Nickerson tipped his fair head toward hers. “There she is,” he whispered. “Miss Adare. With her parents, and that’s her uncle, Lord Astley, behind her.”
Jane sat forward in her seat, her eyes trained on the box across the width of the theatre from them. Miss Adare wore a gown of pale yellow, and she smiled sweetly across the way at them.
Jane was moved into action. “Come, then. There’s still time before the curtain. Let us go and pay our respects.”
“Are you mad? I can’t just walk over there and start chatting with her.”
“No,” Jane whispered with a smile. “But I can. Lucy,” she said, tapping her friend on the wrist with her fan. “If you’ll excuse us for one moment, there’s someone I’d like to speak to. Come, Mr. Nickerson. I won’t be but a moment.”
“Of course,” he answered, taking her arm with a delighted smile.
It seemed they’d never make their way across the lobby, so thick was the crowd, all trying their best to see and be seen before the evening’s actual entertainments began. At last they made their way to Lord Astley’s box. With her head held high, Jane stepped in, delighted by Miss Adare’s expression of joyful surprise at finding her beloved in her midst.
“Miss Adare, how lovely to see you again.” Jane reached out to grasp the girl’s hand in hers. “I’m so glad we had the chance to get reacquainted at the Pemberton’s ball last week. I had to come and pay my respects when I saw you sitting directly across the way.”
“Oh, Miss Rosemoor,” Miss Adare said, her dark eyes shining brightly as she rose to stand before them. “What a delightful surprise.” She couldn’t seem to keep her gaze from trailing longingly to Nickerson’s beaming face.
“You must meet my escort for the evening, Mr. William Nickerson. He’s been a friend of mine for many years. Mr. Nickerson, this is Miss Marianne Adare.”
“Miss Adare, a pleasure.” He reached for the girl’s hand and bowed, his gray eyes dancing with mischief. “I believe we have met, albeit briefly, in Kent.”
“Of course,” Miss Adare answered, her cheeks flushing pink. “At my Aunt’s estate. That’s why you look so familiar, then.”
Her parents rose and joined them. “Miss Rosemoor, how lovely to see you,” Lady Adare trilled. “How is your dear mother? When will she be coming to Town?”
“Soon, I hope. I’m afraid my sister’s youngest has been quite ill and my mother has remained in Essex to lend a hand. But she does hope to spend some time here before the Season ends. Have you met Mr. Nickerson?”
“I don’t believe we have,” Sir Alan answered with a smile.
“Mr. Nickerson, Sir Alan Adare and his wife, Lady Adare. I present Mr. William Nickerson, a longtime Rosemoor family friend. My father thought very highly of Mr. Nickerson,” she added.
Sir Alan stroked his whiskers. “Is that so? Well, then, it is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Nickerson.”
The men shook hands, and Nickerson bowed gracefully to Lady Adare.
“Well, Miss Adare, I’m afraid I must hurry back across to the Mandevilles’ box. It’s such a pleasure to see you again. I hope you enjoy the evening.”
“Oh, I’m sure to,” she murmured, casting a shy glance at Nickerson from beneath her lowered lashes.
Jane congratulated herself smugly as they made their way back across the lobby to their own seats. That had gone perfectly, just as she’d anticipated. As they stepped into the privacy of the box, Nickerson reached earnestly for her hand and squeezed it.
“That was brilliant, Miss Rosemoor, simply brilliant.” He raised her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “You are surely the most extraordinary woman I know.”
Jane laughed merrily, pleased with herself for aiding his cause.
Someone cleared their throat loudly, and only then did Jane notice Hayden sitting there, a frown darkening his face.
“Good evening, Lord Westfield,” she said with forced cheeriness as she took her seat, noting the still empty one by the earl’s side. “Where is Miss Upshaw tonight?”
“She accompanied her parents to Surrey for a sennight.”
“Really?” Nickerson took his own seat beside Jane. “A newly betrothed girl taking off to the countryside? Not sticking around Town to bask in her accomplishment? I’m astonished.”
Hayden only raised a brow in reply.
“Jane, who is that watching our box with opera glasses?” Lucy leaned toward her with a frown. “Right there, down below in the pit? He just lowered the glasses and is staring right up at...at you, I believe.”
Jane squinted to make out the form in dark dress coat leaning indolently against the row in front of him, smiling up at her lasciviously. She sucked in her breath. Clifton. Down there in the pit, amidst the demi-monde, his wife nowhere in sight. He kept his eyes trained on her until a woman in a shockingly transparent dress leaned over to him and whispered something in his ear, affording him an ample view of her breasts as she did so. Jane watched in disgust as he whispered something in return, and then reached a hand out to tweak one nipple through the thin cloth of her bodice. He briefly threw his head back and laughed, then sought Jane out in the crowd once more, his eyes pausing briefly on her face before lowering blatantly to her décolletage.
Dear God, Jane thought in horror. The nerve of the man. She turned toward Nickerson. His face was scarlet.
“How dare he?” Nickerson sprang to his feet. “I’ll have a word with that scoundrel.”
“Oh, no, you won’t.” Jane reached for his sleeve and pulled him back to his seat. “Really, Nickerson, what has he done besides look at me?”
“Indecently, Miss Rosemoor. He looks at you as if you weren’t a lady, and I won’t stand for it.”
The house lights dimmed. “Shhh. The play is set to begin. No more of this.”
He sat with a grimace. Jane couldn’t resist turning in her seat and stealing a glance at Hayden behind her. The murderous look on his face made her blood run cold. His hooded eyes were narrowed and flashing, his hands flexing menacingly. She spun back to face the stage with a gasp, forcing herself to think of nothing save the play. It was a losing battle, of course. She flicked open her fan and nervously stirred the air, hoping to cool her flushed cheeks as she trained her eyes on the stage.
When the first intermission presented itself, Jane’s neck was stiff with tension. It had taken a great amount of concentration to keep her gaze forward, to resist the sharp pull to turn in her seat and peek at Hayden. She could physically feel his eyes on her back, burning her skin, prickling her neck, throughout every minute of the first act. Again, she set her fan in motion, the heat rising in her face.
“A lemonade, Mr. Nickerson,” she managed to say, her voice strangled. “Might you fetch me one?”
“Of course.” He leaned toward her. “Who knows who I might encounter out there, eh?”
Jane forced herself to smile up at him. He exited with a smile, all thoughts of Clifton’s offense obviously long forgotten.
“Jane, we’ll return shortly,” Lucy said, rising to her feet and taking her husband’s proffered arm. “Henry and I are going for a stroll. Poor man,” she said with a laugh. “He finds theatre almost as unbearable as the opera. We’ll return in time for the third act.”
As soon as the Mandevilles departed, grinning at each other with a mischievous glint in their eyes, Emily rose and reached for Cecil’s arm. “Cecil, darling, I think I could use some air, myself. Jane, can we get you anything?”
“No, Nickerson’s fetching me a lemonade,” she answered before she thought. Blast it, now she had no excuse but to remain here in the box with him. What was this, she thought, as Emily and Cecil took their leave–some sort of conspiracy? Glancing at Hayden, she saw that he looked as uncomfortable as she felt about finding themselves alone in such a small space. He stood abruptly and moved toward the back of the box, his arms folded as his eyes scanned the double circle of boxes.
Just then, Alexander Clifton appeared in the open
doorway. He bowed, then faced her with a roguish smile, his white teeth flashing in his face. “Miss Rosemoor. What a pleasure to see you. The first few weeks of the Season seemed somehow less bright without your presence.”
“Good evening, Mr. Clifton.” Jane bobbed a curtsey. “And how is Mrs. Clifton?”
He shrugged. “I wouldn’t know, nor do I care overmuch. She lacks your spirit, Miss Rosemoor. Courting you a few years ago has spoilt me for other ladies, I’m afraid. I was hoping perhaps we could renew our acquaintance.”
From the corner of her eye, Jane saw Hayden move out of the shadows.
Surprise registered briefly on Clifton’s countenance, replaced immediately with a knowing, cocky grin. “Once you tire of your current paramour, that is.”
“What are you suggesting, Clifton?” Hayden challenged, his voice clipped. He moved toward the much smaller man, his hands clenched and his massive chest thrown out menacingly.
Clifton stepped up, seemingly not the least intimidated. “Come now, we’re all adults here. Miss Rosemoor is no longer a debutante, well past the marriageable age. There’s no shame in it. A woman has certain needs, after all. I saw the two of you, stumbling out of the dark lanes at Vauxhall not so many weeks ago, your clothing in a shocking state of disarray. I’m offering to set you up, Miss Rosemoor. To give you carte blanche. I know for a fact I’m offering you more than Westfield here has. I’ve asked around, you see. What say you, Miss Rosemoor?” he asked with an arrogant smile. “Are you game?”
Jane was utterly shocked into silence, barely able to believe her ears. And then it registered in her mind...he’d seen them–seen her and Lord Westfield together at Vauxhall Gardens. What must Clifton think of her? Worse still, what if he told? She had always held dear her sterling, exemplary reputation. Never before had it been threatened, not even the slightest bit. Her hand rose to cover her mouth, bile rising in her throat at the thought of ruin.
“Well?” he asked, and only then did Jane notice Hayden’s silence.
Suddenly Hayden’s fist flew out, connecting with Clifton’s jaw with an unnaturally loud crack. Jane recoiled in shock as Clifton sank to the ground, a spot of bright-red blood appearing at one corner of his mouth.
She looked over to Hayden who stood with his feet planted firmly apart, his hands in fists by his sides, breathing raggedly. Defending her honor, even though he was betrothed to another.
Clifton struggled to sit, one hand reaching up to feel the wetness that dripped from his mouth, staining his cravat. He looked to his blood-covered hand with surprise, then up to Westfield.
“Apologize to the lady at once, Clifton,” Hayden barked.
“Apologize?” He rose unsteadily to his feet.
“Unless you want me to make your life miserable, I suggest you do as I ask. Together with Lord Mandeville, I can make things particularly difficult for you in this town. I know you owe an enormous debt to a number of creditors, some more, shall I say, unreasonable than others. I won’t think twice about insisting that your loans be called in. You will apologize, and you will never speak a word of this. In fact, you’ll never speak to Miss Rosemoor again, nor will you as much as utter her name to anyone. Understood?”
Clifton looked from Hayden to her, and back again before nodding his assent. “Understood.” He turned toward her, his gaze dull and lifeless. “Miss Rosemoor, I apologize for my behavior and hope that someday you will find it in your heart to forgive this, ah, misunderstanding on my part.”
Jane only nodded.
“Now get out.” Hayden nodded toward the doorway.
Clifton acquiesced, nearly tripping over a chair in his haste to quit their company.
Jane’s eyes met Hayden’s the moment they were alone again. “Thank you,” she murmured.
“He’ll remain silent, have no fear. His debts are far too substantial to risk it. If it weren’t for the fact that he’s married to poor Miss Portia, I’d call him out. Although now that I think about it, it’s not such a bad idea. She’d be substantially better off without him.”
“She’d be left without a shilling to her name,” Jane said quietly.
“Hmm, you’re right. No matter. It’s settled. He won’t bother you again; I’d stake my life on it.” He ruefully rubbed his knuckles, already turning an alarming shade of blue.
“Oh, dear. Your hand. Let me see.” Jane reached for it. “You might have broken something.”
He pulled his hand from her grasp. “Nothing save his teeth. Far less than he deserved.”
“You must let me see,” Jane insisted. Reluctantly he assented, wincing as she took his hand in hers and ran her fingertips lightly across the swollen knuckles. “You should get some ice on this at once.” She couldn’t help but allow her fingers to linger on his, unable to release him, to break the physical connection. As the theater darkened once more, he interlaced his fingers with hers, covering their joined hand with his free one. Looking around, he shrugged. “Where has everyone gone off to?”
Jane smiled thinly. “Purposefully leaving us alone, I imagine.”
He tilted his head toward hers. “Do you suppose anyone would notice if we slipped out of here?”
“Together? Without a doubt.” She nodded. Her hand remained firmly clasped within his.
“Even for a moment?”
“Are you willing to risk it? As it is, Clifton managed to spy us together at the Gardens. No, we cannot. Besides, what would come of it?”
He shook his head. “I do not know. I only know that I want it more than anything.” His voice was soft against her ear, his warm breath caressing her skin.
“I should leave London at once, before we cause further talk, before your betrothal contract is endangered.”
“I want to kiss you, Jane,” he murmured against her ear. “I want to touch you. I need to touch you.”
“Not here,” she said vehemently, roughly shaking her head.
“Where, then?” His voice was rough, filled with need. For a brief moment, Jane allowed herself to revel in the power she wielded over him–womanly power. She had him in the palm of her hand, yes. But what to do with such power? They were so much alike, after all. She understood his torment and it made her feel closer to him that she’d ever felt to anyone, save Lucy. When she spoke, the words surprised even her.
“I’m told there are places, here at the theatre,” Jane whispered. “Dark places, secret places.”
“Follow me,” he whispered huskily, reaching for her hand.
Minutes later, Hayden turned into a darkened hallway, reaching for a door that led to an abandoned dressing room, now being utilized as some sort of storeroom. Jane followed close behind. Looking around to make sure no one was about, he pulled her roughly inside, closing the door and turning the lock before taking her mouth with his–roughly, desperately. She moaned against his lips, hers held firm, then yielded, her hands finding his linen shirt as her tongue met his. With several tugs, she released the linen from his trousers, and he shuddered as he felt her bare hands slide up his torso, her fingertips brushing his skin with exquisite softness. In an instant his staff hardened, straining against the wool barrier that separated them. He pressed himself fully against her as her hands circled to his back, her nails digging into his flesh as she drew him closer.
Abandoning her hot, sweet mouth, he sunk to his knees, his hands pushing up her skirts while he simultaneously pulled down her stockings. “Hayden,” she cried out, “please.” He groaned at the invitation, and his lips found her warm skin immediately, his tongue tracing a path upwards, toward her silky thighs. Cloaked in darkness, his hands replaced his mouth on her bare legs, his fingers stroking her flesh, moving steadily toward the apex of her thighs. She gasped as he found her mound of soft curls, her entrance slippery and wet. Ready for him. He ran his thumb over the hardened nubbin of flesh nestled between her folds, and her whole body shuddered convulsively at the contact. Bloody hell, it would be so easy, so very easy to take her right then and there.
But it would also be wrong, for so many reasons. Too many reasons to name. Struggling valiantly to squelch the riptide of desire coursing through him, he dropped his hands and pressed his face against her thighs as he tried to catch his breath. “I can’t do this,” he muttered, his voice ragged. “God help me, I can’t.”
“Look at us, Hayden,” she gasped, her whole body trembling against him. “Look what I’ve become. I am what Clifton supposed I am. Nothing but your–”
“Don’t say it.” He rose on unsteady legs, placing a finger across her lips. “It isn’t true.”
“What are we doing, then? Why did I allow this? I don’t recognize the woman I’ve become.”
He reached blindly for her hands. “I cannot explain it myself. We got carried away, that’s all. But it will go no further.”
“I’ll leave London at once. This isn’t fair to Miss Upshaw. Were I in her position, I’d never...” She swallowed hard, her remorse evident in her halting voice.
“It isn’t fair to you, Jane. I’m a sorry excuse for a gentleman.” Hell, he’d boxed Clifton for nothing more than insulting Jane’s honor, for assuming her virtue was lost, yet here he was, doing everything in his power to take that virtue, to steal her virginity even while he was betrothed to another.
He bit back the sour taste of self-hatred, not for the first time, and found his usual steady, commanding voice. “Go, Jane.” He moved away from her. “Leave me. Get away from me, before it’s too late.”
With a whimper, Jane did exactly as he requested. He’d never forget the pained look in her eyes as the door swung open and she fled from him, no doubt hating him every bit as much as he hated himself.
Chapter 15
Unveiled (Undone by Love Book 3) Page 17