Page 34 of The Hidden Heart

It was a long time before she fell asleep.

* * *

A noise intruded on Jessica’s unconscious, and she opened her eyes. For a moment she lay there, confused and still half-asleep. Then there was another noise—the scrape of a chair leg across the floor, as if someone had bumped into it. Someone was in the nursery!

She remembered then that she had not locked the door to the nursery tonight, as she had last night. She had been too preoccupied with her thoughts about Cleybourne and the evening.

Silently cursing her own inattention, she slipped out of bed and crossed the room on tiptoe. Carefully Jessica turned her doorknob and eased the door open an inch, just enough to put one eye to the door and peer out. What she saw there made her breath catch in her throat. A large dark form was standing on the other side of the nursery, right outside Gabriela’s door.

Jessica reached back, and her hand fell on the pitcher beside her washbasin. That seemed a good enough weapon, and she curled her fingers around it. Then she flung open her door, screaming out Gabriela’s name, and charged forward, raising the pitcher above her head to strike the intruder.

The figure at the door whirled around to face her just as she was almost upon him. Instinctively he threw up an arm, and the pitcher Jessica brought down sharply crashed into his wrist. He let out a grunt of pain and staggered backward. Jessica gasped as the water spilled out of the upended pitcher, dowsing her own front.

The intruder shoved away. She hit the table with the back of her legs and fell onto it. The man turned and ran from the room. Jessica was after him in a flash, screaming for help. She could see that he had too much of a head start on her; she would not be able to catch up with him. So she heaved the pitcher after him in a last desperate attempt to stop him, and it hit him with a resounding thunk, then bounced off and shattered on the floor.

The man stumbled but recovered his footing and pounded on down the hall and into the darkness of the back staircase. Jessica started to go after him, but at that moment Gabriela tumbled out of the nursery door, eyes wide with fear, calling Jessica’s name. Jessica turned and went to reassure her instead.

“What is it? What happened?” Gabriela cried.

“I’m not sure. There was—I surprised someone.”

“In the nursery?” Gabriela’s voice vaulted upward, ending on a hysterical note. “Why? Who?’

They heard the pounding of feet, and a moment later Cleybourne burst out of the staircase and ran toward them. He was clad in only his breeches and an unbuttoned shirt, obviously hastily donned. At some distance behind him came Lady Westhampton, wrapped in her dressing gown and carrying a lamp.

“What the devil’s going on?” Cleybourne cried as he reached them.

Jessica turned, saying, “There was an intruder in the nursery. I chased him away. I—”

She broke off abruptly. The duke’s eyes had dropped down to the front of her gown, and he was staring, looking like a man who had just been struck a heavy blow on the head. Jessica remembered in that moment that the front of her nightgown had been soaked by the water from the pitcher. It was clinging wetly to her full breasts, molding to their shape and revealing the dark circles of her nipples through the white cotton, rendered almost transparent by its dampness.

“I—uh—” Cleybourne could not seem to tear his gaze away from her gown, and for one frozen moment, Jessica could not move, either.

“He went that way!” Gabriela cried, unaware of the sudden tension in the air, and pointed toward the back staircase.

Jessica recovered her senses enough to pull the damp gown away from her skin, blushing furiously as she said, “I, uh, I had better change.”

She turned and hurried into the nursery just as Rachel reached them. Behind her, she heard Cleybourne leave in a hurry, heading for the back stair, and Rachel saying to Gabriela, “Oh, you poor thing. You’re shaking like a leaf! What happened?”

Jessica ran to the safety of her own room, closing the door behind her, and hurriedly stripped off her wet gown. She was sure her face was bright red; she felt as if it were on fire. She threw the gown onto the floor and pulled on the dressing gown, which she had thrown across the chair before she went to bed. Oh, why hadn’t she thought to put it on before she went out to attack the intruder?

She knew she must have looked like a brazen hussy, standing there before the duke, as good as naked to his eyes. She closed her eyes, feeling weak in the knees as she remembered the way he had looked at her, the sudden burst of hunger and heat in his dark eyes. He had looked at her in a way no other man ever had—his eyes so fierce and fiery. Of course, she reminded herself, he had certainly seen more of her than any other man ever had, either.

And the way he had looked at her had made her feel so, so…

She shivered, remembering the warmth that had invaded her loins, the sudden fullness and tenderness in her breasts. She blushed all over again, just thinking about it. She could only hope that he had had no idea of the sensations his look had aroused in her.

How could she face him again? She knew that she had to; in fact, she had to go right back out there now. He would want an explanation for what had happened. And she had to take care of Gabriela, as well. She could not hide here in her room the rest of the night, hoping it would all go away.

Jessica tightened the sash on her dressing gown and straightened her shoulders. Firmly overriding her reluctance, she opened her door and stepped out into the main room of the nursery. She stopped short. Cleybourne was standing in the middle of the room, looking about. He had lit an oil lamp and set it on the table. He turned at the sound of her entrance.

Richard thought he had braced himself to see Jessica again. He was embarassed at the way he had acted before, stunned into incoherence by the sight of her breasts, naked beneath the wet gown. A man had broken into her room, no doubt scaring her tremendously, and all he could do was stand there and gape at her, lust roaring through him. She must think him a cad, a lecher, to have reacted in that way.

He had returned to speak to her, determined to quell his desire, to be calm and in command, and show her that he was not the lustful creature she must think him. But one look at her had destroyed all his good intentions. She had taken off the wet gown and put on a dressing gown. She was fully covered now, except for the small V of skin that showed above the robe. However, that little expanse of flesh where the white cotton gown would normally be was enough to tell him that she was naked beneath the dressing gown. Just the thought sent heat spearing down through him. His mouth was suddenly dry, and for a moment he could not speak. All he could think of was untying her sash and pushing back the sides of the robe.

“Well, um, Miss Maitland.” He struggled for words.

“Yes, Your Grace?” Jessica tried to still the tingling that started in her at the sight of him. In her embarrassment before, she had scarcely noticed Cleybourne’s own state of dress. His shirt hung outside his breeches, open, a wide strip of his skin showing all the way down to the waistband of the trousers. She was aware of the hard ridges of bone and muscle, and the tan smoothness of the skin lying over them, the narrow line of dark, curling hair that crept down toward his waist. His hair was tousled from sleep, thick and black, and her fingers itched to reach up and smooth it back.