“And what defense,” Jane pointed out.
He smiled broadly, and for a moment Jane sensed a sort of childlike pleasure that she understood his life’s passion.
“Not many women would see it that way,” he said as he beckoned her to the middle of the room.
She shrugged one shoulder. “Many women mince and faint because that is what they believe is expected of them. But I cannot imagine any woman not appreciating the way you moved tonight.”
The instant she said the words, Jane wished she could take them back. They had two meanings, and she had intended them both. Judging by the way Nicholas’s lids grew heavy and his smile took on that feral, animal quality it sometimes possessed, he knew it.
“For now I only care if you appreciate my…moves,” he drawled. Then he chuckled, and the heavy weight of the moment passed. “Allow me to show you some basic defenses.”
Jane did not resist as Nicholas positioned himself behind her. One big hand slipped around to cup her hip, adjusting her stance until her legs were wider and one was situated in front of the other. His hands lingered against her body for a moment too long before they slid away.
Jane held back a sigh. She felt his body heat behind her, caressing her as surely as his touch. And she smelled him, too. That hot combination of clean sweat, sandalwood, and the spicy scent that was only Nicholas wrapped around her in a pleasant, dizzying blanket.
He moved to stand in front of her, and she blinked a few times in the hopes that her hazy desire wouldn’t be completely evident.
“Now you want to raise your hands as I did,” he explained.
She lifted her shaky fists and positioned them in as close a manner as she could. He adjusted her gently until she was in the right position.
“In a scenario where you’re being attacked,” he said, his voice low and gravelly, “it won’t be as polite as what you saw between Rage and me.”
She couldn’t help but smile as she thought of the battle the two friends had just waged. But Nicholas didn’t return the expression. To her surprise, he was utterly serious.
“I know what you’re thinking, but there are rules in a fight like ours. I’ll hurt an opponent if I must, but that isn’t my main goal. A man who attacks you will not live up to those standards. So you can’t fight politely, either. Kick him between the legs, gouge his eye, flatten your palm to his nose, whatever it takes to protect yourself.”
Jane’s smile faded as she stared up at Nicholas. The solutions he was describing would be born of dire situations, indeed. She shivered.
“I don’t think my cousin would have harmed me.” She turned her head. “At least, I must hope he wouldn’t have. His actions shocked me, but he didn’t hurt me.”
Nicholas’s mouth thinned to an angry line that she had never seen before. “Perhaps he would not have, but I don’t want you to be in a position where you test that theory.”
Slowly, she jerked out a nod. “Then how should I punch him or anyone else who dared attack me?”
“Shoot your fist out straight, twisting your hips to give the hit the most power. Try it.” He flicked his fingers toward himself.
Her eyes widened. “You wish for me to hit you?”
He nodded with a small laugh. “You won’t hurt me.”
She frowned. He was so cocksure. She threw the punch. He leaned back so her fist skimmed over his chin without fully connecting. Frustrated, she threw again, trying to mimic his movements as he easily leaned away from them. Every so often, he would adjust her fist or demonstrate a proper stance. Eventually Jane was exhausted, and she leaned over to catch her breath.
“That’s enough for tonight,” Nicholas said with a smile. “You are a natural. You could make a mint in the underground. I’m sure men would pay to watch you fight.”
Jane couldn’t help but laugh at the absurd idea of fighting for a living. “But you were correct, I didn’t hurt you. In fact, I hardly hit you at all. So how could I manage to hurt a man of your size who was intent on causing me harm?”
He shook his head. “I knew your attack was coming. I helped plan it. Many women don’t even think to fight back when attacked. Someone who was intent on hurting you would not be ready for it. If you do land a punch, be sure to follow it up with another attack. A kick, a second punch. And then run.”
Again, she shivered. “I hope I will never have to use those skills.”
He cupped her chin and tilted her face toward his. Those bright blue eyes drew her in, forced her to continue staring when the intensity within made her want to pull away.
“I hope so, too,” he whispered. “Now, do you have any questions?”
She shivered. “Why did you tattoo yourself?”
He froze, and his hand drifted away in surprise. “On my back?”
She nodded, a flush darkening her cheeks. But with Nicholas there was no use trying to pretend away the question.
“That was one thing I did not expect you to ask.” He chuckled.
She shrugged one shoulder. “I have wondered, that is all. I’ve not seen anything like it.”
“Have you had much occasion to gaze upon half-naked men?” he teased, but behind the playfulness his earlier intensity remained.
She turned her face. “I think you know I haven’t.”
“And I’m pleased by that.”
He turned to show her his back and she stared at the tattoo. In the dim bedroom that morning, there hadn’t been enough light to truly see the mark, and tonight while he sparred, she had been distracted and too far away. But now she saw it was a few characters that she didn’t understand. It was done in black ink and was about the size of two of her fingers pressed together. She found herself reaching up and tracing the marks with her fingertip.
Nicholas sucked in his breath, a harsh, hard sound that echoed in her own nerve endings. Touching him only led to trouble and more…but she kept her fingers against his warm skin.
“They are Chinese characters,” he explained, his breath as short as it had been during the fight. “I met a man from the Orient who taught me some different fighting skills. The word means ‘stone,’ which was my nickname in the underground.”
Jane nodded. She had heard Rage refer to Nicholas as such a few times. “Why put it on your body in such a permanent way?”
He turned, and her fingers glided across his skin before she pulled them away, clutching them to her chest as if they had been burned. He stared at her a long moment before he replied.
“Because Stone didn’t just come from my name, Stoneworth. A stone is hard, it does not bend. It has power when wielded as a weapon.” He shook his head. “I did not want to forget that. I still don’t.”
She nodded. There was much about this man she didn’t understand, but the pain that flickered in his eyes, she did.
He moved toward her, shocking her from her thoughts. There was a purpose in his movement, a swagger that always meant he was going to kiss her.
And she wanted that. But she hadn’t yet done the one thing she had vowed to do when she arrived.
Tell him the truth. And before she allowed him to kiss her, before she forgot everything but sensation, she needed to do that.
“Wait,” she whispered as his fingers moved into her hair.
He growled a deep, low sound of displeasure, and his fingers massaged her scalp until she moaned in response.
“I-I must tell you something,” she managed to squeak out as his lips descended to find the curve of her throat.
“It can’t wait?” he whispered against her skin, setting her on fire.
She choked on another moan. “No,” she admitted. “Your—your mother. She knows the truth. She knows that I’ve been training you to be a gentleman.”
Nicholas jerked back and stared at her. “What? How?”
She flushed. Now for the difficult part. “She knows because…because I told her.”
Chapter 17
Nicholas paced restlessly, moving from one end of the room to the othe
r and only occasionally sparing Jane a glance. She remained rooted in the spot where he had taught her to punch and then had begun a far more pleasurable exploration.
She looked utterly miserable.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “As I explained, it was an accident. The way your mother spoke to me that day made me think she knew. And once I said something, there was no way out. Lady Bledsoe is a very clever woman.”
Nicholas snorted out a sound of agreement. “Oh, that she is. Damn it. I only wish you had ignored her request and told me earlier. I feel like I’ve been unarmed in a battle.”
She tilted her head. “Do you really consider yourself at war with your family?”
He stopped pacing and let out a long, heavy sigh that came from deep within his very soul. “No, just with their expectations. And with my own nature.”
Jane nodded slowly, and it was as if she did understand his struggle. Bit by bit, the noose of his brother’s life was tightening around his neck. Soon enough, there would be nothing left of Nicholas, or at least not the real him.
“I hated to lie,” she said softly. “But I was in a difficult position. I had to tell you tonight because she has plans for us both.”
“Christ,” Nicholas bit out. He sank into the closest chair. “What is in her head?”
Jane clenched and unclenched her fists at her sides, a nervous habit that betrayed her feelings, but she didn’t stop looking at him. Direct and honest. Until this slip with his mother…which he understood, knowing the marchioness as he did…honest was what Jane had always been with him. Perhaps she was the only one, aside from Rage.
“Tomorrow you will receive an invitation to a ball your mother wishes to hold in your honor.” She hesitated. “I tried to put her off the idea, Nicholas, but she would not be swayed, no matter how strenuously I argued.”
His lips pinched. He should have seen this coming. The Season was already in full swing, and she was desperate to see him back in Society’s clutches. Desperate to see him take over his brother’s place.
He groaned at that idea. “Well, there will be no refusing her,” he muttered.
Jane moved toward him a halting step, but then stopped. He found himself wishing she hadn’t.
“But we haven’t reviewed certain things nearly enough. Your clothing is perfect now, but you’re still shaky on address. We haven’t even covered the basics of dancing.” She shook her head. “You aren’t ready, Nicholas. And I apologize, for it is my fault. I have allowed too many…distractions.”
He frowned. She said the word distractions like it was poison. But what she referred to were the stolen moments they had both allowed. Ones he had enjoyed immensely.
“We are both responsible for that, Jane,” he murmured without betraying his thoughts on the matter. “You cannot take the blame for my actions.”
He sighed and forced his mind to the matter at hand. Although he hated the idea of change, he had been paying attention to Jane’s lessons. Society was a viper’s nest, but he had certainly been in more dangerous situations.
Still, Jane was correct in some ways. He was rough and he wasn’t sure he would ever be what his parents wanted him to be. What Anthony had been. No matter how many lessons he took, no matter how much time passed while he studied and changed.
“You said she had plans for us both,” Nicholas said, changing the worrisome subject. “What nefarious plot is she involving you in?”
Jane smiled as she let her gaze return to him. And, as always, he felt a surge of triumph that he had softened her somber expression. She had so few pleasures, he felt like a king when he was responsible for one.
“Nothing nefarious, my lord,” she said with a laughing lilt to her tone, though a shadow remained in her expression. “Your mother wishes to repay me for my efforts regarding you.”
“Great God,” Nicholas groaned. “I can only imagine what she would consider repayment.”
Jane looked past him toward the window, her expression and tone suddenly far away. “She wishes to reintroduce me to Society. I believe her ultimate goal is to marry me off as well as my current circumstance can warrant.”
Nicholas’s stomach jolted, a wave of nausea hitting him with unexpected force and then vanishing. He stared at Jane, standing in the middle of his parlor in her faded gown, her ruddy, dark hair mussed from his fingers, her eyes so infinitely sad. The idea of any other man seeing her vulnerability, touching her as he had, claiming her in the one way he had not…it aroused emotions in him he could hardly believe.
“She wants to sponsor you with a Season?” he repeated flatly.
She nodded. “It seems we will both be reintroduced to Society during her ball.” She shook her head. “As you said, she is impossible to refuse.”
“And why should you?” Nicholas asked, his voice hollow in his own ears. “A woman like you does not deserve to be a servant. She deserves to have beautiful gowns and dance and laugh and be frivolous. If my mother and her cohorts are successful in marrying you well, you will have all those things and more.”
Jane stared at him, and for a moment he saw a flash of pain cross her face. It mimicked his own. And while it was edifying to know she felt the same way about their inevitable parting as he did, it didn’t change that inevitability. Nicholas was working toward reentering Society, but he was far from a true gentleman. For Jane to regain her status, she would have to marry someone with established respectability.
The same was true for him. If his brother’s legacy had been damaged by Nicholas’s behavior, the strongest repairs would be done when he married a woman of rank. He knew that to be true, despite the sinking feeling it created in his stomach.
Desire was all there could ever be between them. And that desire couldn’t ever be fully realized. He was enough of a gentleman to recognize that, if nothing else.
Jane folded her arms across her chest, and Nicholas was reminded of the way she had faced off with him at the beginning of their strange bargain. A warrior woman, unafraid even in the face of his aggression and ill manners. Even then, he had been moved by her.
But now, seeing her put up that armor, it cut him. She was readying herself for their ultimate break. For the moment when they would pretend they had never met. Never touched. Never been what he had called her earlier. Friends. For somehow she had become that to him. A friend.
“Marriage is not something I can consider now,” she said, filling the awkward silence. “It is a frivolous endeavor when I have more important things to focus upon.”
“Like your brother, you mean,” he said quietly.
She nodded as she fiddled with a loose string on her sleeve. “Pleasure isn’t something I can pursue until I know he’s safe.”
Nicholas couldn’t help his mouth dropping open. “Jane—”
She shook her head to cut him off. “I know what you will say. That we don’t know anything about Marcus. But we are getting close.” Her words were wistful. “So close. I will indulge your mother, but there will be no marriage for me.”
Nicholas hated himself when a rush of joy was his reaction to her statement.
She turned away. “I must be going now. Lady Ridgefield is having a mantua maker come tomorrow morning to fit me for a gown. But I will return in the evening for our final lesson. Dancing. I don’t know how we will cover that in one night, but I’ll do my best.”
Nicholas opened his mouth, but then shut it just as quickly. If he said too much, Jane wouldn’t return. And he found he wanted her there just one more time.
“Very well. Come close to midnight, if you can,” he said. “I will be out until then.”
She gave a brief glance over her shoulder and then nodded. “Yes, I will.”
She began to move toward the door, but Nicholas called out to stop her. “Jane, is it not polite to say farewell to your host?”
She stopped midstep and slowly turned back. His heart sank. For whatever reason, tonight had put a distance between them. One he knew was fully necessary, and
yet he hated it with a passion.
“Of course, forgive me,” she said softly. Coming back to him, she held out a hand for him to shake. “Thank you for your assistance tonight, my lord.”
He frowned at her formality, but took her hand. Her skin was warm and soft beneath his rougher palm. Instead of shaking it, he turned her hand over, palm up, and lifted it to his lips. Gently he pressed his mouth to her skin, breathing in the soft scent of rosewater.
“Good evening, Jane,” he said softly before he let her go. “I shall see you tomorrow.”
She blinked a few times, then hurried from the room without further comment or explanation. And Nicholas wondered if the ache around his heart would be the same when she was gone from his life for good.
“Jane has gone?”
Nicholas looked up from the paperwork strewn across his desk as Rage entered his office.
“Yes, an hour ago. You sound surprised.”
His friend arched a brow as he threw himself into the nearest chair and stared at him. “I am. There was so much tension in the air between you, I honestly thought you might bed her.”
Nicholas bunched his hands into fists on the desk as anger flooded him. It was part upset that Rage would disparage Jane, and part anger at himself for not doing exactly as his friend had expected.
“Jane Fenton is a lady,” he growled. “One does not bed a lady. Not without offering her more than a tumble.”
“I suppose,” Rage said after a long pause.
Nicholas could feel his friend reading his every movement, his every word. It was as if they were in a fight again and Rage was determined to find the chinks in his defenses.
“All that isn’t important,” Nicholas said, trying to avoid further scrutiny. “I promised Jane I would find her brother. That hasn’t changed. I want to go back into the underground tomorrow night.”
Her Notorious Viscount Page 16