by Brenda Joyce
Jane gazed at him as if smitten, ignoring the earl. She thought she heard him grinding his teeth.
The earl said not a word throughout supper. Lindley regaled Jane with stories of India and the Philippines. Jane regaled Lindley with stories of her mother and the stage. She laughed, he laughed. The earl glowered.
“I need a whiskey,” the earl finally muttered, shoving up abruptly from his chair. They had finished raspberry tarts, but it was rude nonetheless, for Lindley and Jane were still seated contentedly. Nick paused, making a caustic gesture. “My lady? Shall we adjourn to the parlor?” His tone was a mimickry of their own cultivated ones.
Lindley rose and hurried to pull back Jane’s chair. Jane thanked him prettily. The earl snorted and strode away. Jane touched her hand to Lindley’s sleeve. “It’s such a beautiful night,” she said wistfully. “It’s a shame to sit inside and smoke and drink. Wouldn’t you rather stroll in the moonlight with me?”
Lindley grinned, glancing over his shoulder, but the earl was gone. “You are either very smart,” he said, low, “or very naive.”
Jane looked at him innocently. “I have no idea what you’re referring to.”
He laughed. “If this is a game, I’m game. And if not, I’m enjoying myself immensely.” He held out his arm. Jane took it, smiling. They exited the dining room and paused in the doorway of the library. The earl’s gaze widened, then went black.
“I’m taking Jane for a breath of air, old man,” Lindley said. “Have a cigar for me.”
Under a maple tree, they separated. Jane lifted her face to the night, wondering if the earl would come after them. If not, well, all was not lost. She did like Lindley. It was exhilarating to find that she could captivate him so completely. He was handsome. Would he try to kiss her?
Her heart began to race. If he kissed her, what would she do?
She had never really been kissed before. She found she was both curious and afraid.
“You are very beautiful, Jane,” Lindley said quietly, watching her.
“And you are very handsome,” Jane said, meaning it. “And very nice.”
“Thank you.” Lindley raised his head to the moon. “Don’t judge him too harshly.”
“I don’t.”
“He’s had a tough time of it.”
“I know.”
“I think you do,” Lindley said.
“Did he …” Jane paused.
“No.” Lindley’s voice rang out, harsh in the night. “He didn’t kill her, damn it, and very little of the gossip is true. And what is true has been totally distorted.”
Jane whirled. “That wasn’t the question! I wanted to know … did he love her? Patricia?”
Lindley relaxed. “I think you’ll have to ask him that one.”
Jane came closer, to lean against the same tree. She studied Lindley as he gazed back. Then she smiled and sighed. “I never believed it, not once I’d met him.”
Lindley laughed softly. “Most people would believe it after meeting him.”
She grinned conspiratorially.
His smile faded. So did Jane’s, and the night became very quiet. Her heart began to pick up its beat under Lindley’s warm regard. Jane knew, suddenly, that he wanted to kiss her, that he liked her. She felt a touch of fear, and a touch of excitement too. Mostly she wished it was the earl standing with her in the moonlight.
“Jane,” Lindley said, his tone taking on a rough edge. He didn’t continue.
“What?” Her voice was high-pitched.
He almost smiled, then grimaced. “I wish you weren’t Shelton’s ward.”
“Why?”
He looked at her, half smiled. “Because you’re very beautiful, and—”
“And?” Her eyes glowed, holding his.
He made a sound, like a laugh. “I’m out of my mind,” he muttered. “Let’s go back.”
“Wait.” Without thinking, Jane touched Lindley, her palm to his flat abdomen. He tensed. Jane froze, then, awkwardly, hopefully, asked, “Do you really think I’m beautiful?”
“Yes.”
Their gazes locked. Jane smiled, aware of the feel of him beneath her hand. “Do you want to kiss me?” It was a question, said more out of curiosity than anything else.
He inhaled, then took her hand in his, removing it from his belly but not releasing it. “Do you want him to kill me?”
“I’ve never been kissed,” Jane said simply. “Not by a man.”
Lindley stared.
Jane didn’t realize it, but she swayed closer, fractionally, face upturned.
Lindley groaned. His hold on her hand tightened, and then he bent and kissed her once, briefly, on her parted lips. It happened so fast it was over before it had begun. Jane was disappointed.
“That’s enough, Jane,” the earl said tersely from behind them.
18
“It’s not what you think,” Lindley said.
Jane could see the earl clearly in the moonlight, clearly enough to know that he was enraged. Reflexively she stepped back from him, suddenly afraid for what she had done.
“If you were not my friend,” the earl said through tight lips, “I would kill you.”
“Nick—”
“Shut up!” His voice was thunder. “You are no longer welcome at Dragmore. Pack your bags and get out!”
A silence fell.
Jane felt as if the world were disintegrating beneath her feet. Lindley was the earl’s one and only friend! She could not let this happen! God, she was so sorry! “It wasn’t his fault,” she managed breathlessly. “It was mine.”
He whirled. “You shut up as well.” To Lindley: “Move.”
“When you’re calmer,” Lindley said, “we can discuss this—”
The earl hit him. It was an explosive blow with the speed of lightning and the force of a locomotive. He snapped back Lindley’s head, knocking him against the maple. Jane cried out. Lindley staggered upright, holding his nose. The earl stood with thighs spread, fists ready, his face black. Lindley pushed off of the tree and, with a look, left.
“Oh, God!”
At the sound of Jane’s moan, Nick turned to her. “You little flirt,” he grated, sick inside, so sick. His hands found her shoulders of their own volition and he hauled her close, very close, lifting her off the ground so they were face to face. She didn’t whimper, but she was white.
He wanted to hurt her the way she had hurt him. He wasn’t thinking, he was only feeling.
“You little flirt,” he said again, shaking her once. “I thought you were different, but you’re not, are you? You’re like all the rest, aren’t you?”
“No.” Jane gasped. Their faces were so close. She could see his eyes, and they frightened her.
“A man’s kiss,” Nick cried. “You want a man’s kiss?”
She frantically shook her head no.
He shook her, then, with one arm, he yanked her against his chest, his other hand grabbing a hank of hair next to the scalp and anchoring her head viciously. She whimpered. His mouth came down hard and brutal upon hers.
He was savage in his attack, not waiting for any sign from her that he should proceed. His teeth clashed against hers, he forced her mouth open, thrusting his tongue through her lips. He plunged relentlessly into her mouth, again and again.
He slowly became aware of many things, one after the other.
Jane was soft and warm and more exciting than any woman he’d ever held. Every inch of her body throbbed against his. His kiss had, somehow, a will of its own, and it had softened. She was kissing him back. In fact, her tongue was dancing with his, entwining with his, stroking the inside of his mouth the way he’d stroked hers. And … she was clinging to him. Her hands were caught in his hair desperately. And she was wiggling her plump, sweet mons against the steel length of his erection.
Nick’s hand left her hair and stroked down her back to her waist, hips, and the delicious curve of one buttock. “Jane,” he whispered, agony in his voice. He pulled her closer
against him. In response, she groaned a deep strangled sound, and then she wrenched her head free and buried her face in his neck, lifted one knee and wrapped it around his hip, trying to climb on top of him, instinctively opening herself, poising herself for him.
He needed her, desperately.
He wanted her, with every fiber of his soul and being.
In horror, he saw them then. The depraved brute and the innocent schoolgirl. Jane was moaning and whimpering into his neck, clinging, and if she lifted her other knee she would be astride him …
With supreme willpower, Nick threw her to the ground.
She lay panting, face uplifted. “Nicholas,” she begged.
He stood panting, staring down, more horrified than he had ever been in his life. More afraid. “God, what am I doing?” he cried into the night. And then he turned and ran.
Jane managed to get to her room. Her dress was soiled, her hair a tangled mess. She fell gratefully onto the bed, her heart still beating frantically. She covered it with her palm, hoping to still it. She was in love.
And it was as much pain as pleasure.
She would never forget his kiss and the fire he had set within her. Never. “Nicholas, I love you,” she whispered, and then she started to weep.
She loved him but he didn’t love her. As naive as she was, she knew that. He had kissed her in anger. Only in anger, and then the kiss had taken on a life of its own.
But hadn’t he been jealous?
Jane wasn’t sure. As far as the earl went, she was utterly confused. He was a dark, complex man. And like all men, he could make love to a woman without loving her.
Jane didn’t want to be another Amelia.
She wanted to be his wife.
Seriously, realistically, she considered this. Was it possible? And she knew it wasn’t. She did not doubt that the earl had no intention of marrying. She could sense it. And even if he fell in love and did marry, why would it be her? There were more beautiful women in the world, many of them, and the earl was a big catch.
Could she settle, then, for crumbs?
Could she be his mistress?
Jane wasn’t sure. She only knew that she loved him so much it hurt. She only knew that she wanted him, to hold him, comfort him, to make him laugh. And she wanted to be in his arms again …
Remembering their heated kiss roused her blood—and her despair. He had so few friends. Maybe Lindley was the only one. Look at what she had done. She had destroyed their friendship. She was so sorry. If she had known, if she hadn’t been so damn impulsive, so damn reckless—as always—she would have never flirted so brazenly. Jane hugged her pillow. She would have to reconcile the two men somehow. Oh, God!
“Nicholas, forgive me,” she whispered.
The earl froze in the center of his library, where he was standing. He heard the carriage wheels crunching on the graveled driveway. His head turned toward the windows, and in the gaslit night, he watched as Lindley’s coach pulled away from the front of the house. He knew a moment’s insanity, when he had the urge to run out and stop him. He did not. He felt the pain, and he rubbed his chest, as if he could physically erase it.
Oh, God.
He sat down heavily, head hanging. Lindley had betrayed him. It didn’t matter that Jane had provoked him; Lindley was older, he knew better. He had betrayed him. His best friend, his only friend. The man who had stood by him through the damn trial and all the ostracism since. “Damn you,” Nick cried into the silent library. “Damn you!”
He damned himself.
He thought of Jane.
Jane, who, before his very eyes, was awakening to her sexuality, and God, it was hot, potent—dangerous.
He clenched his fists. She had been smitten with him, until Lindley had arrived. Then she had become infatuated with Raversford. She was an impressionable adolescent. Nothing more. Who would it be tomorrow? It had better be, he thought savagely, the man he would marry her to!
He would have to keep an eye on her. He would have to chaperon her. He could not trust her, not after tonight. She had begged Lindley to kiss her. She was a flirt. An accomplished flirt! And then she had kissed Nick back passionately when he had been trying to hurt her!
She was fickle and faithless.
He thought of Patricia and laughed aloud.
Patricia had been fickle and faithless too, but that was where the resemblance between the two ended. Patricia had been a lady, with ice in her veins. Jane was no lady. The duke’s granddaughter—maybe—the actress’s daughter, for sure. It explained her untutored, wild passion, her deep, deep sensuality.
“Jane.” He tested her name, tasted it on his tongue. He dropped his head back on the couch as if the weight of it were too much to bear. With his hand, he began rubbing his chest. But the pain would not go away. It wasn’t physical.
19
London
Jane stared out of the window and down Tottenham Court Road. The thoroughfare was well lit by gas lamps and busy with hired hansoms, other coaches, and even omnibuses pulled by teams of matched bays. Plastered residential homes with wrought-iron fences and slate roofs lined the streets. There were a few strollers about, but no gentry. Jane really did not care.
She glanced at the earl.
He was formidable and impassive, sitting beside her but well away from her, careful not to make contact with her with his knee or hand. He stared out of his own window. She could see the hard, set line of his jaw. He had barely spoken to her all day, and it had been Thomas who informed her that they were leaving for London just that morning.
“Today?” Jane had gasped, unsure she had understood. She was very tired, having been unable to sleep all night, haunted both by the earl’s devastating kiss and her body’s unrestrained response to it and by the falling out with Lindley. “I cannot possibly be packed and ready by this afternoon!”
“The earl said don’t bother bringing more than a few essentials. He will be providing you with a complete wardrobe in London.”
“Is he out on the estate?”
“Not this morning. He is in the library,” Thomas replied.
Bravely or, at least, with an outward show of bravery, for inside she was quaking, Jane went downstairs and knocked. He looked up, saw her, and returned to his paperwork. “I’m occupied,” he said brusquely.
“I want to apologize.”
He did not look up. “Your apology changes nothing.”
“I did not mean for things to go so far.”
He ignored her. But she saw that his fingers were white upon his pen. “Please,” she added in a whisper.
The pen snapped in his fingers. “We leave at four.”
Jane huddled deeper in her corner of the coach. He acted as if he hated her. Possibly he did. Her heart was breaking.
“We’re here,” the earl said sometime later. The carriage had turned into Tavistock Square
. Jane knew the square housed some of the most expensive homes in London, and she gazed upon the earl as he opened the door. For him to live here meant he was quite wealthy indeed. He turned to her and stiffly extended a hand.
She accepted it, eyeing him desperately. He looked away, giving orders to the coachman regarding their baggage.
His town house was a huge, four-storied brick affair surrounded by high wrought-iron gates and sweeping lawns. It occupied the entire block. A massive line of oaks effectively screened the grounds from the curiosity of outsiders. Jane clutched her reticule and followed him down the brick walk. She was feeling lonely and wished she had had the foresight to ask to bring Molly. In a grand, marble-floored foyer with high, vaulted ceilings, an elderly woman told Jane she would show her upstairs to her room. Jane looked around and saw that the earl had disappeared. Very well, then, she would follow his example. She wanted nothing more than to crawl under the covers and be miserable.
The next day Jane overslept, due to another restless night. She was surprised therefore to find the earl still in the breakfast room with the Times. He looked
up. Jane’s heart was fluttering. “Good morning.” She tried a smile, and knew it was fragile.
He nodded abruptly and buried his nose in his paper. He said, “As soon as you eat we have an appointment with a couturier.”
Jane sat down, trembling. “We.” He had said “we.” He was taking her to a seamstress? She knew it was silly, but to have his company thrilled her—even if he was still punishing her for what had happened with Lindley.
And the day was filled with sunshine.
“May we drive through Hyde Park?” Jane asked, smiling eagerly once they were in his carriage with the bold black-and-gold Dragmore crest.
He tapped on the ceiling. “James, through the park and then on to Bond Street
.”
Jane smiled at him. He glanced at her and did not look immediately away. She was sunshine and laughter, he thought, shifting uneasily, uncomfortably. How could he hate her?
You depraved bastard, he told himself. You have never hated her and that is the problem.
Jane felt it, the softening. She was determined to bring him completely around. To make up for what she had done, to make him happy. She knew she could do it. If only he would let her love him.
“Look! Aren’t they beautiful?”
The earl looked, saw the two riders on magnificent Thoroughbreds, the lady a vision in purple silk sitting sidesaddle. They both rode beautifully as they cantered through the park. There were quite a few riders about as well as curricles, gigs, and even a few strollers. “The chic time to ride in Hyde Park is before tea.”
“It seems like such fun,” Jane said wistfully.
The earl glanced at her, saw her longing expression. She felt his regard and quickly smiled at him; he turned away. But he was thinking carefully. She was an actress’s child, she had been raised in the theaters of London. What had her upbringing been like? Her manners and airs were beautiful, flawless. Yet it occurred to him that she had been deprived of most of the pastimes open to high Society, for she was not truly a part of it. He found he was disturbed by the empathy he felt for her.