Jonet pushed open the door to a sight that, had she not been weak with dread, would surely have left her whooping with laughter. Donaldson sat tipped back against the wall in a high-backed chair, his stocking feet propped upon his desk, and his black coat tossed into a nearby heap. Across the narrow room, Cole Amherst sprawled in a worn arm-chair by the hearth, one boot propped on the fender, his cravat gone, and his hand clutching a fistful of Scotland’s best.
“Your ladyship!” answered Donaldson as both men snapped to their feet. The butler’s chair fell to the flagstone floor with an awful clatter.
Cole politely inclined his head as the butler scrambled to right his furniture. “Lady Mercer,” he said coolly, “I believe you have caught us unawares. Do excuse us.” His unruffled tone was belied by the color flushing up his face.
Staring at the open throat of Cole’ shirt, Jonet’s courage very nearly faltered. “I—no, not at all,” she managed to stutter. “Do sit down. I merely wished—that is to say—I wondered, Captain Amherst, if I might have a word with you in my sitting room? At your convenience.”
Cole looked at her in some surprise. “My lady, it is past midnight. The children—?”
“Are perfectly well,” she interjected. “But if the hour is too late, we may speak another time.”
His expression guarded, Cole set down his glass. “I am at your service, of course, ma’am,” he said cautiously. “If you will but give me a moment to restore my cravat to some semblance of order, I will wait upon you shortly.”
The
haute monde
, who had once watched in mute amazement as the most dashing men amongst them paid court to the Marchioness of Mercer, would scarce have recognized her tonight. The woman who now paced anxiously across the floor of her sitting room bore little resemblance to the
femme fatale
who had so proudly sauntered her way through the salons and ballrooms of London.
As she paced, she clutched her hands before her in a nearly white-knuckled grip, for it seemed to Jonet that hours had passed, and still Cole had not arrived. Perhaps he had already sensed the torment which had sent her searching for him. Perhaps he knew what she wanted. He seemed just that sort of man, capable of seeing past her defenses and into her heart with an ease which left her reeling. But in truth, it would have taken little to see through the façade she had thrown up. Jonet knew that for a woman who was considered the epitome of boldness, she had faltered badly in making her request to Cole.
Suddenly, he appeared in her open doorway, his height and broad shoulders nearly filling it. Despite his size, he still looked graceful, his hips almost lethally lean, as he halted just across her threshold. He did not, however, look altogether pleased to be summoned to her private quarters, and Jonet wondered if his earlier civility had been displayed as much for Charlie’s benefit as for her own.
Now, he leaned one shoulder negligently against the lintel and regarded her in a moody silence. His warmth of this morning seemed to be burning down into something else altogether. His indolent grace was a dangerous sign. Of course, she knew that he had been drinking off and on all evening. Not heavily, but consistently. And although the sharp, military precision of his movements had softened, his steely gaze had not. Jonet stood rapt before the cold hearth. “Will you come in?” she asked quietly.
Cole came away from the door then, and pushed it shut behind him. “What is it, Jonet?” His deep voice was soft, suspicious, and mesmerizing.
Jonet deliberately widened her eyes and forced her voice to steady. “I simply wished to reassure myself that all is well between us,” she said, motioning him toward the sitting area near the fireplace.
His eyes hooded over. “I don’t think I perfectly understand—”
“Tonight at dinner,” she interjected sharply, settling herself into one of the wing chairs which flanked the hearth. “You seemed rather distant. I wanted to be certain that what happened between us last night has not created a rift.” Jonet said the words coolly, willing the emotion from her face.
Cole stepped a little closer, finally taking the chair opposite her. He seemed distant, yet all too near. “Then you may set your mind at ease, Jonet. Last night was a dreadful lapse in judgement, and I hope that I am man enough to accept my part in it. You need have no concerns on that score.”
“Need I not?” she asked, rather too sharply.
Cole shifted his weight in the chair as if to rise. “No, and if I have laid those concerns to rest,” he said quietly, “I should bid you good night, Jonet. I daresay you need your sleep.”
But Jonet did not dismiss him, knowing full well that he was too much the gentleman to simply walk out. Instead, she rose from her chair and crossed the room to a small desk, leaving Cole with no polite alternative but to stand at the edge of his seat.
Absently, she picked up a small porcelain figurine and began to toy with it. “You had a caller today,” she said lightly, spinning around to face him. “I believe her name was Louisa? She returned your spectacles.”
“Did she?” Cole looked vaguely surprised. “I own, I had not missed them.”
“I believe you will find them on your desk in your sitting room,” Jonet said quietly. “I must say, your Louisa is quite dashing. Is she a very dear friend?”
“Quite.” Cole narrowed his eyes and gave her a dark, warning look.
Jonet tore her gaze from him and turned back to her desk, putting down the porcelain with an awkward clatter. “And would it be terribly presumptuous of me to ask if you have—ah, if you have formed an attachment of some sort?”
Cole hesitated, until at last she was compelled to turn about and look at him. He smiled lightly, but it was forced and humorless. “Jonet, you may be assured that had I any such
tendre
for Louisa, I would hardly hasten to confess it. Her husband is too sure a shot.”
“Her—her
husband?
”
Suddenly, Cole paced toward the desk. “Come now, Jonet,” he said softly, a skeptical look spreading across his face. “What is this interrogation all about? You cannot possibly have any interest in the wives of my fellow officers. I think you’d best come to the point.” His words were unerringly polite, but there was no mistaking the challenge they held.
It seemed Cole meant to force her hand. His pride, perhaps, would not allow him to go so easily down her path. She should have sensed it the moment he entered the room. Perhaps he found her discomfort amusing. No doubt many women propositioned him in just such a fashion. He was a handsome, wealthy widower surrounded by an aura of intelligence and intrigue.
But those were not the reasons she wanted him. Hers were reasons she did not wish to examine too closely. Instead, Jonet sank into her desk chair and looked up into his piercing, golden stare, willing her gaze to hold steady. “Is it not obvious?” she asked pointedly. “I want an
affaire d
’
amour
, Cole. I want to finish what we started last night.”
Abruptly, the room was plunged into silence. For a seemingly endless moment, Cole simply stared down at her, his eyes hard, his face set in implacable lines.
He was going to refuse her! Pride almost got the better of Jonet, as it so often did. By heaven, she had never begged for a man’s affection in her life—not her father’s, not David’s, and certainly not her husband’s. She surely would not begin doing so now. “I am asking,” she said steadily, “if you will be my lover.”
Briefly, she saw a heated anger flare in his eyes. Cole leaned down into her face, bracing his powerful arms wide on the chair, to stare at her. She could smell Charlie’s best whisky on his breath as his heavy gold hair cascaded forward to shadow his face; a face so close she could see the light sheen of sweat across his upper lip. “Why, you make very bold indeed, madam,” Cole whispered into the dim light. “Could you perhaps be more explicit? Is this to be a trial? Are we to discover whether or not I am man enough to replace Delacourt?”
“Do not be ridiculous,” she hissed. “I have told you that David and I are friends.”
His nostrils flared, and he looked suddenly dangerous. As if he might strike her. Or kiss her. Or damn her into the fires of hell.
But he did none of those things. Instead, he jerked himself erect again and spun away from her, all of the rage leaving on a sudden exhalation of breath. Slowly, he walked across the room, his heavy boots thudding hypnotically across the heavy carpet, one hand going to his forehead, the other positioned lightly atop his hip, in a now familiar gesture of frustration.
Jonet rose from her chair. “You want me, Cole,” she said in a gently preemptive tone. “Do not try to deny it. I have asked you to be my lover. I have been given to understand that most men would find such an invitation tempting.”
“Tempting?” he echoed bitterly, refusing to turn and face her. “Ah, yes, Jonet! You are all that—and so much more.”
Boldly, Jonet crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back to stare at him, stubbornly setting one hip against the corner of the desk, and allowing the black fabric of her dress to cling somewhat revealingly. She had humiliated herself by asking, and she was bloody well going to have an answer from him. Tension lay thick across the room, but despite it, her breasts felt full, her nipples already taut with desire. He was teasing her, tormenting her, and making her want him all the more.
As if answering her challenge, Cole turned and stepped incrementally closer. Even in the lamplight she could see the hardness of his jaw and the beard that now shadowed it. But even his . . . his
anger
, or whatever his tightly tethered emotion was, did not dissuade her. The deep dimple in the center of his chin was more prominent tonight, and Jonet could scarcely restrain herself from rushing forward to touch it. Heaven knew she’d fantasized about it often enough.
Indeed, there really was no point in playing games. The piercing look in Cole’s eyes said that he saw through her. He always had. Cautiously, she drew a deep breath and came away from the desk, jumping into she knew not what. Swiftly, she crossed the room and laid her hands flat against the wall of his chest. As she had suspected, the man did not flinch. Instead, he stood stoically, allowing her hands to roam over him, allowing her to feel the warm wool of his coat, the very beat of his heart, beneath her fingertips. Emboldened, she slid her hands beneath his lapels, running one of them around to caress the back of his neck, while with the other she lightly brushed her thumb across his silk waistcoat and over his taut nipple.
Cole did step back then, yet she followed him, slowly rising up to lightly brush her lips to his. He drew in his breath sharply and jerked his mouth away. “God in heaven, Jonet—just
don
’
t
—” he rasped.
“Don’t what?” she whispered huskily, sliding her hand into the thickness of his hair. “Don’t touch you? I’ve told you what I want.”
“Don’t encourage me—this—
us!
” Almost imperceptibly, he backed against the wall. “Don’t let us make the same mistake twice.”
Shamelessly, Jonet followed him. “How can it be a mistake?” she whispered thickly. “I cannot help what I feel. I need you, and I cannot think that you are indifferent to me.”
“Perhaps you want me,” he roughly answered, bringing his hands up to caress her shoulders, then gently pushing her away. “But you don’t need me. They are very different things.”
His eyes were blazing with an emotion Jonet did not entirely recognize. She resisted his unspoken warning to step back. “I don’t think you understand what I am asking,” she urgently responded. “I do need you. And I want you in my life.”
“Jonet, you want me in your
bed
,” he responded harshly. “I cannot be a part of your
life
. Not in any way which matters. It simply is not possible.”
The words hurt, but Jonet urged her body closer, sliding one hip against the joining of his long, muscular thighs.
Ah
—
!
Those sinfully lush lips lied. He did want her. He was hard and ready. She lifted her eyes to meet Cole’s, opening them widely, guilelessly.
“I am a man, Jonet,” he responded to her unasked question. “Don’t read too much into it.”
In response, Jonet teased at his nipple with her fingertips, feeling his manhood pulse against her hip. “You lust after me,” she challenged again, elevating her chin a notch.
“Good God,” he rasped, tearing his gaze from hers. “Is there no end to your arrogance?” But Jonet could feel his grip on her shoulders slowly tightening, she could sense his pelvis pulling into hers, and the faint stirring of motion in his hips. His face lingered near hers, his lips hungrily parted. Oh, he burned to have her. But apparently, he meant to torment her to within an inch of insanity first.
“Would you have me beg you, Cole?” She asked the question lightly, still urging herself against him like a Limehouse whore. “Are you, perhaps, attempting to humble me?”
At that, Cole eased himself incrementally away from her hip. “I daresay a little humility—not to mention restraint—would be in order here, yes,” he snapped.
His remark angered her, taunted her. “Ah—!” she returned. “And are you man enough to humble me, Cole?” Wickedness, impelled by lust, drove her to skim one hand down between them. Without hesitation, she slid her fingers around his swollen shaft, caressing the hot length of him through the fine fabric of his breeches.
Cole let his head fall back, his breath coming out sharply. “Oh, mercy, Jonet!” he moaned. She could feel him shaking, she could hear the surrender in his voice as he urged himself harder against her hand. “Leave me in peace! You don’t want this. Not the way I am tonight. Not
ever
.”
“I do want you,” she insisted, easing her hand down the promising length of him. “Now.
Please
,
Cole
—
!
I am tired of wanting, wanting, and never having. Of being so achingly alone. So empty.”
“For pity’s sake, Jonet! There are risks. Risks which could involve someone far more innocent than you or I. I think you know what I mean.”
“I won’t become with child,” she said softly. “Not—not right now.” One hand still entwined behind his neck, Jonet lifted her other to the close of his breeches. Amazingly, her fingers shook not one whit, slipping the buttons loose with a rapid ease. She could feel him beneath the crumpled layers of fabric; hot, desperate, pulsing with life. Jonet could not ever remember wanting anything with such a visceral desperation. “
Please
,” she whispered urgently.