by Jane Lark
“I should prefer to ride.” She gave him a shallow, almost hopeful smile. “I have not ridden in an age. Violet does not care for it. She had a nasty fall when she was a child.”
“A ride then,” he agreed, his eyes scanning her face again, wondering if there was something he was missing. But he could not really tell when her face was in darkness. “At three?”
“Yes.” Her voice was breathless.
He felt conspiratorial, remembering the budding romance they’d kept secret from their families years ago. It slammed him right back into the present. He’d realised the reason she wished for secrecy after she’d thrown him off, because it had meant nothing to her, she’d been angling for Sutton and dallying with him. What am I to her now?
A friend. He heard the answer repeated in his head, spoken from her lips. He was not satisfied with it. He wanted more. He would have more.
Lord, if she was playing with him this time and angling for someone else, he’d kill her. He let her climb the steps ahead of him, then followed and led her back into the ballroom. His eyes scanned the gathering as they entered to see if anyone particularly noted their return, thinking of her reputation. For all his bold words, this was Jane. He would beg for every crumb this beautiful, incomparable woman tossed him. Already, he would be hard-pushed to ever simply walk away.
His gaze hit the current Duke of Sutton’s. The man was staring at Robert with a look of speculation.
Well, Sutton could go hang. He was married with two mistresses. He could hardly judge. The man had not even donned his blacks because he’d not been on speaking terms with his father. He did not have the moral high ground.
Robert mentally dismissed Sutton as no threat. If Jane was true to form, if she was after another man, she was after money, and she had all of Sutton’s. Everyone knew about the old Duke’s grand gesture in leaving his fortune to his pretty, young wife – gratitude for services rendered. God, it was no different to whoring, really, this ton-ish fashion of marrying someone four times your age. His gaze turned away from Sutton without acknowledgement, and he followed Jane, slipping a possessive hand beneath her elbow again.
Robert’s touch sent a shiver of sensation across her skin, a reaction to the knowledge of his strong, agile body. Yet she felt anxious too, concerned over what the attention of such a man meant. Despite her protestations to only accept his friendship, her heart still raced at his close proximity, and her skin felt hot. She was susceptible to him. Every fibre in her body craved his. She was aware of each step he took beside her, of his hip glancing hers occasionally.
Their kiss, his caress, their dance, had awakened turmoil inside her again. She was breathless still. She longed to learn the full conclusion of intimacy with him. But common sense held her back. She didn’t dare give in to him. What if he rejected her afterwards?
They entered the card room, and Jane spotted Violet. She was winning handsomely at vingt-et-un, or so it seemed from the pile of notes at her elbow. Violet caught Jane’s eye and gave her a questioning smile. Jane knew the unspoken words were, has Barrington behaved, or has he upset you?
Jane smiled in reply, to show she was not upset.
Robert had said Violet was like him and playing games with Lord Sparks. Yet Lord Sparks seemed happy with their arrangement, brief affair or not. Jane inwardly sighed; she was not like them.
In Bath, Violet’s vibrancy had drawn Jane, and when she’d come to London, even though she’d been escaping Joshua, she’d looked forward to experiencing a life beyond her reach through Violet. Yet instead Jane had cast a cloud across it, in her blacks. She was keeping Violet from her usual enjoyment of life. She did not dance with Geoff, because Jane would not dance.
Suddenly, Jane felt isolation engulf her. Even here, with the one woman she had been able to call a friend, and the one man she had ever felt close to, she still felt alone. Neither of them really knew her, and that was her fault. She felt too ashamed to share her secrets with Violet, and besides, she did not wish to cast an even greater shadow on their friendship.
Yet nor could she share her fears with Robert, he was not the man she’d known.
But if he proved himself trustworthy?
Despite his reputation, she had a sense of hope when she was with him.
But if she sought to trust the one man Violet disliked, Jane risked offending her only friend.
She was too tired of this charade to continue pretending … Surely God’s judgement upon her would be worse for lying than taking off her blacks. Their sentiment was false. She was lying. Robert was right.
She was a fraud.
If I could just persuade Violet to give Robert a chance, then perhaps …
Forcing a smile, she turned from Violet to Robert and proposed they indulge in the game of whist Robert had suggested earlier.
Violet agreed, but insisted on pairing men against women, stating she wished to thrash Lord Barrington, but would dislike thrashing Jane.
Robert concurred with a hard smile.
Jane knew he enjoyed provoking her friend’s animosity. There was a wicked streak which ran deep in the new Robert. Yet it only proved again how little Robert cared what others thought.
Jane took her seat, wishing she did not care. Her whole life was the whim of others.
When she looked at Robert, he gave her his charmer’s smile and winked. She knew he did it only to irritate Violet.
Jane looked at her cards, ignoring Robert’s and Violet’s hostility. Why did she care what others thought?
I am going to do it, she decided suddenly, relief sweeping in. She would stop hiding behind her blacks.
If the ton cut her, so what, let them. As soon as she had decided how to resolve this thing with Joshua, she would leave town anyway. She need not care what people said.
An hour later, having successfully trounced the men and ending several pounds the richer for it, Jane left them to refresh, in company with Violet.
“Where did you and Lord Barrington disappear to?” Violet whispered as they climbed the stairs to the second floor.
Jane felt colour rising on her skin. “We walked in the garden.”
“And?” Her friend persisted.
“We talked.”
Violet’s eyebrows lifted. “My dear, a man like Barrington does not just talk.”
“No.” Jane’s blush rose by degrees. “But he has agreed we shall just be friends.”
“Friends?” Violet gripped Jane’s arm and leaned close so her voice would not carry. “Are you sure that’s wise, Jane? I mean, with Barrington?”
“I know you disapprove, but we were close as children, and he … ” Jane stopped and breathed in, her mind racing through how to describe her feelings for Robert. He made her feel young, safe, wanted, she liked him, regardless of the risks. “He makes me feel better, Violet. I like his company.”
Violet was speechless for a moment, and her gaze held Jane’s. She was Jane’s only friend. If Violet truly disagreed with any association with Robert, it could cause a rift between them.
Violet sighed then answered. “It is your life, Jane. I shall say no more, but if you need to talk, I am always here for you.”
Jane gripped Violet’s hand and squeezed it. “Thank you. I could not wish for a better friend. I am grateful, Violet, and … Violet, I have decided to give up my blacks.”
Chapter Eight
When Robert arrived, Jane was watching the street from the drawing room, and she rushed downstairs, reaching the hall just as he stepped across the threshold. She felt good today, still much in his charity after his excellent company of the night before. Even Violet had conceded their game of whist had been fun.
“You look well, Jane.” His smiling eyes made a quick sweep of her attire. Her riding habit was a very dark green with black frogging. She’d not bothered renewing it with her mourning attire. She’d never had a reason to wear it, and it was already dark. She wore the matching mock-up of a gentleman’s hat at a slight angle, its thin gauze veil c
overing her face. She smiled.
She knew she looked well in her habit. She also knew how scandalous her behaviour would be viewed over the coming days. She and Violet had spent the entire morning shopping for a new wardrobe.
“Thank you, my Lord.” Jane bobbed a slight curtsy, hearing the bright note in her voice.
His smile tilted sideways, as if he speculated on the reason for her change in mood.
She lifted her shoulders, shrugging in answer to the challenge in his eyes.
She felt a little like Violet today, light, confident. The power of the decision she’d made had filled her with a boldness which had never been in her nature.
A look of roguery glinted in his eyes, and his lips lifted in a wolfish grin.
Jane tapped her riding whip against her skirts, ignoring his rakish behaviour, and walked past him to the door, stealing a sideways glance at him as she did so.
Lord, he looked good today, too. His hessians and tight buff unmentionables extenuated every muscular curve in his thighs and calves. His redingote was cut to the line of his broad shoulders and tapered to his narrow waist, outlining the slender hips his unmentionables hugged. The man was too handsome for a woman’s health.
“You’re ready?” he prompted, following her.
“Ready apart from my horse; Violet’s groom is bringing her about.”
“Lady Rimes did not decide to join us?” There was a teasing note in his voice.
“You need not mock, my Lord. Lady Rimes is, in fact, in excellent humour with you today, having trounced you so thoroughly at whist. You may even have an invitation to take tea after our ride if you continue to be upon your best behaviour.”
He laughed, and she smiled in the image of his favourite mocking look. Narrowing his eyes, he shook his head at her in silent reproof.
“Your Grace, if you will allow.” He held out his arm, and she took it as she heard the mare being led out. They stepped out into bright sunshine.
The sky was clear, not a single cloud could be seen, and the world felt like a brighter place. They descended the few steps to the pavement, then Jane let go his arm, walked to her chestnut mare, and patted its neck.
It looked a sprightly thing from its impatient steps. It was really a carriage horse, but had taken a saddle before.
“Here.” Combining his fingers, Robert formed a step for her. The gesture made Jane’s heart ache. He’d done it a thousand times when they were young. The sole of her boot pressed into his grip, and he lifted her weight, boosting her into the saddle. The groom handed Jane the reins as she shared a conspiratorial smile with Robert. He had remembered, too. She knew it from his look.
He left her and set a foot in his stirrup then hoisted himself up into his saddle with ease.
Reaching for his reins, he ordered his groom to follow at a distance.
She was far beyond needing a chaperone, and yet, it was comforting to know he thought of her reputation.
“Shall we progress?” He smiled, waving her forward.
She nodded, tapped her heel, and touched the whip against the animal’s flank, holding the reins tight to ensure the feisty mare knew who was in charge. Robert lifted into a trot beside Jane, rising in his saddle.
Hyde Park was not far, but the streets at this hour were busy, and she found her attention totally absorbed by the traffic and keeping her mare in check. It meant they shared no conversation, yet she doubted Robert would have heard her anyway over the ringing sounds of hooves and carriage wheels on the cobble.
When they reached Hyde Park, she passed through the gates with relief.
Instantly, Robert stirred his black stallion into a canter.
Jane followed.
He rode on, setting a distance between them and the general crowd.
It was earlier than the fashionable hour, and yet, there were still a number of carriages and riders on the ring.
Excitement stirred in Jane’s blood, and the mare felt it, before Jane had even kicked her heel the animal launched into a gallop. Jane leaned low over its neck and gave the mare her head, thundering across the open grass towards the Serpentine. Robert galloped beside her, the thuds of their racing hoofbeats pounding on the ground. They’d ridden like this many times before. She thought of the day things had changed between them.
Robert had come home to visit his parents for Christmas. It was his first year at Oxford. Edward, his younger brother who’d been at Eton, had stayed with a friend. She had ridden to Farnborough as soon as she’d heard Robert was back, and nagged him to go out riding with her. The three of them had always loved riding at full tilt through the fallow fields.
As soon as she’d seen Robert that day, she’d sensed a difference in him. He’d grown up. Truthfully, she had been a little in awe of the handsome, cultured youth who was becoming a man. Yet he’d not denied her. He’d agreed and acted as though nothing had changed. But it had. She’d known it. He’d looked at her differently. His gaze had swept over the fit of her long riding habit, and she’d realised then that during the last weeks he’d been at university, she’d grown, too.
Together they had ridden out, and she’d kicked into their normal gallop, laughing as she’d pulled ahead, teasing him across her shoulder. She’d not paced her mare for an approaching wall, and the animal had jumped awkwardly and landed heavily, unseating her. She could remember the impact even now, as her back hit the frost-hardened, cold, unrelenting ground. It had forced all the air from her lungs, not knocking her unconscious, but shaking her significantly. The next thing she’d known, Robert’s stallion had flown over the wall beside her, almost over her, and he’d leapt from the animal, his expression sheer terror.
She’d always wondered since, if they’d not had that shock, would what happened next have come to pass?
He’d dropped to his knees and leaned over her, one hand on the cold ground as his other had followed the lines of her limbs, skimming swiftly across each bone and joint checking for injuries. Then his hand had fallen on to her hip.
Her breathing had been quick and she’d seen his eyes suddenly change. They’d darkened, and his look had become fixed. She’d seen longing, relief, and uncertainty. Then his fingers had slipped to her breast over the cloth of her habit, and his mouth had descended to hers, urgent and needy. It had been the kiss of youth. It had borne none of the skill his kisses did now, and yet, it had stolen her very soul. She’d given everything she was to him that day. From then on, their rides had become a means to an end, the opportunity to seek time alone.
Each time he’d returned during the holidays, they’d sought each other out, developing dozens of ruses and excuses to meet and lose poor Edward, keeping their lovers’ trysts a secret from everyone else, because she’d been afraid of their parents’ reaction.
It was heaven, until the day he’d come, full of expectation and hope, to ask for her agreement to speak to her father and request her hand in marriage. Her world had already been shattered by then. She’d been promised to Sutton. She’d told Robert it was too late. Her father had already agreed to her marriage to the Duke.
Robert had not even stayed to speak of it. He’d not offered to help her seek a way out. He’d just walked away without a word and not looked back as he’d mounted his horse, kicked his heels, and ridden off.
Through the intervening years, she’d told herself he’d been too young. It was foolish to expect him to know how to help. How could he have risked offending his father? He might have lost his inheritance. After all, her father had no title, and Robert was to be an earl. Yet, in her heart, she’d always felt it was because he’d not loved her enough to take those risks and steal her away.
But these thoughts were making her morbid again. She refused to be morbid today.
Robert raced in front, the stallion’s longer stride giving the animal a head’s advantage.
Jane’s attention was diverted by an open landau crossing their path a distance away. She slowed her mare and straightened up when she saw its occupant,
the tenth Duke of Sutton’s wife, Emily, with her eldest daughters, who were near Jane’s age. The woman had spoken barely two words to Jane in over half a dozen years.
Jane’s mare now standing, Jane watched the woman stick her nose in the air and turn her head away.
Emily endlessly spurred Joshua, not that he needed spurring, but Jane knew Emily’s bitter accusations only made Joshua worse.
Jane had heard her taunting her husband, accusing him of letting Jane usurp his position.
Emily had said Jane had spoken against Joshua to his father, deliberately trying to steal Joshua’s inheritance.
Jane had never done so, and even if she had, the old tyrant would never have listened to her.
She turned her horse, cutting the woman, too, and her gaze struck Robert’s.
He looked from her to the landau then back, an unspoken query in his eyes.
She ignored it. She would not let thoughts of either of the Sutton men spoil this newfound rush of freedom.
“Walk on,” she said to the mare, clicking her tongue in command as her heel urged the animal forward. Robert’s larger beast slipped into stride beside her.
“Sutton’s wife?” he said.
She nodded.
“I take it she is not your admirer?”
Jane smiled. “No,” she said then shrugged. “The woman is a bitch.”
A deep laugh left his throat.
Jane felt the woman’s stare burn into her back and fought the urge to look.
“Good grief, you’ve changed,” Robert teased. “I never thought to hear you curse. The saints shall be turning in their graves. Jane Coates, a sinner. Who would have known it of such a prim and proper, perfect little girl?”
His words chased out a brief laugh. It was true. The Jane of her youth had been a sheltered child. She’d seen the world through the eyes of innocence.
She smiled at him gratefully. She knew he’d deliberately sought to dismiss her thoughts of Emily. He must have seen that it hurt her. She tried to pretend it did not, but it did. “Whereas you, my Lord, are an out-and-out sinner. You were then, and you are now.”