Legal Page
Title Page
Book Description
Dedication
Trademarks Acknowledgement
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
New Excerpt
About the Author
Publisher Page
The Trouser Game
ISBN # 978-1-78651-162-1
©Copyright Genella DeGrey 2017
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright May 2017
Edited by Sue Meadows
Totally Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorized or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2017 by Totally Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, UK
Totally Bound Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
Warning:
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Sizzling and a Sexometer of 1.
THE TROUSER GAME
Sometimes, parlor games can lead to more than mere flirtation.
Jillian Kelley, a young woman on the brink of the new millennium, has just returned from university in the states. Her new knowledge of the world and its infinite possibilities facilitate a desire to disregard her mother’s old-fashioned Victorian parlor ideas of proper behavior.
As Jillian avidly pursues her girlhood crush—a traditional fellow countryman with wealth and property—a handsome American with whom she’d shared a passionate night comes to call. The insufferable intrusion is annoying to say the least, however his irresistible, seductive ways draw her cravings to the surface like the rise of a tide.
Bradley Townsend accepted with pleasure the bequeathed gift of Miss Kelley’s virtue the very night they met, but the adventurous blue-eyed beauty stole his heart, leaving him holding nothing but a note in the morning. There’s no way in Hell he’s going to let her slip through his fingers—even if he has to hop on a ship, follow her home and seduce her all over again.
Dedication
Dedication: To every woman (including myself) who has made a mistake (or came close to it) whether for honor, duty or just plain stubbornness.
The head and the heart should work together, not one exclusive of the other.
Special acknowledgment:
To Emma Thompson for her brilliant and boundless talents. She is an inspiration to any woman whose goal it is to entertain.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
1812 Overture: Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky
Pinkertons: Securitas AB
Cunard Line: Carnival Corporation & plc
Much Ado About Nothing: William Shakespeare
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland: C.S. Lewis
Emma: Jane Austen
Pride and Prejudice: Jane Austen
Sense and Sensibility: Jane Austen
Chapter One
St. Helens, England
Summer 1895
“Aren’t you going to welcome me home, Miles?” Jillian Kelley, having just arrived from university in the United States, addressed the man whom she’d been intrigued with throughout her youth.
He stood at the opposite end of her mother’s formal parlor, unblinking. He was as handsome as Jillian remembered, with his light characteristics and sky-blue eyes—perhaps his facial features had grown a little more mature, but she didn’t mind. She and Miles would grow old together and outward appearances would mean nothing with a love as strong as theirs would be.
Standing here with him now, she felt the familiar stirrings in her breast of the unrequited love she’d harbored for him for over half of her twenty-three years. She supposed, if she was pressed, her former determination to win him could be considered an obsession when viewed in a harsher light.
However, none of that mattered now. The status of their association was indubitably about to change.
A reticent smile, he obviously intended for her alone, caused soft creases beneath his eyes. “I—” Almost imperceptibly, he shook his head. “I am in awe,” he offered in an unusually enigmatic greeting.
Granted, Jillian was wearing trousers.
She had denied her mother’s request that she change into a proper gown in which to receive her guest, but had thought nothing of it at the time.
Mrs. Kelley now sat in her chair wringing her hands, either in disappointment or anger or a combination of the two. It would have taken a psychology scholar to pinpoint the exact reason.
Since no one had made an effort to initiate conversation, Jillian took the task on herself. “How have you been occupying yourself, Miles?”
“Er.” He glanced at her mother and continued, “Reading, mostly. Visiting my father’s tenants.”
“Reading?” Now, here was a promising occupation. “Novels?”
Miles took a breath before he spoke as if mulling over his answer. “No. The Classics.”
“Oh.” An uncomfortable silence fell upon the threesome, the second in the minute and a half or so since Jillian had stepped into the room.
She felt everyone jump as she broke through the nonexistent din. “If you are so inclined, I’ve brought back some entertaining books and a few fabulous plays to read, as well. Have you heard of Oscar Wilde?”
She could have sworn she saw Mile’s eyes widen momentarily. “Wilde is—not read in the finer circles.”
“Why, because he’s a homosexual?”
Moving with much more agility than Jillian thought possible, her mother shot to her feet. “That will be all the time we have for a visit today, Mr. Bassett. Perhaps you could dine with us tomorrow evening?”
“Of course.” Miles bowed, his manners always impeccable. “Until then.”
After Miles had been shown out by the butler, Jillian’s mother whirled on her. “Have you lost your mind?”
Jillian’s gaze flew to her mother’s. “I beg your par—?”
“I’d originally initiated your journey so that you might grow out of your childish notions about Mr. Bassett. But it seems to me my stratagem has backfired. Is this what sending you abroad to school four years ago achieved? A young woman who dresses scandalously and speaks of things which should be beneath her notice?”
Jillian decided it best to ignore the comment about her and Miles and lifted her chin a notch. At university, she’d been warned of impending encounters with the dissatisfied, older generation about the contemporary way of thinking. “Mama, you must understand. My eyes have been opened. There is a brand-new century looming before us, and we must progress along with our surroundings.”
“I should like to protest vulgarity if I live until the century after the next, and so should you!”
“Mama, there is nothing vulgar about being a modern woman.” Jillian folded her arms across her chest.
“Don’t you dare take that stance with me!”
Jillian lowered her hands to her sides contritely as her mother continued her tirade.
“I raised you! I provided you with the money to attend Moravian Female Seminary! I—”
Jillian held up one hand. “On that note, there is something I need to tell you, Mama, and I’m afraid you may be displeased.”
A huff of air escaped from her mother in lieu of laughter. “I doubt anything could disappoint me more than the display you’ve shown since your arrival this morning.”
Clenching her fists then releasing them just as quickly, Jillian readied herself for a championship match between herself and her mother. “Then you’d better sit down, because you are about to endure an atrocious setback.”
* * * *
30 June, 1895
Dear Mr. Townsend,
I must apologize for last night’s little indiscretion following the alumnus party for Oberlin College. I never meant to be so very drunk in your presence. The fact is, I’ve never allowed myself to become that foxed before, although I’m sure you must feel that it was common practice for me, especially because of the way in which I conducted myself in the circle of your arms.
Please know that I hold you in the highest regard and don’t at all lay any blame on you for the irreplaceable loss of my virtue. I do also wish to express my regret for running out before you roused from your slumber. I must meet the morning train to New York to catch a steam ship for my home in St. Helens, where I would be happy to receive any letters you may wish to exchange with me. In the greatest humility and harboring no regret whatsoever,
Jillian Kelley of Fairfield Court, St. Helens, England.
In the week or so since he’d received the letter from atop the silver tray which his butler, Bingham, had ceremoniously held out to him on that fated morning, Bradley must have read it three thousand times. Assured that his memory had thoroughly absorbed every word, he refolded it and placed it in the inside pocket of his waistcoat as he disembarked at dockside in Liverpool, England.
The first order of business was to find a decent inn where he could wash the sea salt from his skin, gorge himself on a civilized meal that didn’t involve fish and get an absurd amount of sleep on a large, soft bed. Then he planned to set out via rail to find the feisty, midnight-blue-eyed, brunette enigma that had cost him several nights of lost sleep and an innumerable sum of cockstands which demanded his not so tender attention.
Regardless of his newly appointed position on the board of directors at Oberlin and the agreement he had yet to sign pertaining to a teaching position there, he needed this holiday. And if it included Miss Kelley and the delights of her person, then he’d be a very happy tourist.
Just then, a young boy held up a fistful of different colored ribbons for Bradley’s perusal. “A pretty for your girl, sir? Each only a ha-penny.”
The lad was thin, his skin pale, at least, in places where one could see through the soot smeared across his face. Bradley’s heart went out to the boy. It was likely that the ribbons were stolen, but he was certain that the child was only selling them to avoid the workhouse.
“How much for all of them?”
“A-all?” the lad stammered.
He smiled. “Tell you what. I haven’t had a chance to change my money yet, but here are two silver pieces.” They swapped the goods for the coins. “Now, go on home and give these directly to your mother. Understand?”
Shoving his hand deep into his pocket, he replied, “I shall, sir. Me ma’s gonna cry for joy when I give ‘er these.”
The boy ran off and as Bradley watched him go, he wished he could do more. But he hadn’t brought all that much money with him to begin with.
Bradley sighed. He hadn’t really thought about what the outcome of this impromptu journey should be. Whatever the case, he wouldn’t go home without some sort of closure. He was owed at least that much.
* * * *
Jillian took a deep breath and turned to fully face her mother who had thankfully taken her request to be seated seriously. “I never attended Moravian, Mama. I took the money and enrolled at Oberlin College in Ohio.” Jillian could feel the sting of her mother’s glare from where she stood.
“But the postmark on your letters—”
“I asked a friend from study hall, who had family in Germantown, Pennsylvania, if she would have one of her sisters forward my letters to you.”
If a single glare would’ve had the power to end a life… “Do you know how long it took me to find a decent school for you over on that…that island of thieves?”
Her mother’s voice shook with fury, but Jillian knew there was nothing that could be done about it now. “Mama, firstly, the United States is not an island, and they haven’t shipped criminals there for at least—”
“Do not bore me with details!” her mother snapped, then calmed considerably. “Tell me.” She placed a serene, wooden smile upon her face. “Just why did you find yourself compelled to change schools?”
“Honestly?”
“If you please.”
Jillian licked her dry lips as she considered her answer. She could lie and say that the academics were of a higher caliber, but she knew her mother had done extensive research on the academics of every school on the east coast of the United States before choosing the seminary, and could likely find out about universities further inland. “Oberlin College is…” She paused. The next words out of her mouth were sure to open a terribly foul can of worms. She rushed through the term, practically spewing it from under her breath. “Co-ed.”
Her mother leaned forward just a tad. “Code you say? Code for what? Code for a place which charges one for robbing them of their generally rational behavior?”
Gritting her teeth momentarily at her mother’s sharp jab, Jillian shook her head. “No, Mama. I said ‘co-ed’.”
“And this means—?”
“Co-educational.”
Jillian’s mother merely blinked at her, which she knew, from years of conversing with the matriarch of the family, meant that she required, no, demanded more information.
Taking one more deep breath to calm her nerves, Jillian expounded. “Oberlin College is a co-educational institution where both sexes can attend classes.”
“Together?” Her mother’s eyes widened and the volume of the query turned out to be much louder than a prestigious lady in a feminine parlor would normally allow.
“Yes, Mama.”
Coming fully out of her seat, Jillian’s mother persisted with her outburst. “Such practices should be illegal!”
“Well, Mama, with all due respect, they are not. At least, not at Oberlin.”
“And what, may I ask, was your line of study?”
Jillian swallowed. She knew this would not go over well, either. “Literature.”
It looked to Jillian as if her mother wasn’t breathing, so still did she stand.
Finally, just when Jillian was about to take a few steps forward and feel for a pulse, her mother spoke. “Literature.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Why?”
“It interested me.”
Her mother blew out a frustrated breath then continued her narrow-minded lecture. As much as she loved her mother, Jillian mentally shut her elder out and fancied herself elsewhere. Jillian understood why her mother might feel this way. She had been born almost sixty years prior to where they were on the calendar now, and back then, men and women didn’t do anything together which didn’t require meticulous supervision, a string quartet in a room full of their peers or a marriage contract. At least, that was what she’d steadfastly declared since Jillian had been a child.
“…And so it will be up to me to assist you in recalling your societal manners.”
This statement brought Jillian straightaway back to the conversation at hand. “Pray, Mama, just how do you hope to accomplish this?”
Her mother paced the length of the room and ended facing the window which overlooked the front lawns. “First and foremost, we’ll have Fletcher pull your old gowns down from the attic and see if anything can be salvaged. Once that is accomplished, I shall have to refresh your current wardrobe. I dare say, you won’t have any suitable gowns, having come from the unfashionable side of the Atlantic.”
Jillian clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking. She had not spent her money frivolously on gowns and such. In fact, she had pinched her pennies and even returned home with a decent sum in her purse. Besides, it wasn’t as if she’d had no dresses at all. Aside from the two blouses and three pairs of trousers, one in buff, one in light blue and one in brown for riding, she had two other gowns which would suffice. They weren’t trimmed with lace and satin bows, but they were comfortable. “I don’t think that will be necessary, Mama—”
“You will let me be the judge of that, I’m sure. In addition, tonight after you have finished with your evening toilette, I want you to send Anne, your new maid, to me. I have a few things I wish her schooled in as far as your future practices.”
Her mother had always appeared to be the epitome of good manners—and conducted her staff to comply as well. There existed a cutting undercurrent to her comments and opinions when one paid attention, which seemed quite the opposite of good manners.
“We shall bring a few of your peers together, perhaps a few properly schooled, hand-selected society girls for a house party. I dare say the example of their behavior will turn you back into your old self in no time.” Jillian’s mother glided over to her writing desk and sat.
Jillian looked down at her bloodless, wrung-out hands. What was so terribly wrong with the woman she’d become?
“Let us begin with a guest list.”
Swallowing, Jillian released her hands and took a seat across the room as far from her mother’s desk as was possible. “The Mayhew girls?”
“No, that won’t serve. All three daughters have made spectacular matches since you have been gone.” Jillian’s mother’s gaze swept from her head to her toes and back again. “They each live elsewhere now.”
She hadn’t conveyed the information in a negative way, but Jillian could detect overtures of jealousy in her statement. “The Newtons then?”
“I understand that the Newtons no longer accept weekend invitations. Their entire family is very involved in the church and I definitely wouldn’t expect them to approve of”—she looked her daughter up and down again—“of how things have progressed with you.”
Jillian swallowed and felt the sting of tears behind her eyes. She wasn’t so very appalling, was she? One thing was for certain, her mother had no idea, not even an inkling of suspicion that the night before she’d begun her journey home she’d lost all reason and had become fully introduced to womanhood in the arms of a man.
A very handsome, dark-eyed, sandy-brown-haired man.
She pushed the thought from her mind and addressed her mother. “The Youngers then.”
“Certainly not.”
Expelling a breath, Jillian turned away from her mother and offered half-heartedly, “Then perhaps you could think of someone to invite.”
Mrs. Kelley replaced her writing implements without having written a single name. “I shall think on it. In the meantime, I’ll send Fletcher to arrange an appointment with the seamstress.”
Allowing herself to relax against the back of the chair once her mother had quit the room, Jillian closed her eyes. Her return home wasn’t going at all the way she’d planned. Miles was supposed to have taken one look at her and fallen to his knees with a marriage proposal dangling from his lips. But that had been one-hundred and eighty degrees from what had happened. In actuality, Miles hadn’t said all that much to her, nothing meaningful, anyway.
And it smarted something awful.
Refusing to cry, Jillian pushed herself out of the chair. She needed to take her mind off of her sad predicament. A smile parted her lips. “Maid Marian.”
Chapter Two
It must have been near suppertime when Jillian led her beautiful white mare back into her stall after a rousing tour of the grounds. She was sure Maid Marian hadn’t benefited from that quality of exercise since Jillian had left for the States. One of the stablemen, the one she’d argued with for at least twenty minutes about the fact that she’d wanted to use her late father’s saddle, offered to give the horse her rub down. She agreed and relinquished the reins to him. With a pat to the mare’s side and a promise that she’d come for another visit soon, Jillian then headed for the house.
Fletcher, Fairfield Court’s head butler, approached Jillian moments after she’d entered. “Your mother awaits you in the drawing room.”
She smiled at the older man. “Thank you, Fletcher.” As they strolled through the house to the formal sitting room, Jillian conversed with Fletcher. “What do you think of Maid Marian’s foal, have you seen him?”
“Indeed. Rancor was broken and has been accommodating riders for many months now.”
Stopping at the entrance to the drawing room, she turned to Fletcher. “Rancor? Who on earth named him that?”
“Your mother.”
She wrinkled her nose at the pessimistic name. “Why?”
Fletcher cleared his throat. “You see, Miss Jillian, one of the Bassett’s prize stallions, uh…got to Maid Marian while she was in season. Your mother felt it an appropriate name at the time of his birth.”
Jillian laughed aloud, finding more levels of humor in the situation than she was at liberty to discuss. “Well, Fletcher, I suppose we can no longer call Maid Marian a maid, now, can we?”
Jillian could have sworn Fletcher’s eyes went wide. Still smiling, Jillian turned to step into the drawing room and froze in her tracks. Inside the room sat her mother and her mother’s best friend, Lady Bassett, Miles’ mother.
And they had heard every word. She could tell by the sour looks upon their faces.
Jillian’s mother’s gaze raked her from head to foot. “You look a fright,” she forced out with no small amount of venom in her voice.
Glancing at a large gilt-framed mirror on the wall, Jillian assessed that not only was her face and hair speckled with tiny splatters of mud, but her blouse and brown trousers were, as well. Loathing to do so, she glanced down at her equally muddy boots. She groaned inwardly.
“Fletcher!” her mother barked.
He appeared in the doorway instantly. “Yes, mam.” He delivered the inquiry as a statement as opposed to a question, in the way of all good butlers.
“See that a bath is drawn for my daughter and the kitchen sends her supper up later.”
Fletcher bowed in acceptance of her command and Jillian, assuming she had been dismissed as well, turned to follow him out of the drawing room.
“Jillian. A moment, please.” Her mother had employed the same tone she’d taken with Fletcher.
Her spine stiffened and she turned back to her mother. “Yes, Mama?”
“I will take your behavior today as a sign that you are not yourself because of your strenuous journey. But tomorrow, I will expect the Jillian I raised to meet me at breakfast.”
Her gaze slid from her mother to Lady Bassett—who hadn’t said a single word—and back again. “Yes, Mama. If you will excuse me.” Jillian posed a curtsy, turned on her heel and exited the room, her cheeks burning in utter humiliation.
* * * *
Jillian’s hot bath hadn’t calmed her down one little bit. She stood at her window tapping out an irritated cadence with her fingernails on the pane, looking out over the lawns which were illuminated by the moonlit sky. “Behavior, behavior, behavior,” she murmured to herself. Her entrance into the drawing room not two and a half hours ago, accompanied by the conversation about a couple of randy horses had not, she was sure, done anything to win Lady Bassett’s affinity.
Regardless of what her mother thought, she liked who she was. True, she wasn’t the quiet little girl who used to follow Miles around, peeking around corners at him and making faces at the other girls who’d had crushes on him. But she had found her voice at Oberlin and an independent side she couldn’t believe she’d lived without before.
So what if she’d been tempted to lie with another man? Who just happened to be wonderfully handsome.
And intelligent.
And gallant.
And had made her head spin with the things he’d said and done to her.
Jillian redirected her thoughts with a shake of her head. Nevertheless, she didn’t think she’d changed very much. Even now she loved to ride horses, take long walks and read. And she still held a desperate attraction to Miles. She smiled. No matter what sort of growing and changing she did, she’d always love Miles.
Disappointed in herself, however, not nearly so much as her mother was, Jillian turned to her bed. On the nightstand sat one of her favorite books, in which she was more than happy to lose herself.
* * * *
Jillian gave her riding trousers to Anne to be laundered. This morning, and for the sole benefit of her mother, she’d donned a simple day dress in which to attend the meal.
Not two steps into the breakfast room, Jillian’s mother began assessing the dark-blue cotton ensemble.
“You do realize that your serviceable gown isn’t anywhere near fashionable.”
It didn’t take a PhD to figure out that what her mother had meant by ‘serviceable’ was that the only place it would be acceptable was below stairs. “Really, Mama, it’s—”
“Furthermore, your sleeves do not belong pushed up to the elbows, and why isn’t there a bustle or even a sash to be found?”
“Good morning to you, too, Mama.” Refusing to be moved, she sat and focused on choking down her breakfast, astonished that her mother didn’t comment on the low neckline —of course, Jillian had decided against pointing it out to her for fear of just what might be implied about her person. In spite of the torment, she sat with her mother for the rest of the morning and into the afternoon. She’d even endured the tedium of an hour-long meeting with the seamstress.
By the time the luncheon dishes had been cleared, Jillian was of a mind to quit the house as fast as she could. Her own sanity demanded it. Determined to do so precipitously, before her mother drove her straight to Bedlam with her relentless needling, she excused herself and made for her room.
After changing into her buff trousers and white blouse combination, Jillian set out, with book in hand, and headed for her favorite spot at Fairfield Court, the west gazebo.
She let Fletcher know of her destination, and he in turn informed her that the west gazebo had been recently swept, the bench and chair coverings laundered and the cushions re-stuffed. He also mentioned the flowers that had been planted all around the perimeter were in full bloom. Jillian couldn’t wait to spend the rest of the day immersed in her book, napping off and on, and listening to the buzz of bees as they circled the blossoms.
She hurried along the old path to her retreat, the worn trail in the grass barely visible. Now that she was home again, there could be no doubt that she’d reestablish the footpath in no time. The day had turned warm, but not overly so, mostly because of the breeze.
The sight that met her made her tear up. Since her childhood, the west gazebo was the place where she came to be alone and dream. Most likely everyone in the household knew it would always be her favorite place of refuge—it was perhaps the reason they’d spruced it up upon her arrival. She settled herself on one of the wide cushioned benches and opened her book. She sighed. This was as good as life could get.
She’d been reading for almost an hour, and even though she’d come to a particularly exciting chapter in the book, Jillian could barely keep her eyes open. Placing her bookmark between the pages, she then set it upon the floral cushion next to her. After removing one of the pillows which had kept her head elevated, she settled in for a nap. The warm sun occasionally dappled through the heavily leafed branches far above the lattice roof of the gazebo, and the breeze, which rustled the leaves, released the scent of summer blossoms to roll over her body. Very soon she drifted off to sleep.
A dream-like, rumbling, thoroughly male voice whispered softly in her ear, reading the very words aloud she had been relishing, simply devouring.
“Psyche felt something soft and warm sweep down her naked thigh. She shivered. Ensconced in total darkness, it was impossible to see who had approached her. She blinked rapidly to assist her plight. ‘I am here to consummate our marriage, Psyche. But first, let me worship you the way a woman as beautiful as yourself should be worshipped.’ Her breath caught in her throat and she strained to see the man who’d spoken, whose heated breath she could feel caressing her legs as it traveled higher and higher. Ever so gently, Psyche’s legs were parted and something warm and wet touched the juncture of her thighs. Unimaginable bliss engulfed her when he covered her with what was surely his mouth. Within seconds, his lips surrounded the bud of her most intimate flesh, causing it to surge and fill. She heard her groom’s voice groan and the sound reverberated through her sensitized sex straight to her womb.”
When the voice paused, Jillian stirred, gooseflesh covering her body at the wicked words her memory had echoed from her reading. Expecting to see no one, as it must have been her mind playing tricks on her the way it sent that deep-toned, American accent over the breeze, Jillian opened her eyes languidly.
With a squeak, she sat bolt upright. Her feet came to rest on the floor directly in front of the man to whom she had lost her virginity…or perhaps given her virginity to, would be a better description, J. Bradley Townsend. His recumbent position next to her on the floor of the gazebo whispered of his undeniable confidence, and her book in his masculine hands shouted his utter gall. She swallowed hard.
He grinned. A dazzling, toe-curling smile it was. “Why, Miss Kelley, I had no idea you enjoyed sensational fiction.”
“What are you doing here?” she scolded, not intending for her voice to be quite so loud.
He lifted the book and took a breath to continue reading when she snatched it from his hands. The very rare, sensationally written book of Greek mythology had been a gift from a friend at Oberlin who had studied literature along with Jillian. She’d warned Jillian that this particular mythology book was even more explicit than a novel. However, Jillian treasured it all the more because of the fact. The thoughtful gift was rather valuable and not at all something she would be willing to part with. Not that the man before her had asked her to. “What I read is none of your business. Answer my question, Mr. Townsend, this instant!” She shoved the book behind her on the bench.
“Now is that any way to welcome your lover?”
Jillian sucked in a breath, but her mind was yet reeling at the fact that he was here, before her in the flesh, and at the same time, scrambling to find just the right stinging retort.
“Perhaps we should get reacquainted by acting out the lovely scene I just read to you.” His smile widened and he bent his head just enough to nudge the top of one of her knees with his chin.
The rat!
“I could peel these trousers off the way I did in my bedroom after Oberlin’s alumnus party and we could get right to it.” His voice rolled over her skin in the same manner a warm afternoon breeze would.
Jillian opened her mouth. Nothing came out but an unintelligible stammer.
Rogue! Cur!
“Perhaps I should fetch a bottle or two of wine. A few toasts and we can pick up where we left off.”
Shooing at his face before he began gnawing on her knee, Jillian then shot to her feet, took a few steps toward the stairs that led out of the gazebo and spun on her heel to reprove him. “What are you doing here, Mr. Townsend?” This time, she’d meant to increase the volume of her voice.
Once he’d risen from his kneeling position, he turned to face her. “I’ve come for a visit. I’m on holiday, you see.”
“Yes, I see,” she murmured, not allowing the thoughts that nagged at her to be voiced, such as how handsome he looked, how he made her tremble and that the obvious bulge in his trousers seemed to call to her. She jerked her chin in the opposite direction before she looked at it again.
He stepped forward and reached for her, but she moved away just in time. “You can’t be here—we can’t be here. Together. Alone.”
“Why?”
She whirled on him. “The rules are different here.”
“Since when do you adhere to rules?”
Jillian’s jaw dropped open at the indignation she felt. Granted, he was right.
His gaze fell to her gaping mouth. He smiled again, this time a languid smile, an indolent smile, a smile of remembrance.
Without warning, he took her by the upper arms and kissed her full on the mouth.
Jillian felt the buzz of excitement, or was it fear of being caught? Her mother would have his head if she found them like this, alone together. She’d demand the entire story, perhaps even an engagement, and Jillian, God help her, would never hear the end of it.
She attempted to pull out of his arms. “You can’t be here!” she rasped, her breath sounding as if she’d been running. Or dancing. Or kissing a very desirable man.
Mr. Townsend released her and folded his arms across his chest. The chest she knew for a fact looked much better without clothes hindering her view.
“What of all this lovely hospitality England is so popular for?”
“You can’t just waltz in here and—”
He interrupted, pressed his lips together, his wonderfully luscious lips, and tilted his head—of thick luxurious sandy-colored hair. “I’m afraid I already have. Your man, Fletcher, I believe is his name, took my bags to—the east guest suites on the third floor. Yes, that is what he said.”
“What!” Jillian’s voice rose in pitch.
Mr. Townsend shrugged a shoulder. “I told him you and I were old school chums.”
A wave of nausea overtook her. She placed a hand over her forehead. “‘Old school’—My mother is going to go into fits.”
He chuckled. “I doubt that. Fletcher said that Mrs. and Miss Kelley were planning a house party. He must have figured that I am early, is all.”
“Early? The party isn’t supposed to begin until Saturday. It’s Monday.”
He shrugged again. “Call it ‘very early’.” He grinned. “Fletcher didn’t seem disturbed about it in the least.”
“And for your information, sir, you and I are not old school chums.”
“I beg to differ, Miss Kelley.”
“No, you may not. You and I never took a single class together. In fact, if my memory serves, you graduated years before I came to Oberlin!”
“Only six.”
“Six years is a very long time.”
He’s smiling again, the blackguard.
“If my memory serves, we did a bit of learning together.” Before she could protest, he stepped forward and took her by the arms again. He continued speaking in that deep, rich voice of his, which had never failed to persuade her when he’d used it with such expertise against her dangerously immodest sensibilities. “I learned to lick a pathway to your soul.”
Jillian’s mouth hung open again, she knew, but this time she didn’t care. She was seething. Or was that smoldering?
Whatever the case, his words caused a tremendous excitement within her.
“And you learned what certain parts of your body are for.” His face came precariously close to hers. “How they like being touched, tickled, tasted.”
Bloody hell, he’s kissing me again! His lips are so… No!
She broke out of the kiss. “We can’t do this. You must release me this instant and leave Fairfield Court!”
He did release her but looked at her as if questioning her logic.
She took a step backward. “I have plans for my life—plans that don’t include being seduced at every turn.”
“Is that why you think I’m here? To seduce you?”
“Well, frankly, yes,” she said, calming considerably now that more than a foot of empty space could be detected between them.
At least the look he gave her was thoughtful. “Very well.”
She let out a breath.
“I shall endeavor to live up to your standards.”
“What?” Jillian shrieked.
Chapter Three
Mr. Townsend’s lips quirked. “I said, I shall endeavor to live up to your standards.”
“I know what you said! I meant—”
He went on as if she hadn’t spoken, which pricked her ire something awful. “If you think me the rogue, I shall be that man. It’s your fantasy, after all.”
“Fantasy? I never said—”
“You may not have used that exact word, Miss Kelley, but what is a fantasy but a made-up scenario?”
“I—”
“You’ve set the tone. Let’s play.” He smiled. “Games are my specialty, as you may recall.”
It was the wickedest grin she had ever beheld. She reached out to a sturdy, cream-colored post to steady herself. “Mr. Townsend, please. I don’t have time for this.”
“I do. I’m on holiday,” he reminded her smugly, his straight white teeth showing between smooth lips, the happy creases around his mouth assisting in forming perfect dimples.
With determination, Jillian straightened her spine, having realized her salvation. Her next bit of news should send him running from Fairfield Court. “If you act the scoundrel in front of my mother, you will be out on your ear before the sun sets.”
He nodded. “I thank you for the warning.”
But he didn’t run. Instead, he came to stand directly in front of her and set his forearm on the post above her head. Leaning in, he whispered, “I do love a challenge.”
She could sense his body moving slowly toward hers for what she imagined would be another heart-melting kiss, so she escaped, stepping around him.
Needing a moment, she shut him out as much as humanly possible. She had to think and do so with a clear mind. She blew out a breath. He’d never get past her mother’s astute nose. Not in a million years. Good God, he was an American, for Heaven’s sake! Jillian walked over to the bench and snatched up her book.
“I wouldn’t unpack if I were you, Mr. Townsend.” And with that, she quit the gazebo.
Her skin tingled with awareness as he followed her back to the house and up the stairs. Fletcher greeted them and escorted Jillian’s guest to his suite.
Once they made it to the landing where the stairs split, one set to the west and one to the east, Jillian turned on her heel and continued up the west staircase to her room without a word.
Once she arrived, she slammed the door shut. Stalking to the window, she then gazed unseeingly over the lawns. Thank God, the gazebo couldn’t be seen from the house.
Jillian couldn’t believe he was here. J. Bradley Townsend, the most handsome man in the entire United States of America, if not the most arrogant. Here. In England. In her house.
Next to the window sat a salmon-colored, velvet fainting couch with lacy, ivory satin pillows nestled invitingly at the head. Using it for what it was named for, she collapsed onto it.
Bradley.
She cursed under her breath.
* * * *
Bradley stripped himself of his traveling clothes then made use of the washbasin. He lay down upon the bed, the cool brocade satin soothing his heated skin.
Miss Jillian Kelley. He sighed. Sassy, intelligent, beautiful. And they were once again under the same roof. He’d acted the rogue with her just now. It hadn’t been his intention, but one look at her lovely face, so peaceful as she’d napped, had turned his insides out.
Truth be told, he hadn’t really come here to seduce her. Well, not as such, anyway. The second he’d recognized the book she’d been reading—the story of Eros and Psyche—it had pushed his sensibilities over the top. Had he not spent the last six years after he’d graduated traveling through the near and far East, studying cultural conduct, with emphasis on the most interesting part, the history of human sexual behavior? The story she had been reading was one of the first Greek myths he’d ever picked up—the one that had sparked his interest in the subject. The version Jillian had was far more detailed, more arousing than the one he’d read. It was like some sensual, banned novel, completely scandalous.
How wonderful that her passions reached beyond a deliciously drunken romp which had lasted only one night.
* * * *
As Jillian patted the last curl into place, her stomach grumbled. Teatime had arrived and aside from being famished, she was sure that J. Bradley Townsend hadn’t a clue about English tearoom manners. She smiled to herself so as not to raise questions from her maid while she replaced the rest of Jillian’s hair pins in the drawer of her vanity.
Jillian’s mother would strip Bradley of his arrogance. And at the very least, it would defer her mother’s scrutinizing attentions from her.
“You look lovely, miss,” Anne murmured when Jillian rose and headed for the door. The rosy-cheeked Irish girl’s age must have been around the same as Jillian’s.
Jillian turned to her maid. “Thank you for your help, Anne, and if I’ve been remiss, forgive me. Welcome to Fairfield Court,” she replied sincerely then made her exit.