that. But here she was, succumbing to his passion, one so dark and rich, that it was hard to breathe. He wasn’t marzipan. He was luscious chocolate, rich and thick, coating her tongue until she drowned in sweetness.

Jasper lifted her from the pianoforte and cradled her in his arms. “We are just getting started.”

He hadn’t quite set her down, so she danced on tiptoes to stay upright. “Jasper, I’m so off-balance.”

“I’ve been off-balance for more than a year. It’s only fair.”

He spun her until her nails again clawed into his shoulders. His sharp intake of air made everything shiver inside.

His lips sought hers anew. When he slipped to her neck, Frederica pressed closer, as close as she could to the man she loved.

She’d been kissed before—by a boy who had liked her until the duke had scared him off, by a drunken flirt with bad breath, by an aggressive fool that Romulus then bit on the ankle after she’d fought her way free. Even the sleeping viscount had kissed her, but nothing had ever been like this.

Nothing had ever felt like this, like a ramping stanza on the pianoforte, exciting like new sheet music for a piece she’d never played. Jasper’s music gripped her like a celebratory march, keys pounding a melody into her heart until the crescendo popped and she shattered in his arms, all her tightly wound bits exploding with needs she couldn’t number.

“Frederica, you’re trembling. I’m overwhelming you.”

“Yes, yes.” Her words were a gasp, a plea to stop but not stop.

Eye to eye, nose to nose, she took his mouth and grabbed his collar to keep his kiss.

Were they dancing?

She felt as if she was spinning.

The skirt of her carriage gown caught on the sofa. Before she could attend to it, to keep from falling, he clasped her palms and hid them beneath his waistcoat. She didn’t know what to do, so she wrapped her arms about Jasper, wanting never to let go.

He held her face with his palms. “We can’t run from this anymore. I can’t pretend to be your protector when all I want to do is keep you for myself.”

His tailcoat sailed to the floor by her feet, then he scooped her up into his arms. They sank together into the velvet cushions of the sofa. She wanted to press closer and deeper to his chest, a chest chiseled in strength. Did it hold love for her, just a little bit, inside?

“Oh, Jasper. Do you—”

“You should say my name, over and over.”

He raked his teeth along her neck, a neck that he could claim as his. “You fill the emptiness of my life, Frederica. Make me whole. Be mine.”

One button open. He’d popped another at the top one of her carriage dress.

His fingers were on a third. “Say yes, Frederica. Be mine completely.”

She reached up and touched his jaw.

His eyes blazed with heat, and she wanted their love to burn brightly, even if it meant they both were consumed. “I want to please you Jasper, but I’m not sure.”

“I’m very sure that you will please me. Let me show you that I haven’t forgotten what to do.”

His kisses became more urgent. When his fingers slipped the third button and exposed the top of her stays, she couldn’t think of ever being this way with anyone but him.

Wasn’t it better to be loved by a man who thought her fine and who was so caring and gentle?

Gentle for the moment.

Caring for the moment.

A man who’d be away, going on with his life without her, with no guarantee of ever coming back?

Just like the duke with Burghley.

“No.”

“No? Slow down, Frederica? Kiss you some other place?”

“No to this, Jasper. All of this.”

She couldn’t trade all her dreams, everything that she wanted, to please a man who didn’t love her. She caught his roaming hand. “We need to talk.”

Nuzzling her ear, he said, “I thought you didn’t like me being all talk.”

“This is too much to not talk about it.”

His groan was loud, but he sat up taking her with him. “Yes. We should talk.”

She opened her mouth, but her voice was gone, her tongue tied in knots with the notion, I love you. I wish you loved me, too.

…

Jasper looked deeply into Frederica’s tear-stained eyes. What was wrong? He wiped her tears. Then he remembered. His friend wanted matrimony, not a moment. Was there no compromise?

“So talk, say something.”

Frederica sprang up, brushing her face, patting her cherry red lips.

Raking a hand through his mussed hair, he watched her hook her buttons and smooth the wrinkles he’d made in the blue fabric of her gown, one stained with a child’s dark handprints.

He eased to his feet and managed to leave space between them, but no amount of air or snow or icy cold water could douse the desire flaming in his soul. “Talk, Frederica.”

She scooped up her pins from the floor and wobbled past him, standing in front of the mirror over the fireplace. She twirled the braid he’d undone then pinned her hair back in place.

She looked wonderful, fully put together, while every bit of his insides shook from restrained passion. He’d almost had paradise.

“You said we should discuss this, Frederica.”

“In a moment, my lord. I believe you asked me to gather my things. I’ll get my boots now.” She scooted out the door.

Oh, no. No. No. She wasn’t going to drive him mad, challenge him to kiss her, stop their ascent to heaven just to say they needed to talk… And now leave without a word to what happened. He thrust his hands to his sides and followed. “Frederica?”

Her short heels clicked in front of him.

Like they had the night of the duke’s wedding celebration.

She’d been wobbly like now. Except there wasn’t a press of men chasing her, just Jasper. “Frederica Burghley.”

She fluttered away up the stairs as she had when he’d taken her drink, the drink that had been tainted.

A headache. A laudanum-like headache—that explained it. Jasper had drunk from her goblet. That’s why he had been impaired that night, too. Why he couldn’t remember so many things.

“Wait, Miss Burghley.” Jasper stormed to the stairs.

Footmen turned their heads as if they were witnessing an amorous affair. If any had peeked into the parlor, they just might have to forget what they’d seen.

A scream ripped through his heart.

Loud and clear.

Frederica’s.

Shooting up the rest of the steps, Jasper reached her door.

Frederica, boots in hand, bolted into his arms, and he held her until her shakes stopped.

He backed out of the room and pulled her deeper to his chest. “I have you. You’re safe. I’ll protect you with my life.”

Templeton rushed to them. “What happened, sir? Another thief?”

Jasper didn’t know, just that his Butterfly was scared. He steadied her, weaving his hands into her curls, ruining her chignon again. “I’m not sure. Miss Burghley went to her room to retrieve her boots. Then she screamed.”

He smoothed her back. “Stay with Templeton, Miss Burghley.”

She nodded but said nothing.

Pulling the knife from his boot, Jasper went inside.

But the room was vacant. The windows were intact. He flung open the closet door, and it was empty. He scratched his head, trying to figure what had given her the fright. When he turned, he saw it.

A jewel box sat in the middle of her bed.

An old white alabaster thing with jewels encrusting its top.

Was that Frederica’s missing box?

The thief had returned it.

He’d been in Downing Hall.

Jasper went to it and flicked the lid open, prepared for tricks as his daughters used to play—frogs, locust plagues, boils.

Nothing.

No jewels, none of the fabulous baubles that the duke had given Frederica’s mother, were inside. Jasper attempted to fill his lungs but stopped with half a breath. Sealed letters on blue stationery sat inside.

These were similar to the threatening ones that Frederica had kept, the ones sent to Nineteen Fournier.

The thief was again tormenting Jasper’s butterfly. Who was this villain?

Jasper put away his knife, picked up the box and clutched it under his arm, then returned to the hall.

Frederica’s sun-kissed skin had paled to white. Old Templeton didn’t look much better, very green. “Sir,” he said to Jasper. “What is it? More damage?”

“The thief returned and left Miss Burghley’s jewelry box. Who has had access to the house, Templeton? This time the window was untampered with. He had to come through the doors of Downing. You’ve let someone in who’d do Miss Burghley harm.”

“I don’t know sir. There haven’t been many visitors since the duke’s wedding celebration. We’ve had a reduced staff because the duke and duchess are still traveling.”

“Templeton, that’s unacceptable. I need you to make a list of who has been in Downing. Any tradesman. Any official. Any friend of the duke or duchess. Anyone who has ever met Miss Burghley. Even the workmen who fixed the window and the closet. Every name.”

The old man’s face went from green to tea-rose red. “Yes, my lord. I’ll do that.” Then to Frederica, he said, “May I bring you some warm tea, Miss Burghley? To recover in the parlor?”

“No. I’m taking Miss Burghley away from here. If you value your position and your life, not a soul will know where she’s gone or that she’s been here. Is that clear?” Jasper made his voice loud, so even the footmen below heard. No one would hurt his Butterfly, never again.

A shaken Templeton backed away and fled down the stairs, bowing with each step.

Jasper took Frederica’s hand in his. “You trust me?”

“Yes.” Her eyes were glassy, her voice strangled.

He put the box in her hands, took her by the shoulders, and steered her into her bedchamber. “Frederica, tell me what you remember. The night of the duke’s celebration, I took your glass. You went scurrying up these stairs to bed. What happened next?”

“It’s a blur.”

He put a hand to her chin. “I need you to try and remember.”

She closed her eyes. “Glass breaking. It woke me up. I could barely move. My legs didn’t work right, but I knew I was in danger.” She hugged the box to her bosom. “I think…I think I fell or flopped onto the floor.”

She looked around as if hunting for a villain, but he’d checked the room. It was empty.

“I think I crawled. I know I crawled.”

“Did you see the man, Frederica? Who is doing this to you?”

“Not his face.” She sniffled.

Jasper lowered his tone. “What did you see?”

“Pantaloons. Pantaloons and a dancing slipper. I saw that when I was on the floor.”

“Then it was a guest at the party.” Jasper fisted his hands. “The thief was a guest. Anything else? Did you hear his voice?”

“No. Yes.” She started from the room as if she retraced her steps. “Nothing more than what I told you. ‘I hear you. I’m coming for you, my sweetest. Just need the latch to obey.’ I don’t recognize his speech. But…”

She turned and went to the hall.

Arms folded, Jasper followed her.

“I must’ve made it to your door. But how would I know it was yours? You said you were going to leave. Did I change your mind?”

Now it was his turn to not remember. “Whatever was in your drink took my memory, too. Made me sluggish. I remember thinking I was drunk and was disappointed in myself. I hadn’t done that in a year, not since I met a new friend, one who made me her errand man.”

She offered him a half-smile as she hugged her box tighter. “What did you do next?”

“I must’ve made it to a room, then passed out, unconscious. I was surprised to wake up in bed with you.” He gripped her elbow and towed her close. “I don’t know how I ended up in this bedchamber, but I am glad you wound up in my arms, not caught by this fiend. Do you remember anything else?”

“Loud voices. Being so scared. Fearing that I’d die, and no one would care.”

Jasper glanced at her and those beautiful lips still reddened by his kiss. It was obvious what he needed to do. Clearer than anything in his memories. “I care. Since I don’t remember what happened betwixt us, I surely compromised you that night.”

Her eyes bugged wide. “But nothing happened.”

“Something happened in the parlor.” And he couldn’t imagine her kissing or being held by anyone else. “You shall marry me, Frederica Burghley.”

He held her about her waist, but she pulled away. “No, Jasper.”

“You trust me, Frederica?”

“I did until just now.”

“I’m clear on what we should do. Isn’t that what you wanted? For me to be sure? I won’t mask my feelings or hide the fact I’ve compromised you.”

“No, you’ll have to. I tossed you out that window so you wouldn’t be obligated. I’m marrying Pregrine, Lord Hartwell. I’ll live far away so no one I care for will be in danger and this letter-writing thief will forget about me.” She shook her box at him. “He can get to me here or anywhere near London.”

“I won’t—”

“Take me to Tradenwood, sir. Protect me as you promised my father. Forget everything, like we have been doing until now.”

She walked away from him, almost sliding down the stairs to be out of his reach.

Frederica couldn’t be serious. The woman had melted in his arms in the parlor, kissed him back with the same ferocity. There were no doubts in his mind that she cared for him. “Why walk away now, Miss Burghley?”

He should press, but Templeton milled about at the door. This place wasn’t safe or private enough to continue. Jasper shoved on his tailcoat, grabbed up his greatcoat from the parlor, and stared at the pianoforte. He wouldn’t argue with her. He’d take Frederica back to Tradenwood and reason with her and figure out what part of this female’s logic he’d gotten wrong.