Had an estate emergency prevented Jasper attending the fair? Was he injured, or ill? Her mind couldn’t help leaping to the worst possible reason, for the brief unsigned note she’d received in his distinctive handwriting stated he would be here. And he’d proven to be a man of his word.
Not knowing was a torment. She needed to see Jasper.
Apart from Ruth and Martha, he was the only person she didn’t have to pretend with. In his company she could laugh, be bawdy, and eat what she wanted, and now she’d had a taste of pure pleasure to boot, her body craved him as much as her spirit did. How utterly frustrating for her father to have unwittingly wrecked their plans twice. She was a woman requiring orgasms, blast it all!
Scowling in annoyance—something she could do only when alone—Ada wiped the perspiration from her brow with a linen handkerchief from her reticule. Next, she began loading the tray with full jars of raspberry jam and orange marmalade, all made and donated by St. Mary’s parishioners. They had long since sold all the cakes and pies, and only had two jugs of lemonade remaining, so she had fond hopes of being able to stop soon for a rest or perhaps to even stroll the High Street.
Voices outside the tent made her pause.
“Reverend Blair! We bring a most illustrious guest to sample our church’s far superior lemonade. Are you acquainted with His Grace, the Duke of Gilroy?”
“Not personally,” said her father coolly. “I understand, Your Grace, that you choose to attend St. Mary’s here in Cheltenham rather than Charlton Kings. A great shame, I’m sure you would find my sermons beneficial.”
Ada inwardly groaned at the peevish words then quickly added a fresh jug of lemonade to the tray before carrying it out to the stall. “Here you go, Father…oh, Ruth, Martha, you’re back.”
Jasper’s glittering gaze seared into her soul. “Hmmm. Is this the wonderful Miss Blair I’ve been hearing about?”
She bit her lip as her mind helpfully provided explicit recollections of their last meeting. Their wicked talk as they’d signed an erotic contract. Jasper holding her thighs open and insisting she watch him pleasure her. The way he’d stuffed her pussy full until she screamed in bliss. His naked saunter to fetch afternoon tea.
Setting down the tray so she did not drop it, Ada curtsied with unsteady legs. She didn’t even trust herself to speak.
“Indeed it is,” said Martha. “Ada is such a treasure—”
“Now, now,” said Reverend Blair. “Excessive compliments turn a woman’s head away from the virtuous path of modesty. Far better to offer advice on how she might improve herself—”
“I know how I might be improved,” said Jasper crisply. “With a glass of that lemonade Miss Lacey swears is the best. How much are you asking, Miss Blair?”
Ruth beamed. “A shilling, perhaps?
Ada coughed to halt a wayward laugh. “A shilling does purchase the best, and our fundraising efforts would certainly welcome such a generous donation, Your Grace.”
“As I’m very, very thirsty, I’ll take two glasses,” said Jasper, digging into his money purse and placing the required coins on the trestle table. “Here you go.”
“Ada!” said her father impatiently. “Don’t stand there like a henwit, pour the duke a drink.”
When she handed Jasper his first glass of cool lemonade, their fingers brushed. At the sensual jolt her hand shook slightly, spilling a few drops. “My apologies.”
Jasper shook his head and finished the drink, then another, watching her the entire time. “Delicious.”
Reverend Blair frowned. “There must be many stalls you wish to visit, Your Grace. Don’t let us keep you.”
“Oh, you aren’t. I must peruse these preserves. I am partial to marmalade on toasted bread, but have recently developed an insatiable desire for peaches.”
Even in the heat of the noon sun Ada shivered, her nipples tingling at the memory of having peach juice smeared across them and licked off. She couldn’t take much more of this subtle teasing. “Over here on this tray, Your Grace.”
“Run along, Ada,” said her father, glaring at her. “I will assist the duke.”
Martha shrieked. “Good heavens. Look! Over there! Are those young lads smoking a cheroot? Oh, Reverend, we must stop such foolishness. You know the kind of dark criminal path that leads to. Ruth, Ada, you stay here and guard the stall,” she finished over her shoulder as she towed him in a manner only a devout grande dame could get away with.
Ruth’s lips twitched. “I believe there are some more jars of peach preserves in the tent, but they are dreadfully heavy. Perhaps Your Grace would be kind enough to assist for a few minutes? I will serve any customers.”
“Of course,” said Jasper.
Near trembling, Ada turned and entered the small but blessedly private tent, and when Jasper stepped inside a few seconds later, she practically hurled herself against his chest. He didn’t stagger by so much as an inch. One hand clamped about her waist, the other gripped the back of her neck, and his lips captured hers in a hungry kiss.
Oh. Even better than she remembered.
Clinging to Jasper’s shoulders for balance, Ada opened her mouth for his darting tongue. He tasted lemonade-tart, and she kissed him back eagerly, unable to stop rubbing her aching mound against the hardness between his legs. Immediately, the hand at her waist moved lower to cup her backside and press her more firmly against him. She whimpered at the feel of his cock, the sweet torment of grazing her taut nipples against his chest, wanting to claw away the fabric preventing him from thrusting deep inside her.
The sound of a small child’s wail outside the tent was like a bucket of cold water to the face, and Ada jerked away from him, struggling to catch her breath. Good gracious. Had she lost her wits entirely? Even with Ruth standing guard outside, to kiss Jasper like that behind a church stall on Cheltenham High Street was exceedingly foolish. What if her godmother had been distracted by a customer and didn’t see the vicar return? What if someone else had seen them and reported the salacious gossip to the Cheltenham Chronicle?
Society would insist on a wedding, and Jasper had already told her quite plainly that he wasn’t a marrying man. A secret affair carried out at a private location might be acceptable, but he would never forgive a forced marriage.
Ada closed her eyes briefly. “Is this too risky?” she whispered. “Do we need to end our affair?”
His gaze flared. “Is that what you want?”
She stared at her hands. Certainly not.
But they couldn’t behave so rashly again. Their affair had to remain secret.
Had to.
Jasper willed his heart to stop racing and his cock to soften after that scorching hot stolen kiss. His entire sexual history had been centered around discretion: detailed contracts, private rooms in pleasure clubs, arriving at a lover’s home late in the evening and departing before dawn, and never speaking to anyone about his affairs. Bedding Ada in an abandoned cottage with the door locked, safe in the confines of his country estate, was one thing. But an embrace in an old canvas tent barely six feet wide, on the goddamned Cheltenham High Street?
So much for control. He’d never been so reckless in his life.