by Julia Parks
b
As they entered the Upper Assembly Rooms, a country-dance was in progress. It had been over a year since Jane had attended one of Bath’s assemblies, but it was as if the clock had been turned back. The last time, she had been with Cherry, surrounded by young men vying for Cherry’s next dance. And Jane had been forced to play duenna, an unenviable job.
But tonight was different. Jane on the arm of an eligible bachelor, in company with his mother, was an entirely different matter. She couldn’t help but be pleased by the looks of envy in other ladies’ eyes as they progressed around the ballroom, speaking to friends and acquaintances. It was not a common occurrence for Jane. Oh, she had been envied for her wealth, her poise, or her social position before, but tonight produced a different effect. She had a glimpse of the power women such as Cherry possessed. It was a heady sensation.
But the pleasure she gleaned from such envy was short-lived. Her old lack of confidence resumed, and she was left to wonder and doubt.
Why was she on the arm of Lord Devlin? Why had he singled her out? He was handsome, charming—when he wished to be—and appeared to be wealthy. His future held an earldom, so he certainly wasn’t trying to raise his social status.
Perhaps, whispered a frail, inner voice, he is in love with you. At this preposterous thought, she raised her eyes to his.
But his lordship’s attention was elsewhere. She followed his fixed stare to a silvery young matron of average height and a slim, girlish figure. Her décolletage was so low it seemed her ivory breasts would escape at any moment. Drew had stopped, as if too infatuated to take his eyes from the fairy-like vision before them.
And Jane found she couldn’t face the desire in his eyes, not when it was directed at someone else. She murmured something about the ladies’ withdrawing room and vanished in the opposite direction.
Jane stopped and looked across the dizzying array of colourful dancers. She could neither hear their words nor see the viscount’s face. She could only see the sensuous beauty, her long fingers resting on Drew’s shoulder. And that frail little voice within her cowered, promising never to raise such hopes again.
Jane lifted her chin and pasted a smile on her face. He would never know how close she had come to believing in him.
b
Drew turned to follow Jane, a frown wrinkling his brow.
“Drew! Dearest Drew! How are you?”
“Lady Cynthia, you are unchanged after all these years. What is it? Ten? Eleven?” Drew sneered at the lovely vision. He noted with grim satisfaction the brief flash of hardness in her eyes.
Then she giggled. It was the same tinkling sound that had so intrigued him at the tender age of nineteen. Now, the sound produced a cold chill.
He bowed and turned away but her delicate, ringed fingers touched his sleeve. He looked into her eyes—eyes that now glistened with unshed tears. She was a beautiful and accomplished actress.
“Perhaps we could talk, Drew? A dance?” she breathed.
A waltz was beginning. He scanned the room for Jane, but she was nowhere to be seen. So he nodded.
He took her in his arms, holding her very properly. They made a handsome couple with her silvery-blond hair and alabaster skin and his dark hair and tanned complexion.
“I have grown up, Drew, changed from that horrid debutante who treated you so cruelly.”
Her voice was so quiet he had to bend his head to catch her words. Across the room, he spied Jane smiling at Mr. Primrose as though he were a long lost beau.
“I have grieved so over the pain I caused you, dearest Drew.”
“Is that so? I understand you are on your second husband. Ah, no, I forgot. My condolences, Lady Cynthia, on your late husband’s death. Six months ago, wasn’t it?”
She stiffened in his arms; then she purred, “But it was you I dreamed of when the lights were out, my dearest.”
A false, merry smile lit his face, as Jane swept by in Mr. Primrose’s arms.
Drew was enjoying himself. He had known his return to England would stir the coals of old gossip. He had prepared to face this. And he had known he would one day come face to face with Cynthia, but he hadn’t been certain how he would react. His anger had long since died out, but would that youthful passion also be gone?
He looked down at her again. Not a flicker of passion, neither hate nor love. It would be amusing to let Cynthia think he was still bewitched, to exact some measure of revenge, petty though such an idea might be. But there was Jane to consider, and he was doubtful she would understand.
Drew spied Jane and Mr. Primrose who were busy laughing and talking as the music ended. He escorted Lady Cynthia from the floor, returning her to her eager admirers. Then he turned on his heel, heading for Jane.
He found her surrounded by her many friends, both male and female. The musicians were striking up the complicated Boulanger. She would come to him now. He smiled as Jane drew near.
“Lord Devlin,” she said, nodding to him and smiling as though she were highly amused by her escort’s anecdote.
“Miss Lindsay,” he responded as she continued past him.
What was going on? He frowned fiercely. A large matron in a purple turban stared at him, brows raised and lips pursed. The devil take her and Jane Lindsay!
Without further thought, Drew stalked up to the first unpartnered young lady he saw and asked her to dance. She leapt to her feet and practically dragged him onto the dance floor.
b
The next few hours were a fever of dancing and laughing. Jane thought she had never worked so hard at having a wonderful time while being so completely wretched. Drew had shared three dances with Lady Cynthia—two of which had been waltzes. He had danced with Jane once—a country-dance that kept them apart more than together. She was miserable.
It was a silent, tense carriage ride back to Laura Place. Even Mrs. Peterson must have felt the strain and fell silent after one attempt to engage Jane and Drew in conversation.
The carriage stopped in front of the town house, and the matron quickly descended. “Goodnight, Jane, my dear. I hope to see you again soon.”
“Thank you for a lovely evening, Mrs. Peterson. Goodnight.”
And then they were alone in the comfortable new carriage Drew had purchased for his mother. Jane could just see his features in the dim light from the carriage lamps. He was frowning, and his entire aspect was forbidding. He sat ramrod straight, his arms folded across his broad chest.
And earlier she had been planning to kiss him, practically seduce him! She managed not to laugh hysterically. It was out of the question now, of course. His thoughts were elsewhere. A sob, quickly masked as a yawn, escaped her. Jane began to count out the rhythm of the horses’ hooves as they took her closer to Heartland.
If he would only explain, any explanation would suffice. Perhaps this Lady Cynthia had cast a spell over him. Or even if he would make up some story about getting travel sickness when he rode backwards too long. Then he could move beside her. And if he touched her in the romantic, velvety darkness of the coach, it would break the spell the wicked fairy had cast.
But that was absurd! Lady Cynthia was not a witch. Drew was thinking about her because he wanted to do so, and Jane couldn’t change it. Perhaps Drew had been just a little bit in love with her, but Jane wasn’t a widow, an experienced matron who would be only too eager to take him to her bed. And evidently, the lady and Drew were old friends—perhaps they had been lovers in the past.
Jane was a fool. She should never have allowed herself to believe…She would simply forget about Lord Devlin! Of course, it wouldn’t hurt to write to her old friend Sally to learn what on-dits circulated about Drew and Lady Cynthia—past or present.
b
Drew was furious. At first, he had only been puzzled by Jane’s behaviour. Then the anger had overtaken his good judgement, and he had asked himself why he was avoiding the beautiful Lady Cynthia. It couldn’t have been for Jane’s sake! She was too busy to notice!
For the most part, however, it was Jane’s image that occupied his mind, images of her dancing every dance, quite gracefully, without him. No wonder she was so grateful to him for teaching her to feel at ease on the dance floor. She could dance with anyone she wished now, and evidently, she wished to dance with anyone but him. Drew refused to consider the country-dance they had shared. Jane had talked to the couple beside them more than to him. Consequently, in a fit of pique, he had danced with Lady Cynthia more often than propriety dictated.
This had certainly set the old tabbies’ tongues to wagging. But after three dances with Cynthia, Drew had been terminally bored. How had he ever been interested in such a creature? She might be able to recite one hundred on-dits, but she probably hadn’t two original thoughts to rub together. And her interest in him had become patently obvious. As though it was a sweet nothing, she must have sighed a dozen times and murmured into his ear, “An earl, fancy that.”
They turned into the gate of Heartland. A half-mile of drive and she would descend.
“I’m feeling a trifle off, sitting backwards all this way,” said Drew, moving across the carriage to sit beside Jane.
“You should have moved sooner,” she whispered, as if not daring to look up.
He raised her chin with a gentle hand.
“Drew?” she breathed.
“Shh.” He leaned toward her, and kissed her awkwardly, the angle all wrong. Time was running out. Impatiently, he pulled her onto his lap, slipping his arms about her.
As he began to kiss her in earnest, Jane’s hands crept up his chest and around his neck. Her fingers played with the dark curls touching his collar. She turned in his lap, pressing her pounding breasts against his chest. His lips left her mouth and travelled downward, leaving a trail of kisses from her chin to around her neck. He kissed her ear, his tongue teasing until Jane moaned. Then his mouth travelled down to her bare shoulder.
Locked in his embrace, Jane arched her back, as if her breasts ached to receive his attention. Drew paused. He was going too fast, too far. He should be wise for both of them. Then Jane shifted in his lap, her hands pulling his face down to those soft, white mounds, and he surrendered. His hand cupped one breast, and he kissed it, then the other. He nuzzled the fabric of the gown, coaxing forth a dark nipple. His lips descended…
The carriage slowed and came to a halt. Footmen with lanterns hurried down the steps of Heartland to light the way inside. The carriage door was thrust open.
Gathering her shawl and reticule in her shaking hands, Jane said rather loudly, “Thank you for a lovely evening, Lord Devlin, and thank you for seeing me home safely.”
“My pleasure, Miss Lindsay,” he replied, not bothering to follow her out of the carriage. Drew looked up the steps to the massive front door. There was the severe Pipkin.
What the butler would say if he saw Drew’s present state didn’t bear considering!
Then Jane was gone, and he signalled his driver to proceed.
Chapter Six
Jane lay awake long into the night, and when sleep finally overtook her, it was a turbulent rest. Even sleep could not erase the warring emotions in her breast.
She rose at ten. Her eyes were red, and her body weighed a ton. She forced down a nourishing breakfast, hoping to regain some of her usual energy. Next, she wandered out of the cosy breakfast room and stood uncertainly in the hall.
“Shall I send word to the stables, miss?” asked Pipkin, upon discovering her, hand on the bannister and staring into space.
“What? Oh, no. Lord Devlin and I are riding this afternoon, I think.”
“Just so, miss. The morning mail has arrived.”
Jane took a deep breath and turned to the table by the stairs. She shuffled the missives, pocketing one from Cherry and another from Aunt Sophie.
“I’ll be in the summerhouse, Pipkin, should anyone need me.”
“Very good, Miss Jane.”
Jane was soon settled on the chintz-covered chaise longue. A delicate breeze ruffled her hair. It was her favourite spot. In winter, the glass panels and fireplace kept the summerhouse warm and inviting. But in the spring, with the panels removed, the fragrance of flowers filled the air.
From her position, Jane could look across the garden to the house. The sight always brought a deep contentment to her soul. Today, she yawned and closed her eyes.
Not to sleep, not yet. She shut out the beauty of her surroundings so she could think about the viscount. But more importantly, she needed to investigate her own actions and motives.
Introspection wasn’t a common practice for Jane. She was the kind of person who had to be reminded that she must be freezing before realizing that she had indeed grown quite chilled. But her behaviour in that coach had surprised her. It was as though she’d had no control over her body. It was not a pleasant thought. And every time the remembrance of the way she had arched her body and pressed his face to her breast…
In all fairness, she had planned to kiss him. And due to her lack of experience, she’d had no idea a person could so entirely forget herself when passion flared. There had been that kiss in the crypt, but she hadn’t really realized what she was doing then. In the carriage, she had been all too aware, and she simply hadn’t cared. And that was a shocking revelation.
It wouldn’t be quite so disturbing if she hadn’t been angry with Drew. But she had been—angry and disgusted. And he’d offered no apology, no explanation. All he had to do was touch her, and she had been lost.
What would he have to say when he arrived that afternoon? Would he apologize for his behaviour, beg for forgiveness? The image of a contrite Lord Devlin was ludicrous, and a tired smile curved her lips. He would probably act as if nothing had occurred—no kiss, no Lady Cynthia. She certainly wouldn’t refer to either.
Finally, she slept.
b
The remainder of Lord Devlin’s night had passed more calmly than had Jane’s. He had been in the habit, through the years, of emptying his mind of disturbing thoughts in order to sleep peacefully.
He rose at eight and dressed hurriedly before making his way to the jeweller Jane employed. He was the first customer of the day, and there were no curious ears to overhear his rather strange interrogation.
Drew was somewhat disappointed to discover that Jane’s footman, Mickey, had indeed arrived at the jeweller’s to have the pendant repaired. The crime would have been much easier to solve if the suspects could have been narrowed to the people at Heartland. And, of course, his favourite theory included the guilt of Roland Havelock’s former servant.
As it was, the possible suspects were limitless. Mickey might have told any number of people that he was in Bath for his beloved mistress to get her pendant repaired. And the jeweller couldn’t recall any suspicious people in the shop who might have witnessed Mickey leaving with the valuable pendant.
When he returned to Laura Place, he breakfasted with his mother. He blessed her silently for not chastising him on his foolish behaviour the night before. She must be at least part saint.
Afterwards, he accompanied his mother to the Pump Room. She was very shortly immersed in conversation with a group of her contemporaries.
“Drew, darling! How wonderful of you to come this morning,” called a familiar voice. He frowned as Lady Cynthia glided to his side and slipped her arm through his. “You remembered I was going to be here,” she said, her voice shrill as she flashed a triumphant smile to the interested audience.
Gently but firmly, he detached her cloying hand from his arm and made her a stiff, formal bow. “No, Cynthia. As a matter of fact, I had forgotten you said you were coming to the Pump Room this morning. I merely escorted my mother.”
“How gallant of you,” she simpered, ignoring the cut he had just delivered.
“If you’ll
excuse me…”
He took two steps away, and she trilled that infamous laugh. He turned, raising one dark, questioning brow.
“I see how it is. You don’t wish to anger your little heiress. Or should I say big heiress?” She laughed and spoke in a loud aside to her small group of admirers. “Have you ever seen a female—a lady, that is, with such large—ouch! You’re hurting me, Drew!”
Drew propelled her to a lone chair against the wall. Glaring down at her, he said quietly but distinctly, “If I ever hear you, or hear about you, insulting Miss Lindsay in any way, form, or fashion, I will kill you. Not a duel, mind you. An execution, Lady Cynthia.” He pivoted and left her there, her beautiful eyes wide with astonishment and fear.
Drew waved to his mother, signalling his departure. Before he could escape, however, he spied his old friend, Giles Stanton.
“Drew, it’s good to see you are in good spirits this morning, full of vinegar as usual,” said Giles. “Thought you might have fallen prey to the divine Cynthia again.”
“Devil take you, Giles. You know me better than that.”
“Yes, besides, you and the other one were just as much a topic of speculation last night.”
“Other one?”
“No need to get on your high ropes with me, old man. Only repeating what the green-eyed tabbies were saying. I wasn’t even there. What’s ’er name? Miss Lindsay?”
“Your information is correct, Giles, and I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t speak in such a cavalier manner about her.”
“Ah, sits the wind in that corner? When may I wish you happy?”
His friend’s grin was infectious, and Drew laughed. “Not yet, but soon, I hope.”
“Excellent! I shall be your second.”
“You mean best man.”
“Now, that depends on one’s view of marriage.” Both men laughed. Then Giles said, “By the by, I had a visit from Roland Havelock this morning.”
“Havelock? I thought he’d left Bath.”