Kissing the Rake (Howertys #2)

Chapter 13: Kissing the Viscount

Jessica merely rolled her eyes when Jacob burst into her room that evening. It had become apparent she wouldn't be able to break him of his new habit, so she'd stopped trying. Slamming the door behind him, he strode into the chamber and paced the floor. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, she put her book aside and watched him for a moment, enjoying the sight of him. It was a treat to look at him without being seen; he was too deep in his own thoughts at the moment to take much notice of her.

As usual in the evenings, he wore only a pair of black breeches, shiny Hessian boots and a white shirt with the top buttons undone, revealing a tempting hint of his flat chest. Lacing her fingers in her lap, she ignored the tingling in her fingertips from wanting to touch that tantalising piece of skin. A small sigh escaped her and the soft sound seemed to rouse him from his brooding. He stopped in the middle of the room and turned to her.

"I cannot believe my father is hosting a ball! It has not happened once in my entire life. Why now, suddenly?"

She shrugged, moving to the edge of the bed. "He wants to make Olivia happy. She loves these things."

"You sound exactly like my father." He scowled. "That's what he said. Almost verbatim."

"I did help him plan it, and that was the reason he gave me."

"I don't think that's his only reason. My father always has an ulterior motive."

"Perhaps he is hoping to find you a wife," she teased, making him give her an annoyed look.

"That goes without saying," he finally said dismissively. "I think he has other plans."

"What plans would you suppose he has?" she asked, unable to hide the amusement in her voice. He seemed so bothered by the ball, and she couldn't help finding it refreshing seeing him thrown off, even if just a little. Ever since arriving at Holcombe, he'd differed from his normal charming self and it hadn't improved. Being around his father had always put him in a bad temper, but never quite like this.

"Well..." He sank down to sprawl in a comfortable chair on the other side of the room. "He might be trying to impress someone. Or perhaps he intends to make his intentions known. What do I know? Maybe he's even planning a splendid proposal."

"You must be jesting." She let out a disbelieving laugh. "Surely you do not think your father might propose to me at the ball?"

He straightened in the chair, staring at her, making her sober up instantly. "Why not?" he asked. "It'd be the perfect occasion. Most women would find it very romantic, I daresay."

"Hardly," she countered. "It would be embarrassing, and a woman proposed to in such a public manner would be forced to accept if she didn't want to expose the man to ridicule."

"Assuming the woman wouldn't want that, I'd say it's the perfect way to propose." When she only stared at him, he grinned. "One would be assured of the woman's acceptance."

She scoffed. "Hardly a concern of yours. It's not as if anyone would decline an offer from you to begin with."

"We will never know," he replied smoothly. "Since I don't plan to ever propose."

"You must marry at some point."

"Must I?" He leaned back again and gave her one of his condescending smiles.

She ignored the question and reverted to the previous topic. "Your father has not made his intentions known in any way," she reminded him. "I do not think he would propose to me without first doing so. It's simply not proper. And I still doubt he is planning to court me at all."

The smile was gone from his face now. "You are forgetting the letter."

"I haven't forgotten about the letter." She sighed, slid off the bed and walked across the room to absent-mindedly rifle through some papers. "I just do not trust its content." She turned to look at him. He watched her in silence, his eyes unreadable. "If your father was truly interested in me, don't you think he would have said something by now?"