Lord Lansbury's Christmas Wedding

by Helen Dickson

  He recalled her incredible passion when she had lain in his arms, her sweetness, how she had driven him mad with desire. She was like a drug to his senses that he could not name, but could not get enough of. She had fed his hunger and ever since she had left, a dull listlessness had followed him. There was something in Jane that calmed him, that moved him imperceptibly away from the misery which had caused him so much pain and desolation in the past.

  Never had he been so vulnerable. He had not stopped wanting her with a torturous, aching want that seeped into the deepest parts of his body and soul. It was fatal to want her. But he did. He wanted to look upon her face, to touch her and to kiss her, to lose himself in her body and warmth. Yes, he wanted her, and until he had had her again he doubted he would get any peace at all.

  For most of his life hate and anger had kept him going. He had fed on them for so long that they were the only emotions he recognised, the only ones he still knew how to feel. But Jane Mortimer had done the impossible. She had brought him peace.

  When he thought of his life before she had entered it, he realised how empty it had been. Colourless. And then she had come and suddenly he felt feelings he had never believed existed and saw things he had never seen before. She had resurrected a part of him that had been dead for many years and given him a reason to look forward to the future rather than flounder in his past. She gave him friendship and the strength to face himself.

  Without her he realised how much he missed her, how much she had come to mean to him. Did he love her? he asked himself. Was he suffering from that affliction he had decried since Lily?

  Whatever it was, he knew he could not live without Jane. And so, driven by need and desperation and the desire to look upon her face again, he left for London.

  Chapter Ten

  Caroline was delighted to have Jane back in London, but she was surprised when Lord Lansbury paid her a visit when Jane was not at home. What he had to say concerning his proposal of marriage to Jane concerned her and she was curious as to why Jane had not mentioned it.

  What he told her was confirmed when she received a letter from Lady Lansbury later on the same day. Lady Lansbury was involved in a charity event that Caroline was arranging and knew she was looking for a venue. Lady Lansbury wrote telling her that she would be happy to put Lansbury House at her disposal. It would be ideal for what Caroline was looking for and would generate a good deal of interest.

  Caroline was indeed thrilled by Lady Lansbury’s generosity, but troubled when Lady Lansbury went on to give her a brief account of what had transpired between her son and Jane before Jane had left Chalfont.

  * * *

  When Jane came home Caroline told her about Lady Lansbury’s generous offer for the charity while withholding what she had divulged concerning Lord Lansbury’s proposal of marriage. She didn’t want Jane to think they had been gossiping behind her back and would like to hear Jane’s account of what had taken place.

  ‘Lord Lansbury told me that he has proposed marriage to you, Jane,’ Caroline said when Jane returned home.

  ‘He also told me how sudden his proposal had been and how he would like to court you in the proper way. I was very surprised, I don’t mind telling you. You didn’t say anything. Should I congratulate you? Are you unofficially engaged to Lord Lansbury?’

  Jane was astonished. ‘Certainly not. If that was indeed the case you would be the first person I would tell. But there is nothing to say. Yes, Lord Lansbury did propose marriage and my refusal was emphatic. Oh...’ she gasped, anger rising up like flames licking inside her, spreading up her limbs ‘...the arrogant, overbearing... How dare he come to you and speak of this? How humiliating.’

  Caroline gave a wry smile. ‘I take it that there is no romance, then, because if there is I will insist you tell me every single detail if I have to wring it out of you. But I can see by the look on your face that you do not want to marry him.’

  ‘No, I do not, so please do not counsel me on the wisdom of my refusal and tell me how foolish I am to refuse an earl.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of doing any such thing. You are a grown woman with a mind of your own. Had you accepted his suit, then as your aunt I would have an obligation to you. I would be impelled to provide you with some counsel. But since there is to be no betrothal I wouldn’t be so indelicate as to enquire about your reason for turning him down. Besides, being a countess would be a huge responsibility. I can understand your reluctance to take on such a role.’

  ‘Exactly. My background is so significantly lower than his. My connections, though respectable, are hardly worthy of an earl. It all points to my complete lack of suitability to be a countess.’

  ‘Lord Lansbury doesn’t think so—otherwise he would not have proposed marriage to you. Have either of you mentioned this to Lady Lansbury?’

  ‘I certainly haven’t. As far as I am concerned the matter is no longer an issue.’

  ‘I don’t think Lord Lansbury thinks that,’ Caroline said, watching her closely. ‘He seems to care for you and he isn’t the kind of man to take no for an answer. Do you truly think he will walk away and let you go?’

  A worried frown puckered Jane’s brow. ‘I did. Now I’m not so sure.’

  Caroline studied the violet eyes regarding her solemnly from beneath a heavy fringe of dark lashes and asked the question that had been plaguing her ever since Lord Lansbury had left the house, for she was not convinced by anything Jane had told her. ‘You have feelings for him, don’t you, Jane?’

  Jane looked down at her hands resting in her lap, her throat aching with the tears she had refused to shed. She nodded, unable to deny it. ‘Is it so very obvious, Aunt Caroline?’

  She smiled. ‘It’s written all over your face.’

  Jane gave her a wobbly smile. ‘Oh, dear. I thought it might be.’

  * * *

  It was quiet and Jane was sorting through some drawings and photographs. Finn had gone to the British Museum to meet with the curator. Absorbed in her work, the sound of the door to the street opening made her look up. It couldn’t be Finn back already. Getting off the stool, she removed the dust-grimed apron from about her waist and walked into the adjoining room, shocked out of her reverie when she saw Christopher. The bitterness of their parting sprang instantly to the fore.

  She was wishing it had never happened. Or at least, she was wishing she could wish it had never happened. She had sworn to herself that she would put the matter from her mind, set it aside like a dying flower. She had believed she was managing so well, playing her part so well.

  Until now.

  And now her body was heating up because she could not forget what they had done in the folly that day. She wanted to think about it, linger on it, close her eyes and squirm with pleasure at the thought of those hot, blissful moments they had spent together. She wanted to dwell on each and every glorious detail.

  Lightning seemed to scorch across the space between them, burning, eliminating everything in its path. Everything was obliterated but that invisible physical force searing through her body, so that she felt her flesh throb in agony as every nerve sprang to a trembling awareness of him—and instinctively she knew it was the same for him.

  An unbidden flare of excitement rose up in the pit of her stomach, followed quickly by dread when she thought of their last bitter words and a stirring of anger when she thought of his visit to Aunt Caroline. Warily she watched him, looking at him nervously, wishing she could cool the waves of heat that mounted her cheeks—wishing she could run away.

  Since his visit to Aunt Caroline she knew, of course, that he would come eventually. But why had he come? Had his feelings changed towards her? At least in her own environment she was better equipped to protect herself against him and his demands. Somehow she forced herself forward, her head held high.

  ‘Christopher! You take m
e by surprise.’

  Christopher stood with his back to the window through which the sun was shining, his face partly in shadow, the light gleaming on his dark hair. His mouth was a firm, grim line and there were shadows under his tumultuous eyes. He seemed taller than she remembered, bigger and more splendidly dressed, more magnificent. More intimidating even than on the first day they had met, more brooding, more remote. She dropped her stare, pained by the sight of him and a fleeting memory of the feel of his bare skin against hers.

  ‘Yes, I can imagine,’ he replied.

  She stood utterly still, and with her dark eyes, which were so wide and solemn, she had an ethereal quality. Like a free spirit she confronted him, her head poised at a questioning angle, her hair tied back from her face with green ribbon. But there was a shadowed hollowness to her cheekbones. She was unaware that Christopher’s heart took a savage and painful leap at the sight of her, that she seemed like someone he had never seen before, looking more at home here surrounded by antiquities than she had ever been at Chalfont. The aquamarine gown she wore was enticing and yet demure—the loose wisps of hair that framed her slightly flushed face set off her heavily fringed eyes and finely sculpted features, giving her a softly vulnerable appearance.

  Suddenly he said, ‘You look like a temple goddess about to be sacrificed to the bloodthirsty gods.’

  ‘You mean I look terrified?’

  ‘Panic-stricken.’

  He crossed the room, his eyes never leaving hers, and Jane’s heart leapt. She couldn’t believe he had come. Had he missed her? Had he had a change of heart? Was that why he had called to see Aunt Caroline? Did he love her after all? She barely dared hope.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I’ve come to see you. What else?’ His tone was short, imperious, as though in reproach, and his eyes bore down into hers with cynicism. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m not with child, if that is what you have come to find out.’

  ‘That is not why I am here. But thank you for telling me.’

  ‘How are Lady Lansbury and Lady Octavia?’

  ‘They are well, although I have to say that Octavia is missing you.’

  Jane felt her heart wrench. ‘I see. I’m sorry. When Lady Lansbury has the time she must bring her to see the exhibition. I know she would enjoy seeing the photographs.’ Turning away from him, she walked back into the room where she was working, pausing by the table littered with photographs and the like. He followed her, glancing at objects on display around the room with interest.

  ‘What is it you want, Christopher?’ she asked, hoping he would tell her he couldn’t bear being apart from her, the remembrance of the time they had spent in each other’s arms being how he’d had the ability to render her defenceless, causing her to fling caution and reason to the four winds.

  ‘I wanted to see you, but I had to come to London anyway. Attending Parliamentary sessions do take up a considerable amount of my time—and I have several business commitments that cannot be attended to at Chalfont. My mother is to come to London shortly. She is involved in some charity event being organised by your aunt. She has offered to put Lansbury House at her disposal.’

  ‘So I understand. It is indeed generous of Lady Lansbury. Aunt Caroline raises funds in many ways for her charities and she makes it her business to know the names of wealthy people she can approach for monetary contributions. You must think her terribly mercenary to go around trying to extract money from people like that, but it’s because she cares deeply for those less fortunate. Especially children. She is always hungry for money and is not afraid to say so.’

  ‘Then we must make sure to invite those with deep pockets.’

  Jane became still, facing him squarely. ‘I know you called on her. She told me.’

  ‘And I can see you are angry with me.’

  She was angry. She was trying to harden herself against him, but how could she when her feelings for him were still so raw? ‘I did not take kindly to you going to my aunt and telling her that you had proposed marriage to me when I refused you. It is clear to me that you hoped she would countenance your suit.’

  ‘Yes, I went to her. As your closest relative I told her of my desire to marry you. I was hoping to get her on my side.’

  ‘Aunt Caroline doesn’t take sides, and if she did I would be the one she would support.’

  ‘Naturally—being family. I know it is not necessary—you being of age, you understand—I was merely seeking her permission to court you in an honourable fashion. I did not tell her we were betrothed.’

  ‘Because we are not. I have made my decision. Why will you not accept it?’

  ‘Because I can’t stop thinking of you. I’ve missed you—more than you realise. I remember the times we have talked—the time we made love,’ he said, his voice low and fierce and wrenching to hear. ‘I remember everything about you—the softness of your flesh, the way you responded to my touch, to my kiss, the way you filled my senses until I was unable to think. Yes, Jane, I remember everything. I swear I will make you remember.’

  ‘Please stop it.’ Her face was flushed under his watchful gaze. Despite his words, she had not forgotten their time together in the folly, not anything about him, and she could not believe he could think for a moment that she had. Memories of him were etched into her brain like carvings on a stone. ‘You are trying to provoke me. It is cruel—saying such things to me when we both know it is only your determination to have your way that impels you to say them.’

  ‘I take all the blame for what happened between us. I knew what the result would be, but I could not stop myself from making love to you anyway. Afterwards my whole concern was for you—that I do the honourable thing. I assumed that living at Chalfont as my wife would be enough. I see now that I should have chosen my words more carefully.’

  ‘You were being honest. I would ask for nothing less. You may have meant well by speaking so plain, but somehow it seemed to me like the worst insult of all. I do not want to marry any man if it is all for duty and consideration.’

  ‘I know I’ve hurt you and I’m sorry. It was certainly never my intention. You call me cruel when you are equally so when you will not allow me to make amends. I will not give up on you, Jane. I am determined.’

  ‘You are persistent, I grant you that.’

  Looking down at the table where she had been working, absently he picked up one of the drawings she had been assembling and scrutinised its content. After several moments his mouth slowly curved in a lopsided smile and one sleek black eyebrow lifted as he dragged his gaze from the drawing to her face.

  ‘So, this is what you get up to when you are working. Shame on you, Jane.’

  Too late she realised what it was. How careless of her not to have turned the drawing over, she realised, knowing there was no way to hide it now. It was of a Greek fresco with the image of men and women copulating, which was nothing out of the usual. Jane was used to seeing such things and after her initial curiosity they failed to affect her. But seeing them in Christopher’s hands and the way he was carefully examining the drawing, remembering the time in the folly and their own lovemaking, she could feel the warmth spreading through her body, the warmth she felt every time she thought of what they had done.

  She tried to take the drawing from his hands, but he held on to it.

  ‘I would like to take a closer look.’

  ‘Why would you?’

  He chuckled. ‘So that I can try to understand what it is that keeps you captivated by this kind of work. I think I’m beginning to understand. Are these figures Greek gods? Perhaps you could instruct me on the academic aspects because I confess to being bemused. What I see are men and woman making love. It is clear the artist had great skill, so is this fresco of purely historical interest or to do with the merit of the artist?’ He raised his head, hi
s eyes locking on hers, knowing precisely what he was doing and the effect his words were having on her. ‘What is your opinion, Jane? Your intellectual opinion.’

  She stared at him as hot colour flushed her cheeks. ‘I—I don’t have one—at least, not one that I can explain to you.’

  ‘I don’t believe that,’ he said, looking down at other drawings on the table. ‘These drawings are of an erotic nature. You must be moved when you look at them. The sensuality cannot be ignored—but then, I expect you look at these pictures—and the real thing—with a purely academic interest.’

  Jane’s cheeks burned as he looked at her. ‘I am not a qualified antiquarian,’ she said quietly, turning away from him. All she could think about were the images on the table and the man standing next to her.

  ‘Maybe not, but you are not without experience.’

  ‘I deal with this sort of thing all the time. How can I not be moved? I am not as cold and unfeeling as you seem to think,’ she retorted, unable to pretend an intellectual interest when there was this pulsating hunger in her body that made her skin burn and her knees go weak. Turning from him, she attempted to move away, but he put his hands on her shoulders to keep her there.

  ‘I believe you, Jane,’ he said quietly, lowering his head close to her face so that she could feel his warm breath on her neck. ‘After all, having experienced the real thing, I imagine your work in matters such as this has taken on a whole new aspect.’

  His words carelessly thrown on her already roiling emotions ignited like oil thrown on to a fire. As she spun round to face him he was forced to release his grip on her shoulders. ‘I admit it. I am neither cold nor indifferent. And, yes, things have changed since—since I left you... What do you think I am? I am not made of stone. I am not without feeling.’

  ‘You cannot blame me for wondering after the way you left Chalfont. You hide your feelings well, Jane.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean I don’t have them,’ she replied in a shaky, indignant voice. ‘I have desires and needs just like any other woman. How could you think I do not?’