He hesitated. It would be nothing short of a miracle if she could bring Roxdale to heel in one night, given the man’s demeanor that day. And if she could, well then, Montford might be obliged to let her have her way. She was her own woman now, independent of him. There was only so much he could do to hold her back if she insisted on following her heart.
Lady Arden was right. He didn’t want to lose Jane again.
“Very well,” he said finally. “I’ll give you one night.”
She flung her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek, her eyes shining like stars. He gazed down at her, and was plunged back to a time when she’d always looked at him like that. Her prince, she’d called him, when he’d rescued her from that sordid boardinghouse in the slums.
But she’d never embraced him so warmly before. He’d been scrupulous about keeping his distance, hadn’t he? He’d never wanted to be accused of impropriety where his wards were concerned. For the first time, Montford abandoned caution. He closed his arms around her and hugged her close.
And it came to him that Roxdale was a lucky man to receive this young woman’s unstinting devotion. Roxdale was her prince now, and that was as it should be.
But if her prince wouldn’t fight for her, he didn’t deserve such a woman as this. If he did fight, well, perhaps Montford might reconsider his objections … For the good of the family, of course. Lazenby was still a rich and desirable prize no matter who was its lord.
Whatever the case, Montford rejoiced for the moment in having his little girl back. He would not willingly do anything to jeopardize this fragile rapprochement.
Giving in to impulse, he kissed the top of Jane’s head and murmured, “All will be well in the end, little one. You’ll see.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
On the evening of the ball, Jane’s fingers trembled so much, she couldn’t trust herself to attempt even a flick of the powdery haresfoot over her nose.
“Here, I’ll do it.” Rosamund took the instrument from her fingers and gently dusted a little powder here and there.
Then Rosamund stood back to examine her. “Your color is deliciously high, so we don’t need rouge. Perhaps a touch on your lips, though … There. That is beautiful. Look.”
Jane turned to stare at her reflection in the mirror. With her hair piled on her head in elaborate swirls, it looked darker, only a hint of auburn showing through. Her eyes were bright; her cheeks displayed a becoming blush. Her lips looked soft and plump and red.
“Ready for the gown, my lady?” Wilson’s tone vibrated with disapproval. Ignoring her maid’s displeasure, Jane nodded.
“This is going to be the fun part!” Cecily practically bounced up and down, heedless of crushing her sprigged muslin gown. She, too, had dressed for the ball, which ought to have concerned Jane, since Cecily was not supposed to be attending it. But Jane’s head had little room in it for anything but Constantine tonight.
Wilson brought forward the gown, a glorious swirl of crimson, cut low across the bosom. Jane had never worn such a daring garment in her life, but it matched her mood tonight. The color made her think of fire, of passion, of the way Constantine made her blood pound and sing.
Wilson threw the gown over Jane’s head. It whispered and hushed around her, the silk smooth and decadent against her skin. She held her breath as her maid set to work on the row of buttons down the back.
When Wilson was finished, Jane turned to look in the cheval glass. After weeks of unrelieved black, the flamboyant color made her spirits soar.
Rosamund beamed at her. “Oh, Jane, you are a goddess! I’ve never seen you look so radiant.”
“That color is perfect on you. Didn’t I tell you it would be?” Cecily clapped her hands and went to rummage in Jane’s jewel box. “I cannot wait to see Montford’s face!”
“I cannot wait to see Roxdale’s face,” murmured Rosamund. “Do you think he’ll dine with us this evening?”
Jane’s heart knocked against her ribs. “Let’s hope so. I want him to be there when I make my announcement.”
“Announcement?” Cecily’s head shot up. “What announcement?” She fell to rummaging again. “Ah. Here we are.” Carefully, she lifted a heavy necklace from the velvet-lined drawer. It scintillated madly in the candlelight.
“I cannot tell you,” said Jane. “It’s a surprise.”
“Well, that’s too bad of you, goosey. I won’t get to hear it because I won’t be at the dinner.” Cecily tapped her lips with her fingertip. “Unless I borrow Diccon’s livery and pretend to be a footman.”
Rosamund shuddered. “You say that as if you’ve done it before. No.” She held up her hand. “Don’t tell me the details. I don’t wish to know.”
Shaking her head, Rosamund added, “Thank goodness Tibby comes to us next week to act as chaperone. I shall relinquish that responsibility gladly.”
“You are my chaperone?” Cecily frowned. “I thought I was chaperoning you!”
“Oh, is that so? Pray, in what civilization would anyone think you an adequate duenna, Cecily?”
Jane smiled, letting her mind drift away from her cousins’ amiable squabbling. As the dinner hour came upon them, so did her nervousness ratchet up a notch.
Deep breaths. Deep breaths. She needed to calm herself. If she appeared hesitant or frightened in the next few hours, her entire purpose would be thwarted.
Constantine needed her to reestablish him in society. That’s what she’d do tonight.
The secret to carrying off anything extraordinary among the beau monde was to behave with utter unconcern at the sensation one created. Westruthers never bothered themselves with the opinions of others. She’d learned that from Montford, and from her cousins, too.
She’d need all her courage to make this grand gesture tonight, and all her poise to carry it off without a falter. For Constantine’s sake, she prayed she’d succeed.
* * *
The first guests Constantine saw upon his arrival at Montford House were Lady Arden and Lord deVere.
He bowed, unable to dredge up much by way of greeting. His heart was pounding and his guts were as tight as a drum. He didn’t even know why he was here. Perhaps some misplaced sense of obligation toward Montford? Certainly, it was not to see Jane.
“Constantine.” Lady Arden spoke in a low voice, taking him by the elbow and drawing him aside. “I trust your presence tonight means you’ve thought better of playing the jilt.”
“I wouldn’t say I’d thought better of it,” he murmured, looking about him. “Montford undertook to secure my release. Good of him, wasn’t it?”
He looked down at her. Worry and frustration shadowed her dark eyes. He regretted she’d been dragged through this mire.
In a softened tone, he said, “It will all be very civilized. You needn’t worry. I’ll behave.”
Constantine hoped he’d not be obliged to behave himself for long.
If only his brother hadn’t begged off the ball, he’d have an ally, but George loathed society affairs. Besides, George hadn’t expected to be in London at the time. He was only here now, Constantine suspected, to stop his elder brother doing something rash.
With a minatory glance at Constantine, Lady Arden allowed deVere to escort her to the drawing room. Constantine lingered in the hall. He wished he hadn’t accepted the invitation to dinner as well as to the ball. In a ballroom, it was easy to pass unnoticed, simple to escape whomever one wished to avoid.
But he couldn’t very well go to the ball without attending the preceding dinner, too. Originally, Montford had planned to celebrate Jane and Constantine’s betrothal.
Constantine sighed. There’d be Westruthers and Blacks aplenty here tonight.
“Constantine, my dear!”
He turned. “Mama! You’re here?” He moved forward to kiss her cheek. “But…” He stopped short when he saw his sister, Lavinia. “A family gathering, I see,” he said coolly, nodding to her.
“Constantine.” Lavinia accorded him an equ
ally frigid bow. Well, at least she hadn’t cut him this time. A marked improvement, some would say.
He looked at his mother, wondering what on earth he ought to say to her after all these years. It wasn’t the time or place for the kind of conversation he ached to have. Social chitchat seemed absurd.
Before he could utter another sentence, Lavinia put her hand on her mother’s arm. “Come away, Mama. They want us in the drawing room.”
His mother shot Lavinia a worried glance, then smiled deprecatingly at him. “I’ll just…”
He felt the cynical hardening of his face. “Yes, do go in.” Away from my contaminating presence.
“Constantine?” Her voice came from above. All three Blacks turned to look at her, poised up there on the stairs.
He barely heard his female relatives gasp.
Constantine swallowed hard. He had never seen anything like it, not in all his misspent days. Slowly, Jane descended, a bird of paradise floating down from the heavens, a flame to set him burning for eternity.
She wore red.
Her eyes sparkled; her skin glowed with a sheen that transcended even the magnificence of the color she wore. The vivid color picked out tawny highlights in her hair. The gown was perfectly plain, except for the graceful drape of fabric that cupped her breasts. Not many women could carry off a gown like that, but she …
The swell of her bosom made an enticing appearance above the low, unadorned neckline. Diamonds sparkled at her throat. He recalled with aching intensity that first night they’d spent together, when he’d kissed her there, the way she’d melted against him …
Fury ripped through him. What was he doing, letting himself get caught up in daydreams? They were finished. Over. Forever and ever, Amen.
He realized it was some moments since anyone had spoken. Jane paused like an actress on the stage to allow them to look their fill. Then she lifted her chin and paraded down the stairs.
Here was no princess. Tonight, Jane was Queen.
“How delightful.” She smiled graciously, oblivious of the ladies’ shock at her scandalous dress. “Constantine, this must be your mama. Do introduce us. I’ve been dying to meet her.”
Hoarsely, he performed the introductions. His mother fluttered. “How happy we are to make your acquaintance, Lady Roxdale. I don’t come to Town very often but I was most charmed to accept…” She looked about her, clearly discomfited. “What … what an elegant house this is.”
Jane took her hand and shook it, smiling warmly. “Mrs. Black. You must be very proud of your son.”
Lavinia sniffed. His mother merely looked confused. Constantine sent Jane a warning glance. What was the minx up to?
Jane turned to Lavinia. “And you, Mrs. Worth, are most welcome.”
“Did I hear correctly?” asked Lavinia. “Do you really intend to marry my brother?” She sounded as if she’d never heard of anything so ridiculous.
Jane sent him a glance under her lashes. “Ah, you are impatient as I to know the answer to that question! Now do, please, go in to the drawing room. You will find His Grace there.”
She waved her hand like a conjurer and, accordingly, Constantine’s relations disappeared.
He was left standing there, glaring at her.
She raised her brows, all elegant hauteur, except for the slightly pugnacious set to her jaw. A warrior queen, riding into battle.
He spoke softly, but his voice seemed to echo around the hall. “What in God’s name are you doing in that getup?”
“This?” She gestured down at herself, and the movement drew his eyes down the delicious curves of her body. His groin tightened. His jaw clenched.
Think of something else. Anything.
Remember how she betrayed you.
But his mouth was dry and his breathing rapid and the blood in his head was rushing south. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything or anyone before. His eyes flicked to the stairs, and his animal brain began to calculate whether they could make it up to a bedchamber before he ripped that stunning dress away from her body and made love to her against the wall.
It was torture to look at her, but if he dropped his gaze she would have won. He didn’t want to show her by word or gesture how crazed he felt. He’d already gone against Montford’s wishes and his own good sense by speaking to her at all.
A slow smile of those red, red lips made him shudder inside. She lifted one slim shoulder in a shrug. “I was so tired of dreary old black.”
What the hell were her lips doing now? Was that a … a pout?
Jane. Pouting. Good God, where had she learned all this?
She took a sultry step toward him. In a low, husky voice, she added, “You always said you wanted to see me out of mourning. Well, here I am.”
Take me.
Her eyes said the words, even if her mouth did not.
That mouth … Hot chills began again when he thought of what that mouth could do to him, had done to him. She was a siren, and he’d need to be blind and deaf to resist the call.
Remember what she thinks of you.
A fresh wave of pain gave him the impetus to break her spell. He bowed. “My lady.”
As he turned, her fingertips grazed his arm.
“Don’t!” He ground out the word. “Don’t touch me.”
But her hand closed around his bicep. A catch in her breathing told him she was as affected by that small contact as he. “Won’t you give me your arm, Constantine? Shall we go in together?”
He looked down at her. “No.”
Shaking off her hand, he strode away in the direction he’d seen the others take.
* * *
A hush fell over the drawing room when Jane walked into it. She kept her head high, greeting guests left and right as she moved toward the duke. It took every ounce of courage and determination to appear oblivious to their shock and disapproval.
When she saw Beckenham’s quick frown, her steady pace nearly faltered. But with a nod, she moved past, sending up a silent prayer that he’d say nothing to spoil the effect she was trying to create.
And now, the real test of her mettle. The duke.
When she reached his side at the far end of the room, Montford took her hand and bowed over it. As Jane rose from a deep curtsy, she scrutinized his features. They evinced no sign of the fury or disgust she’d fully expected.
After a silent moment, His Grace said clearly, “Ah, Lady Roxdale. I’ve never seen you look so well.”
His voice carried so that everyone in the room must have heard it. Inwardly, Jane staggered at the amusement in his eyes. Was this the proper, stiff-rumped duke she’d held in such stricken awe?
Of course, she’d known that whatever his private opinion, Montford would never rake her down in public over her transgression. In her wildest dreams, she hadn’t expected his support. Now she had it, she was so grateful she could have hugged him.
Where the Duke of Montford led, society would be sure to follow.
One by one, conversations resumed and Montford made Jane known to various guests she did not recognize. In all, it was to be a cozy dinner. No more than thirty at table was modest by Westruther standards.
The butler announced dinner. The crowd shifted, and as her dining partner took her arm, Jane gasped.
Adam Trent.
In consternation, she glanced at the duke. What on earth was Trent doing here? She must suppose Montford had invited him before he’d begun to make such a nuisance of himself. How unfortunate! She hoped he wouldn’t have the bad manners to make a scene.
The hope was short-lived, however. She saw Trent sway a little as he leaned down to speak with his partner. The lady did her best, but she couldn’t hide her recoil at the smell of his breath.
Jane looked around. Perhaps she ought to have a footman escort Trent from the house.
But it was too late; she couldn’t have him removed without creating a scene.
At the dinner table, she found herself seated opposite Constantine. Dishe
s were served all around her, fragrant, elegant, sumptuous. She didn’t eat a bite, simply devoured Constantine with her eyes.
She made awkward, desultory conversation with her neighbors at the table. It was too much to expect she’d become adept at small talk overnight. She did her best, however, managing the social niceties with a small part of her brain while the rest of her mind went over and over what she intended to say.
Soon, the moment she’d been awaiting arrived. Toasts were drunk. To the King, to the Queen, to the Regent, to the nation, to the host. They went on and on.
Finally, the formal, obligatory toasts ended.
Jane rose to her feet.
In a clear, carrying voice, she said, “My lords, ladies, and gentlemen, I have a toast of my own to make.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Hell and the devil confound it! What was she up to now?
Constantine had been studiously avoiding that intent, gray gaze all through dinner. Now, he couldn’t take his eyes from her as she stood there, so regal, so poised, with a liveried footman standing like a guard behind her.
When she spoke, it was in a clear, low voice. “You will have heard the news, no doubt, that I and Lord Roxdale—the present Lord Roxdale, that is—were engaged to be married.”
Her color heightened a little, but otherwise she remained calm. “I say we were engaged, because we are betrothed no longer. However, I wish to make it clear to you all that this rift between us is not Lord Roxdale’s doing. It is mine. I made a terrible mistake, one I bitterly regret. I misjudged him.” She flashed a look around the dining table, and her gaze rested for a significant moment on his mother. “I think many here are guilty of that. Guiltier than they will ever know.”
She took a deep breath. “If his lordship could find it in his heart to forgive me, I…” Her voice suspended here, and she gave a tiny shake of her head. “I love him,” she said, with a hint of defiance. “And I’d give anything to be his wife. If he’ll have me.”
Jane, Jane, what are you saying?
Resolutely, Jane met his gaze and lifted her glass. “So … A toast. To the finest, bravest, most honorable gentleman I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing.”
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