by Anna Small
She was no countess. She was barely suitable for a gentrified colonel, for that matter. If she’d ever doubted her suitability for a man such as Frederick, London had certainly assured her she was a poor match.
He had another choice. A better choice. Susanna’s winning smile haunted her mind. She would have made a perfect countess.
But Susanna had spurned his suit. She’d broken his heart because he’d returned maimed from the war. Seeing them together now, however, Jane could hardly believe Susanna was the same person of whom Lucinda had spoken. Or, perhaps his newly gained title had replaced the missing hand she’d once found so repulsive.
The audience was returning to their seats. Jane reached for the partially opened door when Susanna spoke as clearly as if she were standing beside her.
“You made the mistake of bringing her here, Freddie. You have only yourself to blame.”
Jane’s spine tingled. Her hand dropped to her side. Heart thumping, she caught her breath as she waited for Frederick’s reply.
“What else could I have done? Henry left a colossal mess, and there is poor Alice to consider. I thought…oh, what does it matter anymore? I know I’ve done wrong by her, but you must know, dear Susanna, you must know”—he gulped audibly—“if I’ve loved too much, I will accept punishment.”
“What do you propose to do, then? You’re dying of misery. It is too much to bear.”
Jane clutched her fist to her mouth. She would not cry out though her soul was rent in two. She should be grateful she could finally hear it spoken aloud, rather than relying on gossip and conjecture. Somehow, she didn’t feel very grateful.
“I hardly knew her when we married. I hardly know her now. Even after all this time.” He was silent a moment. “I fear…I fear she hates me.”
Susanna’s skirts rustled gently, and Jane imagined her clutching Frederick’s arm. Holding his hand. Stroking his brow in calculated comfort.
“She doesn’t hate you. You could hardly expect her to be happy here, in this…this situation. I am also to blame.”
He murmured something soothing. Jane fought the urge to flee. Perhaps if she feigned a headache Frederick would order his coach to take her home. He probably wouldn’t even miss her, not as long as Susanna was there.
Jeremy called to her from the end of the gallery. Not wanting to explain why she was standing outside, she pushed open the door and entered the box. She had to give Susanna credit. She didn’t even look surprised when Jane entered.
Frederick turned away, and Jane pretended not to notice his red eyes. She took her seat.
Susanna gave her a wavering smile. “Was it very crowded?”
“Yes. I stayed in the gallery.” Frederick glanced at her, and her heart melted at the lingering traces of his misery still etched on his face. “I walked to the end and…and said hello to someone I know.”
“Oh, who?” Susanna asked pleasantly, but Jane was saved from responding by Jeremy’s hasty entrance. He handed both ladies a packet of sweets and tapped Frederick’s shoulder.
“Falconbury, do me a favor and trade seats. Your seat is partially hidden by that curtain, and I do wish to take a nap through this next part.” He winked at Susanna, who laughed. Jane gave a little smile, turning her gaze toward the stage when Frederick sat beside her. Odd how Susanna didn’t mind Frederick moving his chair, especially after her grand declaration.
The music from the second act filled the theatre, the notes merging with her thoughts. Suddenly, a decision struck her, and she nearly swooned with the force of it.
She would leave London. She had no other choice. Frederick and Susanna could carry on their love affair, and Jeremy would find somebody else. Her hands closed into tight fists until her muscles ached.
Frederick leaned close, his breath fluttering on her bare shoulder. “Are you enjoying the music, my darling?” She nodded, unable to look at him. She could maintain her composure so long as she didn’t look at him. He covered her hand with his, working her fingers open until he could hold it. “Jane, is anything wrong? You’ve hardly said two words the entire evening.”
She shook her head, wanting to speak, but was afraid all she’d do was sob aloud. He slipped his arm around her, hugging her close as much as their stiff chairs permitted.
“What is it?”
“I…I received word from Amelia this afternoon,” she lied, thinking quickly. “She’s at the end of her confinement and desires me to stay with her.”
She broke away from his embrace and patted her face with her gloved hands, absorbing the tears streaming unchecked down her cheek despite her best efforts.
“Why did you not tell me? Poor darling, to have kept this to yourself.” His arm squeezed around her waist. “We’ll leave in the morning.”
“No.” The word was sharp. His eyebrows knitted in confusion. She swallowed. “I’d rather go by myself,” she said, in a softer tone. “You are quite busy, and I do not wish to interfere…”
“Interfere with what, my love? My cousin Felix can take my proxy at Parliament.”
The countess on the stage sang of her unrequited love for her husband. Her voice rang out in misery. Jane blinked. “I had hoped to stay longer than a few days.”
He shrugged. “A fortnight, then.”
“She needs me for longer. At least…at least a month.” She chewed her lip to keep it from trembling. “I will go alone. You are…too involved here.”
The buttons on his glove snagged her hair as he stroked her neck. “I’ll escort you. You must go to her.” He kissed her cheek. “Stay as long as you wish…as long as she needs you. But, Jane,” he released her to raise her face, “I need you, too.”
How did he manage to seem so thoughtful and loving after his terrible admission to Susanna? He was so gallant in his pretense of the faithful husband. “I won’t be long,” she said at last, wishing she possessed Susanna’s easy personality. “One month.”
“And then we’ll be one month closer to the country, to settle there, once and for all.”
His mouth brushed over hers. A hundred butterflies fluttered in her stomach at the touch of him. She never failed to react thus; he was her very sustenance. How she’d miss him.
She hadn’t meant to but responded with more passion than she’d wanted. The kiss deepened, and his hand gripped hers. The rising heat of his body melted through their gloves to sear her skin.
“This will be over soon,” he promised.
Susanna enthusiastically applauded the soprano with the rest of the audience. Jeremy regarded her with an expression of utmost longing and tenderness Jane had to turn away.
“She loves him so much!” Susanna cried. “Oh, how beautiful! How tragic.”
Chapter Thirty
Jane hurried to her chamber while Frederick instructed Dixon about packing for the impromptu trip to Amelia’s. She locked her door, even though her heart rebelled at the thought of keeping Frederick out. She wanted to call Sarah for assistance with her own trunk until she realized it didn’t matter. She would take only what she came with, which was very little.
She fumbled with her laces, but it was futile trying to undress by herself. She was about to summon Sarah when a knock on the door startled her.
“Who is it?”
“Your husband,” Frederick replied. When she didn’t answer, the door jiggled with his insistent rap. “Jane? May I come in?”
“No!” she cried, before she could stop herself. She stifled a sob, fighting for composure. “I have a headache and wish to sleep.”
“May I at least say good night?”
She leaned her forehead against the mahogany door. The satiny wood cooled her hot face. “Good night, then.”
His disappointed sigh filtered through the door. “I want to say it in person, if I may.”
She turned the key and returned to the dressing table, pretending he’d caught her in the middle of preparing for bed. She watched his approach in the mirror. His eyes were smoky orbs, with dark smudges ab
ove his cheekbones. A pang of guilt threatened to overcome her, until she remembered his conversation with Susanna. The guilt disappeared, replaced with something unfamiliar and cold.
He placed his hand on her shoulder. “I am sorry you’re not well. Shall I send word to your sister and tell her you must postpone your trip?”
She shook her head, grateful the mirror reflected a serene visage. “I just need to sleep.” He knelt behind her so his head was at the same level as hers.
“I wished to spend the rest of the evening with you. We are seldom alone anymore.”
His face flushed from desire, as well as too much brandy. She’d noticed a decanter in his dressing room a few days ago, but he’d dismissed her innocent question. Except for the night at Everhill when she’d found him in such an unnerving state, she’d never known him to drink more than a drop after supper. A sort of melancholia seemed to have settled within him the past few days, coinciding with Jeremy’s arrival in town.
He has a rival for her affections.
She unpinned her hair, avoiding his reflected gaze. She steeled herself against caring. He certainly did not need her sympathy. Alice was right. He had his mistress and all the drama Susanna created in their lives. She was the good wife, the country mouse. Her duty was to produce an heir and pretend blindness toward her husband’s activities.
She dragged her brush through her hair. One hundred strokes, her mother always cautioned. One, two, three…She refused to look at him. Four…five.
He deftly took the brush from her and drew it through her hair. She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to quell the sudden tremor rocking her senses. Her body betrayed her at his touch, his nearness.
She inhaled the faint tobacco scent lingering on his clothes from the other gentlemen during the final intermission, when he’d escorted her through the crowds, leaving Susanna in the box with Jeremy. They hadn’t spoken then. Other scents clung to him as well. Brandy, and—
Jasmine.
Susanna favored the summery scent of jasmine. It drifted in the air around her as she laughed, wafted behind her as she walked. Evidently, it also clung to the garments of her paramour.
The clock on the mantel chimed the half hour. It was already past one. Her eyes burned from lack of sleep and unshed tears. She sat still as the grave, ignoring the careful hand stroking her hair, as if she were made of delicate china.
As if she were Susanna.
He moved her hair aside, exposing the tender skin of her throat. She wondered if he imagined it was Susanna’s hair sliding through his fingers. If it was in Susanna’s chamber he wanted to be, and not hers.
His lips caressed her neck. She clutched the edge of the table as he pressed his chest into her back, his right arm sliding up her side and curving around her breast. She roused at the touch of his hand and almost closed her eyes in ecstasy, but pulled away before her head went the way of her heart.
“I must remove this before it wrinkles,” she choked, rising from the bench on weakened legs.
“Allow me.” His voice was husky and low, made silky from the brandy.
His fingers trailed down the back of her neck to the hooks fastening the delicate silk. The gown slipped down her body, and she bent to pick it up.
“Leave it,” he murmured.
He wrapped his hand around her hair, drawing her closer. For the first time, she looked up at him, almost afraid to meet his gaze. Afraid to see his disappointment because her hair didn’t trail down a perfect bosom in glorious sheets of spun gold. Or that her eyes were not the sharp blue of a winter’s sky.
If he were disappointed, he hid it well. His mouth eased into a tender smile. His injured arm was around her, supporting her. He rubbed her scalp, dragging his fingers through her hair.
“Headache gone yet?”
She meant to shake her head, but a sigh emitted from her tight lips. Despite the heaviness in his eyes, he seemed in good spirits. His sharp cheekbones were framed by the shadow of whiskers. His lips were as dark as the brandy whose perfume still lingered. Her heart spun around the ache caused just by looking at him. He was so handsome, so intelligent. So cultured and refined. Everything Susanna was.
And everything she was not.
She pressed her hands to his chest. Why had Lady Brewster and Alice not advised her how to resist a husband whose very presence was like water to one dying of thirst?
“Does your injury bother you?” she whispered. Perhaps if he were suffering, she could convince him he needed sleep.
He tugged at her corset laces. “The only thing bothering me now is this wretched contraption. I will submit a bill to The House of Lords banishing corsets from the kingdom. Husbands intent on complete ravishment of their beautiful wives will thank me.”
One-handed, he freed her. Protected only by her lawn chemise, she stood in the circle of his arms. A headache wouldn’t stop him now, real or imagined.
“What say you, madam,” he murmured, “to creating the next Earl of Falconbury?”
Her insides turned to water. An heir was the main thing, the most significant matter concerning him.
It’s why he married you. Alice’s voice echoed in her head. It’s your duty.
“I…” I hate you. I detest you. I love you, oh God, so much…
She pressed her face into his waistcoat, rasping her cheek on the brocade. “Yes,” she replied, her voice so faint he tilted up her chin so he could look into her eyes.
“Was that a yes?” His eyes sparkled with amusement. With triumph.
She bit her trembling lip and closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see his anymore. He mumbled something under his breath and covered her mouth with his. It was his usual habit to kiss her softly at first, rising with a sweet, maddening crescendo to passionate heat.
But not this time.
His face pressed hard against her, so his cheek blocked her nose. The delicate embroidery on his waistcoat caught in her nails as she clutched him. She barely felt the ground slip away when he gathered her up into his arms and strode to the bed, dropping her onto it and crushing her in his embrace a moment later.
Gone was the sweet sensitivity he usually showed. No gentle kisses on her collarbone, no delicate fingertips exploring every curve and valley. In seconds, he’d rucked up her chemise and bunched it around her waist. A chill hung in the air, instantly causing goose bumps to erupt over her skin. She huddled into his embrace for warmth, which was not too difficult, as he burned hotter than the fire roaring in the hearth. Her breath came hard and fast, and she tangled her fingers in his hair, straining against him as her body betrayed her. He fumbled with his flies and she felt him between her legs, naked and hard.
She tugged feebly at a corner of the satin coverlet but he seized her hand and held it above her head, leaving it there so he could tug at the top of her chemise. The fabric gave easily, and she clenched her lips to quell her rising moan as his mouth covered her breast. He moved between her legs until she gripped him around the neck, forgetting modesty. Her back arched as she pressed into every ridge and long line of his body. Tears slipped down her cheeks and into her hair, tickling her as they slid behind her ears as she gave everything she had to him.
This was why he’d married her. This alone was what he needed from her.
He filled her with a single thrust. His mouth abandoned her breast, and he kissed her neck. Each pulse, each fevered sensation from his body flowed into hers. His eyes glazed over, and he kissed her again. This time, his lips hovered above hers, barely touching. She raised her head to capture his sweet, delicious mouth tasting of honey and brandy and desire…
“Do you—think—we’re—making a baby?” His words broke with each thrust.
Alice had proven barren, and Edwin was practically a monk. All hopes for the survival of the ancient Blakeney name rested on her.
Her breath puffed out of her, ragged and gasping. She balanced on the brink, about to topple over. Despite everything, despite Susanna, she could have this one part o
f him.
“Yes,” she breathed, and he trembled in her arms. “Yes…yes…”
She lifted her legs up around his waist and drew him deep inside her. The ancient headboard banged into the wall, and she wondered if any ancestral ghosts had been disturbed.
He cried out, his voice reverberating in her head. With one last, bone-jolting thrust, his seed spilled into her womb, his hand gripping her thigh as if he would bury himself in her flesh. She whispered his name, the soul-deep torment of her heart breaking on her lips.
Chapter Thirty-One
Jane stared out the coach window, her relief almost palpable as the gray city vanished, its spires and smoke replaced with rolling green pastures and small towns. Frederick snored softly beside her, his hand in her lap. She ran her finger over his knuckles, forcing herself to remember every detail. She couldn’t bear to study his face, to see the mouth whose kisses she would never know again. His sparkling eyes would soon be looking at another.
Pressing her forehead to the glass pane, she stared with unseeing eyes at the passing countryside. The journey reminded her of their wedding day, only a few scant months ago. Her lips quivered with restrained sobs. When had everything changed? The moment they crossed the threshold of Falconbury House? Or had it been later, on his birthday, when Susanna’s vivacious laughter flooded the room and their lives? Perhaps his betrayal had been there all along, and she had been blind to it, so delirious in her newfound love to ignore Lucinda’s warnings of his broken heart and the woman responsible.
A tear slipped down her cheek. She’d been a fool to think her happiness would last forever. What was she in comparison to Susanna? Susanna’s name was uttered in his nightmares. It was she to whom he poured out his heart.
Frederick sat up with a jerk, his eyes wide open. “Hmm?”
Despite her misery, she laughed. “I didn’t say anything. You just awoke.”