The House of Cards Trilogy by Barbara Metzger

Author:Barbara Metzger [Metzger, Barbara]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9781611872590
Publisher: Untreed Reads
Published: 2012-02-06T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

Great golden gods, he’d kissed Miss Silver! Jack had not meant to, of course, no more than he’d meant to have a bath at dawn. Here he was, though, sitting in a tub of tepid water because there was no time to heat more.

Gads! Kissing the governess ought to have been like kissing his smelly old dog on the lips, only it wasn’t. The kiss had been delightful, delicious, and Jack was dying to do it again.

The water in the tub was not cold enough to keep his body from remembering how she had felt in his arms, her unbound breasts against his chest. Who would have thought Miss Silver had breasts? And such soft ones, as soft as her lips under his, as soft as her sweet breath, as soft as those dark golden locks flowing through his fingers. Lud, he was not soft at all!

Jack was astounded, besides aroused. He’d had scores of Rochelle Poitiers, women who were nameless and faceless a month or a week or a day later—but he had never felt like this. He’d never been so heated, for so long afterward, by a mere kiss. From a mere old maid. He must be losing his mind.

For sure he should be using his time to think of who wanted to destroy him and his club, rather than how Miss Silver was destroying his equilibrium. Miss Silver, Allison, Allie. He rolled the names around as he used the wash cloth. No, that was his fresh towel, leaving him nothing to dry himself with. His wits had truly gone begging. The woman was truly devastating his carefree life.

Carefree? Now he had a child to care for, a business to run, numerous dependents to safeguard, a charity to finance, a search to pursue, and ends to meet. He also had an uncomfortable urge for an unbeddable woman. Fighting the French was carefree by comparison.

He tried to bring his thoughts, and his throbbing, under control. Who was starting fires at his back door…and did he have to marry the woman? He’d already destroyed her reputation, through no fault of his own, and he would have decimated her virtue, stopping through no restraint of his own. No, Jack told himself, he would not have made love to Miss Silver on the craps table. He was still that much the gentleman. At least he would have carried her up to his bedroom.

No, no, no! She would have stopped him, Jack knew. She would have slapped him. The only reason she had not was the brandy, and the moment. The kiss they started by accident was a celebration of life after near death, a confirmation of pleasure after the dread of peril. He’d seen it in the army after battles, when men went crazy with lust for a woman, to slake the lust for blood. He was no berserker, though, no madman with no control over his appetites. He would have come to his senses. Or so he prayed.

Or she would have.

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