He started, almost as if he had forgotten she was there at all. Slowly, he maneuvered to sit up straight. “I knew that your employment might prevent you from coming to my home at will. I assume you are not lying to me about Lady Ridgefield’s gathering.”
Jane cocked her head. If it wasn’t her absence that upset him, then what was it? For she felt his mood was directed toward her, not just some general aggravation.
“Then have I offended you by my assertion that you need new clothing?” She leaned forward. “If I was too blunt—”
He actually smiled a little, which gave her great relief. “You could never be too blunt for me, my dear.”
“Then allow me to be blunt now,” she said, her frustration with his attitude mounting, though she wasn’t certain why she cared. “You seem to harbor some ill feelings toward me at present. I would like to know what I have done to offend you. If it is not my absence, nor the clothing—”
He moved so swiftly that she hardly had time to react before he was right on top of her. He shifted to her side of the carriage, caught her arm in one hand, and with the other softly covered her lips to stop her talking.
“Look at me, Jane. Do you think I give a damn about clothing?” His thumb moved against her lip, stroking over the skin there.
Jane caught her breath beneath his touch. Her entire body tingled, making her overly aware of her reactions to this man. Her heart pounded so loudly it drowned out nearly all other sounds. Her legs shook, despite the fact that she was seated. And she felt her nipples tighten beneath her gown, although it wasn’t cold in the carriage.
And she was also suddenly hyper aware of the man next to her. How big he was. How he smelled deliciously of sandalwood and foreign spices and something she couldn’t place, but spoke to her on an almost elemental level. She found her gaze drifting from his bright eyes down to his lips.
“If I am in an ill humor,” he continued, his voice low and rough, “it is because I did not like watching you with my friend. I hated that you laughed at his pathetic jokes. That you looked at him at all.”
Jane snatched her gaze from his mouth and back to his eyes. In a hundred years, she never would have guessed that was what troubled him. That…that…well, it was jealousy, wasn’t it?
And it made so sense.
“But—” she began.
He shook his head. “I realize it is utterly foolish. I don’t care about you, so I have no reason to give a damn about who makes you smile. And yet tonight, I did.”
Then his fingers traced up the curve of her jaw and found their way into her hair. He tilted her face gently, and she recognized what he was about to do. And to her shock, relief washed through her as his lips came to press against hers for the second time in as many days.
This time his kiss didn’t surprise her, as it had the first time. What did shock her was the strength of her own reaction. Just as before, a weak, needy feeling spread through her body, starting at the point of contact of their lips and cascading downward until her entire body was on fire.
She didn’t fight the flames, although her fading rational mind screamed at her to do so. To stop him.
Instead, she found herself lifting her hands to the rough material of his sleeves, clinging to his arms and feeling them contract beneath her fingers. Then she was sliding across the carriage seat as he tugged her even closer.
His mouth moved, slow and seductive. Infinitely gentle and powerfully erotic.
It was strange, before he touched her, she would have thought such a large, powerful man would demand with his kiss. Steal. But Nicholas didn’t. He coaxed.
Perhaps because he knew he could take any time he liked, he had trained himself not to do so. He didn’t have to prove his superior strength when it was such an obvious fact.
Whatever the reason, the slow, seductive kiss tore down her defenses, stole her breath, and made her utter a low moan against his lips.
The sound seemed to incite his passions. His fingers stroked along her spine, and she arched against his chest with every wild sensation.
But as quickly as the kiss had begun, he thrust her aside, pushing himself into the farthest corner of the carriage seat and staring at her from the half dark.
“You should go, Jane.”
She shook her head, hoping she could somehow shake away the troubling effect of this man, and found that the carriage had stopped. Out the window, she could see the dark shape of Lady Ridgefield’s house.
She glanced back at him. His eyes practically glowed in the low light, giving him that feral, animal look that she didn’t think she’d ever manage to “train” out of him.
“I—” she began, her lips hot, her hands trembling.
He growled as interruption. “Run, Jane. Before you cannot.”
Without replying, she wrenched the carriage door open, ignoring the footman who had come to offer her assistance, and scurried away across the manicured grass toward the servants’ entrance she had left unlocked earlier in the evening.
And though she never dared look back, she was all too aware that Nicholas didn’t leave until she was safely inside…nor did he tear his hot gaze away from her retreating form.
Chapter 9
Nicholas shifted uncomfortably on the settee that was far too small for his frame, but his mother did not seem to notice. She was preoccupied by watching him, an utterly happy beam on her normally somber face.
“I am so very glad you accepted my invitation today, Nicholas,” she said breathlessly, and not for the first time. Every time she repeated it, it drove a stake into his heart.
He smiled stiffly, unsure of how to behave with his mother. She felt so small, so delicate, so ladylike, that it made his own failings all the clearer. All the more distasteful. But it was more than those things that made him squirm like a schoolboy in her presence. Although he had not cut himself off from her entirely over the years, as he had from his father, there remained a distance that was hard to bridge.
“I assume Father does not know of my presence here,” he said, and instantly wished he could take back the blunt words when his mother’s smile dropped.
She shrugged one slender shoulder delicately. “He is aware, but he…he…”
“He did not wish to see me,” Nicholas finished in a bland tone that did not reveal the tiny hurt he felt at that fact. “I don’t find that surprising.”
His mother sighed before taking a sip of tea. “The ball last week did upset him, Nicholas. He was furious that you would behave in such a manner. That you would—”
Nicholas held up a hand. He had heard this enough times by now that he could recite it by heart. There was no need to continue repeating it.
“I realize my actions put a blight on Anthony’s memory,” he said quietly. “Lucinda spoke to me after the event.”
His mother straightened up in surprise. “Did she? That is a shock to me. Since your brother’s death, Lucinda has been locked away in Winchester Court. She will hardly see anyone, and it takes enormous effort on my part to force her to go on any outings. She is taking her mourning period quite seriously. Enough so that it troubles me. And I know that seeing you—”
“Hurts her,” Nicholas finished, clenching his fists beneath the table. “Anyone can see that.”
His mother sighed, her expression faraway and sad. “Time is all that will heal her. It is what will heal us all.”
He nodded to placate her, but he didn’t think what she said was true. What did the passing of twelve months or twelve years matter? His brother would still be dead. That other half of himself that he had always taken comfort in would never return.
“Have you thought about taking over Winchester Court?” his mother asked.
Nicholas started. “Great God, Mother! No!”
His mother didn’t seem surprised by his outburst. “I only ask because it is the home that goes along with your title.”
“I don’t want it,” he snapped, more sharply than he intended. “It is Lucinda’s hom
e and her children’s. I would no sooner take it than stab out my own eye.”
His mother smiled, but it was a sad expression. “You always did use vivid language. Yet the fact remains that it is your home now. And at some point you will need to move into it. You will need to take over the title in a way that is complete, not simply surface.”
Nicholas shut his eyes. If only his mother knew just how surface this entire experience was to him. This was not his life. No matter how he pretended, no matter how he “learned” to behave as if it was, it never would be.
“This has been thrust upon me,” he said quietly. “And I realize that I have not accepted it with much…grace as of yet.”
He opened his eyes to find his mother’s gentle stare focused on him.
“But I am…”
He hesitated. His mother and father were close. If he told Her Ladyship of his plans to better himself, she would likely share it with her husband. And Nicholas did not desire that.
“I’m working on it,” he finally said.
She nodded, but now tears had sprung up in her eyes. “This is a difficult time for us all. Losing your brother has been—” She stopped and sucked in a broken breath. “I imagine it is even more difficult for you. You’ve given up a great deal and I appreciate it, even if your father cannot yet.”
Nicholas dipped his chin down in a combination of awe and shame. Here was his mother, who had lost her son, who had lost so much more over the years, and she was offering him her gratitude, although Nicholas had never done anything to earn it. Nothing but humiliate her, even if that wasn’t his intent.
The self-reflection stung and he decided to change the subject. “I hear Lady Ridgefield is having a party.”
“Is she?” his mother said, and she seemed as relieved as he to move away from the painful, emotional topic of their strained relationship. “I have always liked her. A silly woman, but well meaning.”
Nicholas nodded. That was how Jane saw her, as well. He looked at his mother. Was it possible she knew more about Jane?
“She has a companion who seemed familiar to me when I saw her at the ball last week,” he lied.
His mother tilted her head. “Her companion? I suppose it is possible you might have met her as a younger woman. She is Jane Fenton, the daughter of Viscount Fenton, who passed away a year or more ago. I believe his nephew inherited the title. For some reason Jane took a position as Lady Ridgefield’s companion.”
“Strange that she would do so, considering she was from a family of rank,” he mused, hoping his mother would take his interest as mere small talk.
But it was not to be. The marchioness was instantly on the prowl, taking in his every reaction with careful intent. “I believe she had a falling out of some kind with her cousin. I recall her to be a headstrong girl.”
“Perhaps the cousin did her a wrong,” Nicholas offered, still curious about the man Jane believed had betrayed her.
She had claimed he could not in any way be involved in her brother’s disappearance, but if she was wrong, Nicholas might need to offer more than assistance. Protection hadn’t been in their original bargain, but he would not leave Jane to the mercy of someone who might have killed for title.
His mother shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never heard of such a thing, but it is possible, of course.”
She tilted her head to examine him more closely, the way she had when he was a boy and she was trying to determine if he’d done something naughty. Which he almost always had.
“Why all the interest, Nicholas? I don’t think I’ve ever known you to notice any young lady over another, even before you left home.”
He stifled a curse. Damn, he’d gone too far. His mother, longing for some stability in his life, would not let this be unless he quelled her curiosity now.
“I have no interest in Jane Fenton,” he said with a sniff, although he couldn’t help but think of the passionate kiss they had shared in his carriage just the night before.
It had been a long, very hard night recalling it over and over, actually.
“Then why the questions?”
“Her cousin owes me money,” he lied easily.
His mother’s nose wrinkled delicately, as if the idea offended her. Damn, he couldn’t win. If he put her off one notion, then he offended her with another. No wonder he had left this society. And no wonder it was so damned hard to get back in!
“Well, if you were interested in her for some other purpose,” his mother pressed, “then I can tell you that Jane’s mother was a beauty of much renown and a lovely woman. And though Jane did not have an unsuccessful first few seasons herself, I don’t recall her garnering excessive interest from suitors.”
Nicholas drew back despite himself. How was that possible? Every time Jane was near him, he was utterly aware of her. Could the men of the upper class be so blind to her charms?
Idiots.
“Hmmm,” he said, noncommittal when in fact he was far too interested.
“You will have to marry one day, you know, dear,” his mother pressed. “To carry on the line, at the very least.”
“Yes. I’m not unaware of the fact that a marriage is also one of the quickest ways back into Society’s good graces,” he said, stifling a groan.
“I suppose that is true,” his mother said slowly.
“Choosing a woman of high rank with power in her family is my only option.”
The marchioness’s brow wrinkled. “Is that truly what you think? That you must marry for position?”
He nodded once. “Anthony’s children should not be harmed due to their uncle’s choices, should they?”
Her face softened. “But my darling, what about love? What about joy? What—”
Nicholas rose to his feet swiftly. “My, is that the time? I’m afraid I have another appointment.”
His mother’s eyebrows knitted together in annoyance, but she got to her feet and turned her cheek so he could kiss her farewell. “Yes, yes. I understand, you do not wish your life to be meddled with.”
He smiled as she escorted him to the foyer.
“I only want you to be happy.” His mother shook her head. “God knows, after all this family has suffered, I would love to see you happy.”
“I will be,” Nicholas said as he squeezed her hand and then slipped from his childhood home. But as he stepped into his waiting carriage, he thought about the promise he had just made. It wasn’t one he could keep. Because the life he was leading now was nothing more than a prison.
And he would never escape.
Jane smoothed her plain dress and smiled at one of Lady Ridgefield’s guests as she walked past. The woman did not even acknowledge her existence, and Jane fought to keep her expression pleasant. At some point the blatantly rude, dismissive behavior would stop stinging. It had to.
Didn’t it?
She silently admonished herself for the thought. It mattered very little what anyone else thought of her. Lady Ridgefield was pleased with how her garden party was progressing, Jane could tell by the bright expression on her employer’s face.
And that was all that mattered after the past few days’ frantic work to ready for the gathering. Jane was ragged from the planning of the details and last-minute changes, but in truth she had come to welcome the busyness. It had been helpful in forgetting Nicholas and the confusing thoughts and feelings he put into her mind.
She frowned as some small part of her whispered that she was lying to herself. And her frown deepened as her mind turned, once again, to the soft sweep of his tongue against hers when he dragged her to him in the carriage. Of her own heated response to his touch when she should have pushed him away and demanded he put a stop to such shockingly ungentlemanly behavior.
It wasn’t right. And yet she had allowed him that liberty not once, but twice! In fact, if he hadn’t stopped in the carriage, she might have allowed much more. It was almost like he was training her in wicked ways, even as she trained him in the proper ones.
She shook off her thoughts as another lady approached. Her heart lodged firmly in her throat as Jane realized it was Marchioness Bledsoe, Nicholas’s mother.
Despite her son’s poor reputation, the marchioness was one of the most influential and sought-after ladies in Society. What she wore, the ton copied. What she did, they emulated. And perhaps that fact was one of the only ones that could save Nicholas if Jane managed to tame him even a little.
The woman had been a late addition to Lady Ridgefield’s gathering, and one that had so delighted the countess that Jane had hardly felt any anxiety at the time.
But there it was, rising in her chest now, making her palms sweat as she shoved them behind her back and gave the woman a smile she assumed would be ignored. But instead of dismissing her like so many others, Lady Bledsoe stopped before her.
“You are Jane Fenton, are you not?” her Ladyship asked in a light, almost musical voice that was soothing.
Jane nodded mutely, caught up in the same spell Lady Bledsoe had woven around Society more than thirty years prior. No one could deny that the other woman was still beautiful, despite her advancing years. Nicholas did not resemble his mother in many ways, for Her Ladyship’s hair was far more fair and her eyes a dark brown rather than that shocking blue.
But there was something in her expression that put Jane to mind of Nicholas nonetheless. It was that faint essence of sadness and loss that called to Jane’s own lingering grief.
Lady Bledsoe tilted her head slightly, and Jane shook away her thoughts and recalled her manners.
“Yes, my lady. I am Jane Fenton.”
“And your mother was Elizabeth Fenton, yes?”
Her nervousness nearly forgotten, Jane smiled. “Indeed, she was. You have a good memory.”
Lady Bledsoe stepped beside her, her posture clearly indicating that she was chatting with Jane, not demanding she do the duties of little more than a servant. Jane couldn’t help but look around to see if anyone else noticed that fact.
“She was a beautiful woman, a diamond of the first water in every sense of the word. I was already married by the time she came out, but I enjoyed any exchange we shared. And she remained just as lovely up until—”
Her Notorious Viscount Page 9