"I think I would know if I had twisted my ankle," Jane protested, though she had stopped struggling and allowed him to carry her up the two flights of stairs to her suite of rooms.
Once outside the door James hesitated; he had rather enjoyed the feel of holding Jane in his arms, but even he knew that propriety dictated he should not cross the threshold of her bedroom door. If he did he knew that the temptation to fling her on to the bed and ravish her with kisses would be far too strong to overcome.
"You may leave me here, my Lord, thank you," Jane said primly, reaching a hand out to the door frame to steady herself as she escaped his grip.
"I have told you to call me James, have I not?"
His words came out as a throaty whisper and as Jane turned to look at him quizzically, James leaned forward and captured her open lips with his own. It was like no kiss he had ever known; Jane was so sweet and innocent, meeting his demanding lips with an innocent hesitation that tore at his heart.
"Jane," he whispered, his hands reaching out to tangle themselves through her thick, silky tresses. She responded with a soft moan of longing, which seemed to take her by surprise.
"Oh, we shouldn't," she whispered in a half hearted protest, but fell silent as James claimed her mouth with his again. As the kiss deepened she became more confident, allowing him to nibble on her bottom lip and slip his tongue slowly inside the soft recesses of her mouth.
"Jane," he groaned, feeling thoroughly undone by her. He had kissed courtesans, actresses, opera singers and many of the demi monde seductresses —but this was unlike anything he had ever known. This was wild, this was passionate...this was love.
"Oh, I'm sorry!"
They had been so caught up in their embrace that they had failed to hear the sound of footsteps approaching. Miss Bowstock, battered bonnet in hand, stood a few feet away, her face bright red with embarrassment.
"I came to see if Jane was alright," she stated, glancing at Jane nervously, "I'll go—"
"No," Jane called, almost desperately, her expression nervous. She could not look James in the eye and he cursed the passion which had caused him to almost ravish her in the hallway.
"Please help Miss Deveraux change before she catches a chill," James said, in as commanding a voice as he could muster. With a curt bow to Jane, who still looked charmingly dishevelled, he hurried away down the corridor. A chill, what a ridiculous thought, there was no way either of them was at risk of feeling cold after their heated embrace. Even better, James thought smugly, Jane Deveraux had responded to his passion with excitement that matched his own. He was still in the race for her heart and if he played his cards right, he might yet win.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Jane stood at the window of her bedroom, gazing out into the garden below. She took no notice of the rose garden which bloomed below her, or the landscaped lawns beyond, for her mind had wandered from the present and was fixed on those few minutes with James. He had kissed her! Lord Payne had kissed her. It had been delicious, it had been exciting, it had been utterly and thoroughly confusing.
Jane had never been kissed before, excepting one perfunctory peck on the lips from Alastair, which had filled her dreams for years. The idea that she had found that cold kiss passionate, now made her laugh. For Lord Payne had shown her what true passion was; it was barely restrained, a heady rush of emotions and a million soft sensations.
She touched her lips, which she was sure must be swollen, and smiled. Then she frowned, for she had no idea why she was smiling. Why had Lord Payne kissed her? He was not in love in with her, that much she knew. He was also not such a rake that he would try to steal liberties from her, simply because he could. Of that, Jane was certain.
It was terribly confusing and the only person she could ask about it was Belinda, who had dreamily declared that Lord Payne must be harbouring a secret desire for his fake fiance.
Which was balderdash.
She was Plain Jane, Queen of a thousand books and endless facts and figures. She wore spectacles, she fussed and was painfully shy; she did not dance, sing and act charmingly in public like Payne's other lovers.
She twisted the ring on her finger nervously, as she contemplated what had happened. Her mind was naturally scientific and she believed that nothing happened without just cause —excepting this. This kiss had rendered her mind unable to reason the why, where or how —but, oh, how lovely it had felt.
A knock on the door startled her from her reverie and without waiting for a reply the Viscountess Jarvis let herself into the room.
"There you are Jane," Emily sighed, sounding annoyed, as if Jane had been hiding in some hidden cupboard and not her bed-chambers.
"Emily," Jane tried to inject a small bit of warmth into her voice at the sight of her sister-in-law. The young woman still looked pale, her lips a startling red against her alabaster skin. She truly did look ill, Julian was wrong to have declared her simply childish.
"Have you recovered from your impromptu swim?" Emily asked, moving restlessly around the room, examining paintings and picking up ornaments as she went.
"Quite," Jane said delicately. An apology had been on the tip of her lips, though she hesitated to offer it. Lady Caroline had called to her room to check on her well being and when Jane had apologised for making a spectacle of herself, the older woman had brushed it away.
"It was an accident, don't say sorry, I'm just glad you're unhurt."
It had been a revelation of sorts to Jane, who felt like she had spent a lifetime saying sorry for every minor discretion she had made. The Fairweather's were warm and caring, where Julian had always been cruel and unpleasant.
"I am glad," Emily said, her back turned to Jane as she read the spine of the book Jane had brought with her to read before bed. "A History of Hieroglyphics?"
"Giles mentioned that it was fascinating, I believe it is the Marquess' field of study."
"Riveting," Jane could hear the sarcasm in Emily's voice. The young woman turned as though to leave and then stumbled, her face deathly white.
"Emily," Jane cried, rushing forward to catch the girl by the elbows and helping her to the bed. "Whatever's the matter?"
To Jane's shock, tears began to well in Emily's cornflower blue eyes.
"I-I-," she stuttered, heaving sobs rendering her almost indecipherable. "I am increasing."
"Why, Emily, that's wonderful news!" Jane declared, excited by the prospect of a little niece or nephew to spoil. This only made Emily's sobbing worse however and the young woman shook her head stubbornly at Jane's words.
"It's awful," she whispered, her face achingly young looking and tear-stained. "I feel ill all day long, I can't keep any food down and I—and I—"
Jane waited for the Viscountess to finish the bout of sobbing that wracked her tiny frame again.
"I am afraid of dying."
"Of dying?" Jane exclaimed, she had not been expecting that. "Don't be silly Emily, you won't die in child-birth. Julian will make sure that you have the best physicians in all of England attending to you."
"That's what he said," Emily howled in response, "He told me I was being silly and childish. But women do die, Jane, like Sophie..."
"Who was Sophie?" Jane questioned, her brow furrowed. She had never heard the name mentioned in her life.
"She was my sister in law," Emily sniffed, taking the hankie that Jane proffered and blowing her nose. "She married my brother five years ago and we were the greatest of friends. Then she became with child and then..."
Emily's voice trailed to nothing and Jane filled in the blanks herself. Poor Sophie, to have died so young and poor Emily, who had obviously loved her.
"Well, I won't let you die," Jane said firmly, hoping that this would soothe the poor Viscountess.
"You won't?" Emily looked at her hopefully and Jane felt a stab of pity for the girl, who really was no more than a child.
"I won't," she repeated, drawing Emily into a warm hug. "And I will have words with my brother abou
t how he has treated you. A woman who is increasing should not be upset in any way. If he's not grovelling on his hands and knees by the end of today, then I'll eat Belinda's hat."
"It really is a hideous bonnet," Emily said with a watery smile.
"With any luck the next time it might fall into a pile of cow dung and become completely irreparable," Jane said with a grin. What a day it had been, between Lord Payne and the Viscountess —who knew what other secret sides people were hiding?
Later that evening, after supper the guests gathered in the drawing room for music and games. Belinda revealed a hitherto hidden talent for the piano forte. She regaled the guests with numerous songs, until the Marquess of Falconbridge came to stand beside her and she suddenly lost her place.
"Oh, dear," she stuttered, pushing back the chair and standing up, "I've run out of songs..."
She scurried back to the sofa where Jane sat and point blank refused to stand up again, despite the Duchess of Hawkfield's pleading and Falconbridge's glowering expression.
"Honestly, child, I have never heard a voice so pure. Who taught you how to sing?"
"My mother," Belinda answered quietly, her face turning to Jane with a pleading look. Sensing that her companion did not wish to discuss her tragic family history, Jane changed the topic, suggesting a game of charades.
"Too boring," Julian called from the corner of the room that he had settled himself in.
"A board game?" Lady Caroline offered, though as it turned out the only game they had was chess, which could not be played by a dozen people at once.
"How about hide and seek?" Lord Payne asked.
"Perfect," Julian slurred, "If you're looking for me, I'll be in the library with your father by the brandy decanter."
"And I am far too old to be playing such childish games," the Duchess declared, beckoning for a maid to follow her as she left the room.
The rest of the guests remained, the men pulling straws to see who would be the seeker, whilst the women laughed and joked among themselves. Jane was glad to see that Emily seemed much brighter, despite Julian's poor show of manners.
"Gah, I knew it would be me," Giles said in his deep baritone as he pulled the shortest straw. "Alright get hiding, you have until the count of twenty."
It was ridiculously childish, but Jane felt a rush of excitement as she fled the room, the others chasing after her. She turned right, down a corridor she had not ventured into and quickly dived in behind the first door she saw. It was a parlour of sorts, cluttered with furniture and bric a brac.
"This is Mrs Hughes private sitting room," a voice said, accompanying the sound of the door opening.
Jane turned, startled that she had been discovered so soon, but relaxed when she saw that it was just Lord Payne.
"You gave me a fright," she whispered in a scolding tone, "I thought you were Giles."
"I'd be frightened to be alone in a room with him too," Payne offered her a roguish smile, that she could not help but return, despite the new onset of nerves at his words. Being alone in a room with the steady, married Giles Bastion would be much preferable in Jane's eyes to her current situation. She was alone with Lord Payne —the man who, just a few hours before, had kissed her most thoroughly.
Her heart began to beat erratically and, as though he could hear it, James held out his hand to take hers. His grip was steady and reassuring as he pulled her against his chest.
"Oh, Jane," he whispered into her hair, inhaling deeply. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed in and hear the sound of his heart thumping. Its pace matched the wild pace of her own, she realised, was it possible that Payne was as nervous of her as she was of him?
"I have been longing for a moment alone with you," he said finally, stepping backward so that he could look her in the eye. He was breathtakingly handsome in that moment, his dark blond locks falling into his eyes, a hesitant smile playing around the corners of his lips.
"I do not think we should spend too much time here, my—James," she responded nervously, "It's not proper."
"As we are betrothed we are allowed to bend the rules of propriety, ever so slightly," James replied, his hand reaching out to tuck a stray piece of her hair behind her ear.
"We are not actually betrothed, as you well know," Jane countered, wondering if she had misjudged him terribly. Was he truly a rake who would try to take liberties with her?
"Yes, you keep reminding me of that fact."
His tone was slightly annoyed and Jane, who had spent a lifetime deciphering the nuanced moods of others, glanced at him nervously.
"I only remind you, because you keep forgetting," she countered, wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the chill of the evening.
"That's because I don't want you to be my pretend fiance anymore."
"You wish to end the whole charade?" Jane asked —did he believe his father was now convinced he had changed his ways?
"No, blast it," James sighed, pushing back his hair with an agitated hand. "I want you to be my wife Jane. I want you to stand beside me as the Duchess of Hawkfield, bear my heirs and love me as I love you."
"As you...?"
"I love you."
Never had a declaration of love seemed so filled with pain, Jane thought with alarm. Payne was watching her with anguished eyes and she realised that he was waiting for her response in the same way a condemned man awaited his punishment.
"I-," she said, grappling for something to say. She loved James for his kindness, for his humour, for the way that he brought joy and happiness into her life —but she did not know if she was in love with him. Indeed, she did not believe that he was in love with her, he had probably had a sneaky nip or two of brandy after dinner and decided that after their kiss he was. It would be very like Lord Payne to act in such an impulsive manner. Anger began to build inside her; anger that he could be so callous with her feelings. He could declare himself in love today, only to take it back tomorrow.
"I don't believe you," she whispered, heat flushing her cheeks. "I think you have gotten a silly idea into your head and have decided to ask me to play along. I won't be a part of any more of your charades Lord Payne. When we return to London I shall break the engagement and, perhaps, marry Alastair. He is a steady, reliable—"
The list of Alastair Jackson's many attributes was cut off as Payne took her by the wrist and pulled her against him once more. His lips claimed hers in a hungry, demanding kiss, that left her knees weak and her head dizzy.
"I never want to hear that man's name from your lips again," James growled between searing kisses. His hands roved her body, sending frissons of pleasure through her, and though she knew that they should stop, Jane could not bring herself to bring the embrace to an end. It was the most heady, passionate moment of her life and it would have gone on forever had the door not opened and Giles Bastion burst in.
"There you are -oh!" he called, his voice faltering as he took in who was there and what exactly it was that they were doing.
"Oh, I do apologise," he said discreetly, making to back out of the door he had just come through.
"No, don't," Jane called, seeking to take advantage of his inopportune entrance, "You have found us Mr Bastion, well done. I would love to play another game, but I fear I have come down with a terrible migraine."
Without a backward glance to Lord Payne, who she knew was standing in the spot that she had left him, Jane fled the room, seeking the solace and sanctuary of her bedchamber.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Well that had gone abysmally, James thought as he took a deep sip on his brandy. After Jane had pleaded a migraine and gone to bed, the other ladies had followed suit, leaving the men to engage in, well, manly pursuits. If drinking brandy and playing five card loo could be considered manly.
James was seated in the mahogany lined library with Giles, Jackson, Falconbridge and Harry Dalton. His father and the Viscount Jarvis had long since drank themselves into a stupor and retired for the night.
>
"Loo," Dalton called happily through a thick cloud of cheroot smoke.
"Again?" Jackson grumbled, tossing his cards down on the table in disgust at having lost another game to his friend.
"You have the luck of the devil," James commented lightly, throwing his own cards on the table. They were not gambling for large sums and he was not paying much attention to the game, so he did not feel put out by Dalton's success. Indeed, the only person who seemed to be upset was Alastair Jackson; his face had turned red with annoyance and he wore a scowl that could curdle milk.
"Yes, you win every game of cards, win the sponsorship of one of the highest ranking men in England. Is there anything you don't win Dalton?"
"A respite from your moaning,apparently." the explorer retorted to Jackson's grumblings. James tried valiantly to resist chortling, but despite his best efforts a guffaw of amusement escaped him. Jackson's face turned redder and he picked up the cards and began to shuffle them furiously.
"Now, now gentlemen."
Ever the voice of reason, Giles held up a hand to hush the bickering between the trio. He was the only man there who wasn't completely foxed, James realised. Dalton and Jackson were in their cups and he wasn't too far behind. The Marquess, who had been watching the game with a detached interest, had also been drinking steadily since the ladies had disappeared. It seemed every man, bar Giles, was unhappy.
"How goes the search for the missing Egyptian Stone, Falconbridge?" Giles asked in a most blatant attempt to change the subject.
"It doesn't," the Marquess sighed, allowing James to refill his glass with a generous measure of brandy. "I have been waylaid by a family matter. My late wife's cousin died and in his will he appointed me guardian of his daughter, but the girl has all but disappeared. Now, instead of trying to solve the mystery of what happened to the stone once the French surrendered Cairo, I'm searching for my missing ward."
"Any idea where she might be?" James asked, his interest piqued. Falconbridge was notoriously private, to hear him speak of anything that wasn't related to deciphering dead languages was a novelty.
The Lord of Heartbreak Page 10