Only Mine Read Free

unhappily, “I don’t think you should go to Mr. Lonetree’s rooms.”
    Jessica pushed away from the vanity where Betsy had been at work undoing her mistress’ elaborate jewelled coiffure and brushing out the long, silky hair. Normally, the ritual soothed Jessica, but tonight it had made her impatient. She began pacing the room like a caged cat. As she moved, the lacy peignoir which she wore while attending to her toilet billowed and rustled in pale shades of blue.
    “There’s no choice.”
    “But—”
    “I won’t hear any more,” Jessica interrupted sharply. “You are forever telling me how women in America have more freedom in the choosing of their husbands and the living of their lives. If I must marry, I will choose my husband and live my life as it pleases me.”
    “You aren’t American.”
    “I shall be.” Jessica tied the peignoir’s robe around her waist with a firm yank. “American mendon’t have titles or great wealth, so they don’t need heirs. I won’t have to endure revolting marital duties or ruinous pregnancies with an American husband.”
    Hesitantly, Betsy said, “American men do like a warm bed, my lady.”
    “Then they can sleep with hounds.”
    “Oh dear. I fear I’ve led you astray. Just because American men aren’t titled doesn’t mean that—”
    “No more arguing,” Jessica interrupted, putting her hands over her ears.
    For a moment she stood very still, fighting the fear that threatened to choke her. The feel of Lord Gore’s sweating palms closing over her hand was too fresh, as was the memory of the lechery in his bloodshot eyes. The thought of those same hands touching her in the marriage bed made bile climb in Jessica’s throat.
    A nightmare prowled just beneath her awareness, chilling her even as it strengthened her determination. She lowered her hands, straightened her spine, and headed for the door.
    “My lady,” the maid began.
    “Sweet Betsy, do shut up.” Jessica smiled at her maid with trembling lips. “Wish me well. If I succeed, you’ll get that trip to America I promised you three years ago.”
    Jessica opened the door and stepped into the hall. Betsy’s low sound of distress was cut off by the soft thump of the closing door. Gathering the flyaway layers of silk in her hands, Jessica hurried toward the wing of the house where Wolfe’s rooms were. Fragrant oil lamps burned in stone niches in the hall, for Lord Robert was a great lover of tradition in the home. The illumination was dim, but that didn’t worry Jessica. She knew every alcoveand corner of the great house.
    Flinching when she passed windows where the storm beat in merciless demands for entrance, Jessica hurried through the huge stone house. She didn’t expect anyone else to be about, for she had waited until even the servants had gone to bed. She did avoid the library, however, for she knew the lord often gamed there until dawn with his friends.
    Jessica hurried down another hall and ran lightly up a stairway. Just as she gained the top, she overran Lord Gore, who was considerably under the weather from port.
    “Dear God,” she said, righting herself frantically.
    Gore staggered, then caught himself by grabbing Jessica. Though drunk, he wasn’t beyond telling the difference between male and female flesh. Nor was he weak. When Jessica tried to twist free of him, his hands tightened. One hand dug into her breast. The other bruised her shoulder.
    “Damn, but ‘tis my little lady.” Gore’s eyes narrowed as he dragged himself erect and focused on the silk and lace confection Jessica wore. “Very fetching, sweet. I’d not hoped to find you so eager for the marriage bed. Had I known, I’d have put less port under my hatches and got under yours sooner.”
    “Let go of me!”
    Gore ignored Jessica, intent only on getting closer to the soft, fragrant creature who was finally within his grasp. Part of Jessica’s peignoir ripped in her struggles to be free. He stared at her exposed