Sinful Cravings (Cynfell Brothers Book 4) Read online

  Maybe he would change his mind. She glanced out of the train window at the bench and saw it had been vacated. And that he was walking toward the train.

  Damn the man.

  Chapter Five

  Jasper peered out of the window and watched the dark hills roll by. The occasional flash of lit cottage windows broke up the countryside. He eased open the window to draw in the fresh air and let it ruffle his hair. A smile urged its way across his face as his thoughts inevitably turned to Miss Foster.

  He hadn’t spotted her at dinner and he strongly suspected she was avoiding him. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d expected from her when he’d met her at the station but her utter disgust had taken him a little by surprise.

  Really, her name wasn’t even mentioned in the newspaper. What was all the fuss about? That woman needed to loosen her corsets a little. His smile widened. Would he be able to unravel those strings a little? Teach her to enjoy life more?

  He shook his head to himself and sat back on the bed to listen to the clack clack of the wheels. Why would he even want to do that? He’d made a promise to her and he’d see that through. There was no chance he would leave her to go searching Edinburgh alone, but he certainly did not need to waste his time trying to prove to that uptight miss he was something else. Which he wasn’t.

  She was just as he’d expected though. He felt a little smug about how easily he’d figured out what she’d do after his discussion with Clara. Of course Miss Foster would go racing off to Scotland without a word. It was just so...her.

  However, whether she liked it or not, he was coming along. Not just to ensure she didn’t get herself into trouble but because Emma had to be found. Lord knows what the girl was up to. He wished she’d come to him. She’d trusted him once, had she not? Now she could be in all sorts of danger.

  Jasper curled a first. He really wished he had punched Brandon.

  Scrubbing a hand across his face, he loosened his necktie and settled on getting a stiff drink from the bar in the hopes of it easing him off to sleep. He didn’t feel the remotest bit tired but he’d need all his faculties if he was going to ensure Miss Foster didn’t do something reckless. He half-expected her to jump from the moving train just to avoid him. That was the sort of woman he was dealing with.

  He made his way down to the bar and ordered a brandy. Only a few fellow passengers remained propped up on bar stools or sitting by windows. Most of them likely couldn’t sleep in strange beds or with the noise of the train in their ears. He didn’t blame them. What he wouldn’t give for his own bed, ideally accompanied by a soft female body.

  Not a soft female body like Miss Foster’s, of course.

  She really would throw herself off the train if she realised he’d had any inappropriate thoughts about her, and if he was going to help her find Emma, he needed to behave. Her sister had to be his priority. That, and keeping Henrietta Foster out of trouble.

  Finishing his brandy, he resigned himself to heading back to his room and trying not to think about that bloody woman.

  Except when he strolled up the corridor to his compartment, there she was, blocking his way.

  In a long column of white that could only be described as remarkably tent-like, she cursed aloud and kicked her door. Jasper smothered a laugh and leaned against the wall. Miss Foster rattled the door and cursed again.

  “Something wrong?”

  She whirled, sending cotton billowing about her. “No,” she said through clenched teeth before fiddling with the door again. Her shoulders sagged. “Yes. My key broke off in the door. I’d only stepped out because I’d heard a knock and wanted to investigate...”She trailed off and the colour in her cheeks heightened.

  He stepped forward, and she moved back. Bending to peer at the lock, he saw the key had indeed broken clean off in the lock and there was no way of retrieving it. He glanced around and back at her.

  “Come to my room.” Her mouth opened and he continued before she could protest. “Henrietta, you cannot very well stand around in your...your nightwear now, can you?”

  Her lashes fluttered at the use of her name and her lips compressed while she seemed to mull over the truth of his words. The simple fact was, while all that fabric covered her from wrists to neck to ankles, there was no disguising the curve of her rear or her breasts. Not to mention her nipples were pointing directly at him and it was causing some issues in the trouser department.

  “Hettie,” she replied finally.

  “Pardon?”

  “Hettie. I hate Henrietta.”

  “Hettie,” he said, testing the sound on his tongue. It would sound good whispered against her skin. It was a sweet sort of name. Not glamorous or seductive but interesting, like her. “Will you not come to my room while I seek out help? As you can see, I am practically fully dressed.”

  Her gaze fell on his collarbone where his necktie sat loose and even in the dim light of the lamps he saw her cheeks darken. Interesting that the tiniest glimpse of his neck could do that. But then was he not lusting over an imagined figure, considering most of her garments rivalled that of a nun’s?

  She nodded and extended a hand. They both stared at it for a moment until she snatched it back into her and he ushered her forward. Had she expected him to take it? He couldn’t deny he’d wanted to.

  When had he ever wanted to hold a woman’s hand? How bizarre. Now he was eaten up with the idea of pressing his palm to her lower back as he escorted her to his room. Her skin would be warm against the cotton and if he was careful, he could let his fingers slip low enough to feel the top of her rear. His mouth near watered at the idea.

  “My lord? Your key?”

  He eyed her for a moment and snapped back to a reality where he wasn’t feeling Hettie Foster’s arse.

  “Of course.” He fished his key out of his pocket and opened the door. He had to clench his fist so as to resist the temptation of making his imaginings a reality. He motioned to the small armchair opposite the bed. “Won’t you sit? I shall go in search of a steward.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured, keeping her gaze lowered.

  She fidgeted when she sat in the chair and kept her gaze to her hands as she twisted her fingers together. Being in his room made her uncomfortable. The truth of it was, she made him uncomfortable too, but in the most pleasurable way. He had to concentrate hard on not getting aroused at the idea of this prim, virginal woman in his room.

  Jasper escaped quickly. It had to be a symptom of his failure with Constance. Or mere curiosity perhaps. But he did not bed women like Hettie. No. Never. Not at all.

  He found a steward and explained the situation. Between them they retrieved a spare key and with the help of some tools managed to free the old key. Meanwhile, Hettie waited in his room. In all that cotton. Probably completely naked underneath. All he’d have to do was lift up the hem and...

  “There we go, my lord.”

  “Thank you.” He fished out a few shillings and handed them to the steward before pocketing the key before returning to his room.

  He found Hettie in the same spot, fingers still twined together. Not naked and waiting on his bed for him, unfortunately. But of course not. Hettie would never do such a thing. She was the daughter of a vicar for Godsakes.

  “Is it fixed?”

  “Yes.” He pulled out the key and cradled it in his palm.

  She came to her feet and gave him a relieved smile. “Thank you, my lord. You saved me some embarrassment.”

  Apparently his opinion didn’t count so she couldn’t possibly be embarrassed by him seeing her in her nightgown. He curled his fingers over the key.

  “Jasper,” he said. “Now I’ve seen you in your nightgown I think we can dispense with formalities.”

  “Oh.” She folded her arms over her chest. “Yes. Of course. Thank you, Jasper.”

  Dear Lord, hearing her say his name in her throaty voice was like a shot to the heart. Or the cock. He wasn’t sure which. Either way, his heart thudded and his cock a
ched.

  “Well...” She held out her hand for her key.

  He tightened his grip on it. “Thank me with a kiss.”

  “Pardon?”

  The words had spilled out before he’d considered it. There was something frustrating about how she stood there perfectly composed while a storm of emotions blasted through him. He wanted her suffering too.

  “A kiss for the key.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “No. You want a kiss? From me?”

  “That is what I said,” he drawled.

  “But...No. How dare you? Give me my key.”

  “Give me my kiss.”

  Hettie narrowed her dark eyes at him and those lips pursed. He’d never wanted a kiss more.

  “You are a blackguard.”

  “Yes.”

  “You cannot do this.”

  “I am not the one who is locked out. I can do whatever I wish.”

  She shifted from foot to foot and uncrossed her arms. “Fine. One kiss for my key.”

  He released a triumphant grin. “Deal.”

  Jasper waited for her to move. He wouldn’t make this easy on her. Let her suffer like he was. Yes, he was a sadistic bastard.

  A floorboard creaked as she took a step forward. Then another. She had to move closer than he suspected she wanted to so she could lift her face to his. He stiffened every muscle in his body so as not to close the gap. The temptation to wrap his arms around her and pull her tight to him made his fingers twitch.

  A brow lifted, he waited, not breaking his gaze from hers. Her eyes remained thin slits of annoyance. She lifted her chin higher and moved forward so swiftly he barely had time to comprehend that her lips had touched his in a kiss that could hardly be counted as such.

  “There,” she declared.

  He shook his head. “That was not a kiss. That was a...touch.”

  Hettie released a long huff. “This is blackmail.”

  “Maybe.” He gave her a flash of teeth. “Now, a proper kiss, if you please.”

  She moved forward again, giving him a chance to appreciate her perfume. He puzzled at the use of it. It seemed far too indulgent for a woman like Hettie. There was a hidden side to her perhaps.

  “Make it a good kiss,” he murmured as she moved in.

  Her eyes flared before her lips met his. She flattened her lips to his and the tiniest moan escaped her. The sound rioted through him, so unexpected, so intriguing. When she moved her lips over his, Jasper lost all control and latched his arms around her waist. A startled noise escaped her and he opened his eyes to see her staring wide-eyed back at him. It wouldn’t stop him, through. He moved his mouth too, and soon her lids fluttered closed. A burst of triumph seared him.

  Bloody hell, there was so much softness. Her breasts were ridiculously full. He could even feel the slight roundness to her stomach crushed against him. Everything about her said woman. He allowed his fingers to edge over the curve of her rear and...yes, just as he’d pictured. Here was the sort of woman you saw in all the old paintings. She would feel spectacular naked and writhing against him.

  He wanted to taste her, to push the kiss deep, but somewhere in the back of his mind he recalled his dishonest manner of gaining this kiss. If he was going to taste all her secrets, he suspected he’d rather discover them by more honest means.

  Jasper broke the kiss but held her for a few moments more while she gathered her breath. Slowly, reluctantly, he released her.

  “The key,” she prompted breathlessly, hand held out.

  And, though breathless, she appeared far more composed than he. Damn, now he wanted her unravelled again. He wanted to see the wide-eyed shock as he made her feel things she’d never felt before. Jasper wanted her to feel as he did—coming undone inside.

  He handed over the key and she clutched it tight as though he might steal it back.

  “I won’t take it from you.” He lifted both brows. “Unless you want me to.”

  “You’re despicable,” she told him, but the words didn’t have much force behind them.

  “You’re delicious,” he responded.

  There it was. Those eyes rounded with shock and if he wasn’t mistaken, desire. Hettie Foster was too much fun to toy with. He really had to stop.

  Soon, he promised himself. After all, women like her did not end up in bed with men like him. They married fine, upstanding members of their community and made babies and led a generally wholesome and dull existence. Far be it for him to get in the way of the grand scheme of things.

  Hettie didn’t respond. Those big eyes narrowed to slits once more and she breezed past him, slamming his door shut behind her. Jasper couldn’t help but grin at the closed door. That had been one unexpectedly spectacular kiss.

  And he wanted more.

  Chapter Six

  Hettie kept her gaze lowered when she spotted him and tried to sink into her seat. There was no escaping him on a train unfortunately. As much as she’d have loved to have stayed in her room, her stomach grumbled after a missed evening meal and she’d been forced to go to the dining car for breakfast. While she shovelled down her food as quickly as possible, he scanned the length of the carriage.

  Looking for her no doubt.

  Why did he have to plague her? Why did he enjoying riling her so?

  Why had she not been able to forget that kiss?

  Blast the arrogant, frustrating man. Did she not have enough to worry about without him tormenting her? She almost put a finger to her lips as they tingled in remembrance when he approached. That second kiss had been nothing like the silly, shy kisses she’d experienced as a young girl. He’d wrapped himself around her, pressed against her, moulded her to his body.

  At the time, she had wanted nothing more than to be kissed deeper, like the kisses she’d heard about from her sister who dreamed of nothing more than being swept away by a handsome lord. There were kisses, Emma had said, where a man would taste you so deeply that your body would sparkle to life and your souls would connect.

  Of course, Hettie had counselled against such thoughts—they were extremely unbecoming for a young lady, particularly a vicar’s daughter—but Emma would never listen.

  And now Hettie found herself curious about those sorts of kisses. Did they truly exist? If she had kissed him again, would it have turned into one of those?

  “Good morning.”

  Blast, she hated the man. And wanted to kiss him. But, oh, she loathed him. One glance of his smug expression told her that somehow he knew exactly what she was thinking. Her gaze dropped to his lips that were in a tilted smile. The smile expanded. Blast, blast, blast. He knew.

  “Can I join you?”

  She looked at the empty seat opposite and wondered how much of a scene it would cause to say no. Knowing Lord Jasper, he wouldn’t give two hoots about causing a fuss and declaring loudly how rude she was or some such.

  “Yes,” she grumbled.

  What she would do was finish off her meal as quickly as possible and retreat to her room. She could read for the rest of the day and take a late lunch in the hopes of avoiding him. Perhaps if she asked a steward they would bring her a light supper. Then she only needed to survive one more day before sneaking off the train and trying to avoid him in Scotland. She might have been grateful for his offer of help before but she didn’t need or want it now, and the more time she spent with Lord Jasper Cynfell, the more she became convinced it was not wise to rely on him for anything. This man was a scoundrel, as he so well proved the previous night. Why should she trust such a man?

  “Did you sleep well?” he asked as a waiter poured his tea.

  “Very well, thank you,” she responded stiffly. He really did know. He understood she’d been kept awake by remembering the feel of his lips against hers. How did he do that? Those cognac-coloured eyes seemed to see right through her. “And yourself, my lord?”

  She didn’t want to ask, didn’t even want a conversation with him. Hettie wanted to finish her meal and escape the presenc
e of a man who made her feel as though she were on a runaway train instead of a leisurely sleeper. However, she was a vicar’s daughter and polite conversation was ingrained in her.

  Even if she hadn’t quite managed to be at all polite to him so far...

  Well, she’d try now. Put them on a formal basis and maybe even talk him out of trying to assist her at all. Yes, that sounded a fine plan indeed.

  “Like a baby. And it’s Jasper.”

  So much for formal. “I never understood that phrase. Babies sleep poorly, do they not?”

  “I wouldn’t really know.”

  “No, I don’t suppose you have any intention of finding out either.”

  He paused halfway through buttering his toast. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, it’s just you are not really...the fatherly sort. And why should you be? With so many brothers, it’s not like you need to sire an heir.”

  “That much is true. As for being the fatherly sort, I know many men who should likely never have been a father—mine for example—but a child changes a man. I’ve seen just that in two of my brothers.”

  “I did not mean to—”

  He waved her apology away. “I’ll be the first to admit I don’t appear to have a nurturing bone in my body.”

  There was something hidden in that statement. A secret or a confession...she wasn’t sure. As though maybe he really did have a nurturing side to him or he did long for children. But how was that possible? A man like Jasper only cared for one thing and one thing alone—himself.

  The image of his name in a book fluttered into her mind. Of course, there were hidden depths to him, but she shouldn’t let herself be fooled.

  “So, Hettie, how exactly are you planning to find your sister once you reach Edinburgh?”

  She dropped a sugar into her tea and stared at it while she stirred. “I...” She lifted her gaze to his. “I’m not sure.”

  The admission cost but she didn’t see that usual smug smile. Instead, he gazed deeply at her—too deeply. It made her stomach twist into a thousand knots.