Those Scandalous Ravenhursts Volume Two: The Shocking Lord Standon. Louise Allen
ever made,’ she admitted with painful honesty.
‘Kissing me?’ His eyebrows shot up. Obviously his lordship was not used to having his caresses dismissed as embarrassing. He was probably offended that, having reduced her to a quivering puddle, she was not begging for more.
‘No. I had no choice about that, had I?’ Jessica glared at him. ‘I mean, assuming that you would expect—you know.’
‘Well, I do not.’ He picked up the candlestick again and handed it to her. ‘I will ring for Jordan to show you to your room.’
‘Why did you kiss me, my lord?’ She had not meant to say it, she had meant to say Thank you in a calm and dignified manner, but the question just escaped.
‘Because you made me cross.’ He stood watching her and she made herself stand up to the scrutiny without fidgeting until the corner of his mouth quirked into a ghost of a smile. ‘And because I wanted to.’ He reached for the bell pull. ‘You may sleep in peace, Miss Gifford, my curiosity has been satisfied.’
Well, that was a flattening piece of reassurance to be sure! Jessica produced a perfectly correct curtsy and stalked out in the butler’s wake. So his lordship’s curiosity had been satisfied, had it? And what if it had not been? Would he have persisted? Obviously he was used to far more sophisticated kissing than she could provide.
‘Your room, Miss Gifford.’
Her agitation melted away on a sigh. Warm firelight flickered on rose-coloured walls. A bed heaped with white linens sat comfortably in the far corner. Steam curled upwards from the ewer standing on the washstand and the curtains were closed tight against the damp London night and all the dangers it held. This was not some rake’s love nest. Lord Standon was treating her as a guest and she had cast aspersions on his motives.
‘Oh dear.’
She had realised she had spoken aloud. Jordan turned. ‘Miss Gifford? Is something wrong?’
‘I have just realised that perhaps I expressed my gratitude to Lord Standon insufficiently just now.’
What might have been a fleeting smile passed over the impassive countenance. ‘It is easy, if I might make an observation, miss, to misinterpret things, especially when one is tired and in some distress.’
‘Yes. Thank you, Jordan.’ The man bowed and left her. Jessica took off the heavy apricot satin robe, pulled the cream silk nightgown over her head and went to pour water into the basin. Her feet were filthy, but her whole being felt contaminated from those desperate hours in the brothel and she stood for long minutes lathering the sweet-scented soap over every inch of her body before she began to feel clean again.
Fresh and dry at last Jessica slipped back into the nightgown, luxuriating in its soft fabric and luxurious detail. Sinful behaviour obviously had its rewards, she decided, climbing between the warm sheets and snuggling down, wishing now that she had chosen one of the more elaborately trimmed garments—she would never have the opportunity to indulge in such opulence again.
It had been an eventful day. She had been inside a brothel, she was sleeping in silk—and she had been kissed by a man. Jessica blew out the remaining candle and lay watching the pattern of firelight on the walls. She should be making plans, but…. As her agitation slowly ebbed away and she relaxed into the warmth and safety of the bedchamber, the sensual memory of that kiss flooded back. She had resigned herself to never being kissed—the path she had set herself precluded any relationship with men beyond that of employee and employer.
Now she knew what it felt like to be held so tightly, and yet want to be held tighter yet. She knew what a man tasted like, how his skin smelt, how her own body yearned to betray every standard and scruple just to experience that glory again. And that was just a kiss. What would it be like to be made love to by Lord Standon? Perhaps, if she willed herself to sleep, she would dream about him.
The rattle of curtain rings woke Jessica from a deep sleep undisturbed by the nightmares of Madam Synthia’s or the bliss of Lord Standon’s arms.
‘Good morning, Miss Gifford.’ Jessica sat up and found a neatly clad maid setting a tray down beside her bed. ‘I am Mary, miss, and I’m to look after you while you are here. Mr Jordan told us about what had happened—what a dreadful thing, miss!—and Mrs Childe will be going out in a minute to buy you some day clothes. Here’s your chocolate, miss, and his lordship says, would you care to join him for breakfast? In your dressing gown’s quite all right, miss.’ She ran out of breath at last and stood beaming.
‘Thank you, Mary.’ Jessica took a reviving mouthful of chocolate. Oh, the luxury! It seemed to stroke down inside her like warm velvet, soothing and invigorating, both at the same time. ‘How will Mrs Childe know what size clothes to get for me?’
‘His lordship lined us all up and said Polly was just the right size, miss.’ Mary bustled about. ‘I’ll fetch your hot water, shall I?’
Oh Lord! So he had told them Polly was the right size, had he? Just in case the rest of the household had no idea that their master had had the opportunity to scrutinise her in intimate detail. Jessica had become very familiar with the inner world of households, their miniature social hierarchies, their taboos and their rules. The servants would not be kind about a governess gone astray; she and her kind were usually regarded as being neither gentry nor servants and as a result were an outcast class between the two. Not that Mary appeared hostile.
The maid bustled back with the water and drew the screen round the washstand. ‘Here you are, miss, I’ve brought a fresh nightgown as well.’
Gareth pushed back his chair as the door opened on to the breakfast parlour and Jessica walked in. He saw with relief that she did not appear much affected by her adventures the night before—neither the kidnap nor his insane kiss. He was still kicking himself about that, and he had suffered long sleepless hours reviewing just how unwise it had been to yield to temptation. He was not sure whether it was the ache in his groin or in his conscience that had most disturbed his slumber, but they had both proved damnably uncomfortable.
‘Miss Gifford. I trust you slept well?’
‘Very well, thank you, my lord. That was a most comfortable room, I could not have been better cared for.’ She hesitated, one hand lying with unconscious elegance on the back of a dining chair. ‘I leapt to an unforgivable conclusion last night, my lord, and I apologise for it.’
Coals of fire heaped on his tender scruples. ‘And I apologise for what followed. I suggest we both forget about it, Miss Gifford. Now, would you like to take a seat and I will fetch you some breakfast from the buffet?’
She inclined her head and Gareth felt a flicker of admiration for her poise. ‘Very well, thank you. But I will not forget your kindness. And please, do not let your own meal get cold, I will help myself.’
He sat, watching with a carefully suppressed smile of appreciation as she walked past him to the back of the room where the chafing dishes had been laid out on the sideboard under their silver domes. This morning rich silk ruffles flounced from under the heavy hem of the apricot robe and her hair had been brushed until it shone and then caught up with skilful simplicity. There was far less of the prim governess on show this morning. Julia always said Mary was the most accomplished of the maids.
‘Mrs Childe has gone shopping on your behalf,’ he began, reaching for the mustard pot.
‘So I understand.’ There was a muted clang as she turned back a lid and began to fill her plate. ‘I understand you could accurately identify Polly as being just my size.’ Ah. Mary might be skilful as a lady’s maid, but she was obviously somewhat lacking in tact. ‘Goodness, black pudding, what a treat.’ There was another clang. Gareth began to amuse himself following Jessica’s progress along the buffet by sound alone. ‘Who else is coming to breakfast, my lord?’
‘Just us.’ He bit into the rare sirloin.
‘Indeed? How lavish it is.’
He suspected he was on the