Too Wicked to Love

by Olivia Drake

  Jane could only gape at him as a giddy warmth unnerved her. A tingling awareness swept downward from breast to stomach to legs. She felt boneless, in need of support. How ridiculous, she chided herself. Certainly she had seen him unclothed before.

  But this time, his expression was as hard as frost and he looked furious. Not at all in a mood to be enticed.

  He took a step toward her. “What the deuce are you doing here?”

  Chapter 15

  “She begged us to bring her,” Keeble said hastily, eyeing Ethan’s fists. “Told us she likes this sort of event.”

  “Bloodthirsty,” Duxbury agreed, edging away. “Never would have guessed it of her.”

  “Come now, you wouldn’t desert a lady, would you?” Jane chided. She looped arms with her companions and glanced coyly from one to the other. “The fact of the matter is, these gentlemen were kind enough to escort me to the prizefight.”

  “The fight.” Ethan frowned at the crowd, the air vibrating with their wild cheers. It was so unlike Jane to make such a declaration, she might as well have said she liked baiting the mad folk at Bedlam Hospital. “Since when do you enjoy fistfights?”

  “Since now.” She purred a throaty laugh. “It’s a new experience, and I find it rather stimulating.”

  He wanted to jeer, but no sound came out. He was distracted by the way she looked at him, her gaze flitting to his chest. An involuntary response tightened his groin. Aware of his state of undress, he snatched his shirt from a hook on the wall and thrust his arms through the sleeves.

  He had always been able to count on Jane to speak her mind. But he didn’t know this new Jane, this flirty, full-breasted Jane, and that fact infuriated him as much as her unexpected presence. “You’re leaving,” he said flatly. “You don’t belong here.”

  “I’m staying,” she said with a toss of her copper-hued curls. “You just go on hitting that sack over there. Shall we proceed, gentlemen?”

  She flashed a brilliant smile at her companions and leaned toward them. Duxbury’s gaze fixed on the bodice that displayed inviting swells of flesh. Keeble almost drooled down his fat chin.

  Ethan wanted to knock their fool heads together. Buttoning his shirt, he stepped in front of Jane before she could take more than two steps toward the ring. “I want a word with you.”

  “You’ll have to wait your turn,” she said breezily. “It would be rude of me to desert my escorts.”

  “We’re more than escorts,” Keeble said, sliding his arm around her slim waist. “We are your most ardent admirers, Miss Mayhew.”

  He was half a head shorter than she, the top of his balding head no higher than her nose, and she gazed at him as if he were Romeo prattling a romantic soliloquy.

  Ethan flexed his fists. “Release her,” he stated in a hard voice. “Now.”

  For once, Keeble didn’t act with all the sense of a peahen. He withdrew his arm and curled his lips in a sickly grin. “No need to get angry, Chasebourne. We were only having a bit of fun. If you want her back, she’s all yours.”

  “But she said she ain’t your property,” Duxbury protested. “And you already have a harem in the country—”

  “Never mind that, you sapskull. Come along or we’ll miss the fight.” Keeble yanked the taller man away. Looking like a pair of mismatched bookends, they trotted to the arena, where a boy rang the bell to signal the next round.

  “Well,” Jane said brightly, looking around. “So this is where you spend your afternoons.”

  “And it’s not where you spend yours.” Ethan took hold of her arm and propelled her toward the exit. “You belong at my house, taking tea with my mother.”

  “But I must wait for Keeble and Duxbury. I came in their carriage.”

  “The coachman can drive you home and return for them later. What are you doing alone with them, anyway? Those two would ruin your reputation if you give them half a chance.”

  “They behaved like perfect gentlemen. Unlike you.” She gazed pointedly at his hand on her arm.

  Her flippant manner irked him. “On the contrary. I seem to be the only person capable of keeping you out of trouble.”

  “Then let me stay here with you. You could show me around. I’ve never been to a place like this before.”

  “With good reason. Ladies aren’t allowed.”

  “Oh, don’t be a prig.” At the door to the foyer, she came to a halt. She tucked her chin down and looked up at him, her dark lashes thick over clear gray-blue eyes. “Please, Ethan, don’t send me away just yet. Mayn’t I stay for a little while longer?”

  This impudent behavior was so unlike Jane. She nibbled on her lower lip, making him aware of how kissable it was. He wanted to haul her into a corner and test the softness of that mouth. He wanted to cup her breasts and see if all that flesh was real. It was probably padding, though he supposed she could have hidden quite spectacular assets under those shapeless gowns she used to wear.

  And why the hell was he even wondering?

  He marched her into the deserted foyer and closed the door, shutting out the noise and distractions. She was distraction enough. He couldn’t accustom himself to how she had changed, his frumpy childhood nemesis who had watched disapprovingly while he sneaked a hand up Harriet Hulbert’s skirt behind the butcher’s shop or let loose a mouse in church to make all the girls squeal. Now that he thought on it, Jane had told on him only once, when she feared he’d endangered himself in a mine. Perhaps that was the reason why he felt this bond between them.

  A bond betrayed by the change in her.

  “You can stay long enough to tell me why you came here.” His demand echoed off the bare walls like the voice of an irate father. But he couldn’t help the suspicion that nagged at him. “And don’t give me that nonsense about the fight.”

  Her gaze faltered; then she looked him square in the eyes. “How can you be sure it’s nonsense? Do you know anything about my preferences, my interests? Anything at all?”

  “Of course I do. We grew up together.”

  “But we aren’t friends. We’re merely acquaintances. Friends know each other’s thoughts and feelings.”

  “I know you. Your mother died when you were born. Your aunt raised you. And your father made you spend hours indoors, studying dusty old books.”

  “Those are facts any stranger could find out.” She tilted her head to the side and regarded him thoughtfully. “But you don’t know what I’m really thinking. You don’t know me.”

  That annoyed him. He didn’t want to believe there were depths to her he had not fathomed. It was too disturbing. Did she still yearn to be held and touched and loved? And why the devil did he feel this dark compulsion to find out?

  “Very well,” he growled. “I can’t read your mind. But I still know when you’re lying.”

  She let out a little huff of breath. “All right, then. It isn’t a coincidence that I’m here. I asked Keeble and Duxbury to show me where you go each day.” She took a step closer, gazing at him with a wide-eyed innocence. “I came because … well, I want us to be civil, for Marianne’s sake. We need to get along better.”

  He saw a dark humor in that. “Oh? Why do I suspect this sudden friendliness is a ploy to take her away from me?”

  “I don’t want to take her from you. I promise you that.”

  “Then what’s brought about this change of heart?” Disturbed by her nearness, he went to the sunny window and leaned against the sill. “It can’t be that you think I’d make a more suitable parent. I’ve never known you to speak well of me.”

  “You said you’ve reformed.”

  “But you don’t believe me. That’s why you don’t think I can raise a little girl. Do you.” He made it a statement, not a question.

  “Well. You are a rake, a divorced man, a gambler. It will be difficult to live down your reputation.” She added quickly, “Even if you have changed.”

  Ethan was still skeptical about her motives. Why did he have the feeling she was up to a secret
purpose?

  She walked back and forth, betraying a veiled nervousness, the gown skimming her willowy curves. He doubted she would meekly return to Wessex next month, leaving Marianne behind. She was devoted to the baby, that much he knew from questioning the nursemaids. Jane spent part of each day in the nursery, without fail. He couldn’t help admiring her devotion, and yet he felt a nagging suspicion that she sought to get past his guard, to charm him into keeping the baby for herself.

  To see if he was right, he deliberately goaded Jane. “I’d sooner take my chances raising Marianne myself than send her off to live with two crotchety old maids.”

  Jane’s eyes flashed. “I give her love and attention. How can she get that from a father who disappears all day?”

  “Seems to me you’ve deserted her today, too, Miss Maypole.”

  He knew she hated that name. Predictably, she bristled, planting her hands on her hips. “I would make her a good mother. You know that.”

  “I do, indeed. However, I can give her all the advantages of wealth and status. What have you to offer her but a drunken aunt and a rundown cottage?”

  “You leave my aunt Willy out of this,” she flared. “She is an ailing old woman who deserves your respect. She has nothing to do with Marianne.”

  “Forgive me for saying so, but she would set a poor example. Look at how her influence turned you into a shrew.”

  He could see Jane struggle with her temper. She pursed her lips and clenched her fists. Then she blinked several times, and the next thing he knew she’d walked closer to him, pressing her hand to his arm and looking at him earnestly. Awareness of her enveloped Ethan, the desire to pull her close and breathe in her rainwater scent. A feral cheer resounded from the gymnasium, but he barely heard it. Did she know he had a view down her bodice?

  With Jane, he was never sure of anything anymore.

  “Ethan, I don’t want to quarrel with you,” she murmured. “Truly I don’t. Let’s try to forget our differences.”

  The differences he was thinking about right now had little to do with words. He despised himself for wanting to thrust her against the wall and test the softness of her body against his. Long ago, he’d learned a harsh lesson about dallying with virgins.

  He pushed away from the windowsill and yanked open the front door. “There’s only one way to forget our differences. You go back to Wessex. I’m done trading insults with a sour old spinster.”

  * * *

  “There is no excuse for his rudeness,” the Duke of Kellisham intoned from the head of the long table. “None at all.”

  Lady Rosalind leaned over to pat his hand on the snowy white tablecloth. Candlelight flickered on her fine features. “Darling, please forget about him. Ethan is a grown man. We can no longer command him.”

  “Nevertheless, he should have joined us. It is most impolite of him to scorn the company of his family. And after the spectacle he made of himself this evening.”

  “I must concur with His Grace,” said Aunt Wilhelmina, sitting across from the countess and fanning herself with a linen serviette. “His behavior at the poetry reading was quite shocking. My nerves cannot bear all this strife.”

  Jane bit her tongue to keep from making an acid comment regarding Ethan’s disappearance. She would not sound like a sour old spinster. If the unconscionable rogue chose to boycott their little dinner party, let him.

  They had attended a soirée that evening, she and Ethan along with Lady Rosalind, the duke, and Aunt Willy. According to the invitation, it was to be a musical evening with violins, flute, and harp. But their hostess, the snobbish Lady Jersey, had announced a special presentation, a reading from a selection of Wordsworth’s latest poems.

  “Good God,” Ethan had proclaimed to all around them. “That isn’t entertainment. It’s torture.”

  A smattering of uneasy laughter had greeted his words. No one else dared make fun of her ladyship’s choice.

  While a violinist played softly in the background and an actress from a theater in Haymarket read the poems, Ethan had sat at the rear of the crowd and flirted outrageously with Lady Big Bosom, or so Jane had dubbed the raven-haired widow. She could hear their whisperings behind her, their stifled mirth, as they behaved like a pair of rowdy schoolchildren. She didn’t know how he could bear that twittering laugh or the girlish posturing. More to the point, she didn’t know how he could admire a woman like that.

  Not that she cared, really. So long as he married her.

  Surprisingly, he had returned to Chasebourne House with them instead of going off with Lady Big Bosom for a tryst. But he had declined to join the small party for a light supper and had gone straight upstairs.

  A footman set a bowl of consommé in front of Jane. She picked up her spoon and took a sip of the clear golden soup. It was difficult to swallow past the knot in her throat. After today, she felt farther from her goal than ever. It was partly her own fault. She had let him goad her into that quarrel. But how was she to lure him into wedlock if he taunted her at every turn?

  Go back to Wessex.

  His edict loomed in her mind like a threat. He saw no future for them, nothing but more bickering. He would not seek out her company, and that made her task all the more desperate. She couldn’t lose Marianne. But the possibility haunted Jane.

  She brooded through the courses of poached sole and tiny green peas, filet de boeuf and potatoes au gratin, champagne sorbet and sugared apricots. When at last Lady Rosalind stood up at the end of the meal, Jane felt as taut as an overwound clock. “I must excuse myself,” she said. “I’m rather weary.”

  “But we’re about to have Cook’s famous raspberry cake in the drawing room,” Lady Rosalind said. Her expression soft, she looped her arm through the duke’s. “Kellisham will be joining us. There is no sense in him taking his brandy by himself.”

  “Nor to miss the company of three such fine ladies.” He directed a smile at his fiancée.

  Their devotion made Jane’s heart ache. “Thank you. But I fear I should be dull company, indeed.”

  Casting a thoughtful glance at Jane, Lady Rosalind escorted Kellisham to Aunt Willy. “Why don’t you two go on and I’ll join you in a moment? I need a word with Jane before she retires.”

  “As you wish, my dear.” The duke gallantly escorted Aunt Willy out of the dining room.

  Lady Rosalind drew Jane into the dimly lit morning room next door, away from the footmen who were clearing the table, china and cutlery clinking. “You seem preoccupied this evening. I trust my son hasn’t upset you in any way.”

  “Upset me?” Jane said quickly. “Why would you think that?”

  “’Tis only a suspicion. You two seemed to be avoiding each other lately.” The countess leaned forward, her tawny gold hair shining in the light from the crystal chandeliers, her expression avid. In a whisper, she asked, “Are you having any success in your campaign to win him?”

  Jane felt reluctant to confide in his mother. So she hedged. “Ethan has made it clear he has no interest in taking another wife. He told me he shall never remarry.”

  To Jane’s surprise, the countess laughed. “Well, at least you two are talking about marriage. That is a step in the right direction.”

  “It is a step in no direction. He has no interest in me.”

  “Then why does his gaze follow you so much? Why does he stare at you when he thinks no one is watching?”

  Did he? Hope fluttered in her breast, but Jane resolutely crushed it. “He dislikes me, that’s why. He is wishing me back to Wessex.”

  “On the contrary. I believe he is fascinated by you—and by the fact that you are so different from his usual brand of female.” In a motherly gesture, Lady Rosalind rubbed Jane’s hand. “You mustn’t think anything of his behavior tonight with that woman. You see, deep down, he is a confused man in need of subtle guidance. Your guidance.”

  “My lady, obviously that sort of woman has something to attract him, something I lack—”

  “Yes. Loose
morals.” A disdainful grimace flitted over her ladyship’s face. “But we might turn that into your advantage. I would venture to guess you don’t realize how attractive and persuasive a woman you can be.”

  “I … thank you.” Jane self-consciously smoothed her shimmery turquoise skirt. The dress did make her feel elegant and strong somehow, as if she were clad in a woman’s soft armor. “But really, he and I aren’t suited in temperament. To him, I’m just…” A sour old spinster.

  “You’re a friend to him, that’s what. He knew you in childhood, and he can’t bring himself to accept that you’re all grown up.” Lady Rosalind tilted her head at a thoughtful angle. “Now, if you two have quarreled, I would advise you to go and speak to him at once. It isn’t good for the constitution to sleep on anger. And don’t think it improper to go to his chambers. You will be perfectly safe with him, considering the lesson he learned from Portia.”

  “Lesson?”

  “Why, he was forced to marry her after they were caught together. I thought you knew.”

  “No.” The revelation startled Jane. She remembered seeing him and Lady Portia on their wedding trip. From her hiding place in the hedgerow, Jane had watched them laughing and talking as their carriage passed by. “I believed it a love match.”

  Lady Rosalind wrinkled her small nose. “He was taken in by her artfulness, that’s all.”

  “Do you mean … Lady Portia tricked him? On purpose?”

  “Precisely. You see, despite his reputation, my son is an honorable man. If he were to seduce a virgin, he would do right by her.”

  Was Lady Rosalind only reassuring her? Or was she suggesting something shocking, something outrageous?

  No, Jane told herself, it was her own wayward intellect that leapt ahead to a possibility she had never before considered. She should not—would not—even let herself form the thought.