Dark Fires (10 page)

17

He was tense and angry.

The earl was so tense and angry that he’d ridden his gelding back across the lawns at a gallop. Now he left the blowing bay drop-reined in front of the manor beside a bed of roses. He bounded up the stone steps. Where in hell were they?

The earl had traversed Dragmore from the south end to the north in the course of his day, and there had not been a sign of Lindley and Jane. He told himself his mood was not foul because of this, but, rather, because he was hot and sweaty and distinctly malodorous. Just where the hell had they been all morning?

In the corridor he bellowed, “Thomas!”

The butler was behind him, unruffled. “Yes, my lord?”

“Where is Lindley?”

“He is in the morning room with Miss Jane.”

Nick felt something like daggers within him. He strode aggressively down the hall, then paused to regain calm. He heard her bell-like laughter, accompanied by Lindley’s rich baritone. He stepped in. “How cozy,” he commented. It was as close to a snarl as a human being could get.

They both froze, like two guilty culprits, which, clearly, they were. They were sitting on the same settee, very close together—Jane’s skirts touched Lindley’s leg. A book was spread across their communal lap, Lindley holding one end, Jane the other. Both heads had been bent close together. They had popped up at Nick’s comment like a double-headed Jack-in-the-box.

Lindley grinned. “Hullo, Shelton. About time. We’ve worked up quite the appetite.”

“Oh? Am I keeping you?” The earl’s tone was cool. His gaze left Lindley. Jane was a pink-and-cream vision in a rose dress. Her cheeks were tinged with a healthy, outdoors blush, and her thick, pale hair was pulled back with one big velvet bow. Half of the tail spilled over her shoulder and down her right breast.

“Rough morning?” Lindley was sympathetic.

Nick didn’t answer. He cut them with a look and strode to a silver butler’s table, pouring himself—what the hell was it anyway? Lemonade? “What the hell is this?”

“Lemonade,” Jane responded.

He shot her an ugly look.

“Look at this one,” Lindley said, pointing. His hand moved to Jane’s side of the book; his shoulder pressed hers.

“It’s beautiful,” Jane said.

They were looking at pictures, of what he didn’t know or care. Could they possibly sit any closer? With disgust, he slammed his glass of untried lemonade down. Both heads popped up and swiveled toward him. Nick stepped closer and saw that they were admiring pressed butterflies, for God’s sake. He turned and left.

He splashed his face with water and changed his shirt quickly, fuming. He did not bother with his breeches. Why should he? Lindley was impeccable—if she wanted a peacock to admire, she had him. If she wanted to smell spices and musk, she had him. He pounded back downstairs. He almost fell on his face in the hall, skidding to a stop and catching himself on the door jamb just in time—the floors were wet! “What is going on!” he exclaimed through gritted teeth.

Then he spotted the maid mopping the corridor. He righted himself to find Jane standing in the doorway, hands on her slender hips. “You are tracking mud and manure everywhere,” she scolded.

He stared.

Behind Jane, Lindley muffled a laugh.

“So?” Nick challenged, bringing his gaze back to hers. She was, for some reason, angry.

“We are not in Texas. Maybe there is no mud in Texas. But you do have horses and cattle there, do you not?”

The earl felt himself start to blush.

“We have a guest,” Jane said pointedly. “If he wanted to stroll in filth, he would go to the stables. This”—she gestured grandly, blue eyes flashing—“is not a stable.”

He knew his face was burning.

Amazingly, she took his arm. Nick felt the contact to his very soul—hot and electric, he was jolted as if by lightning. But he did not have time to judge his own physical reaction. She led him into the parlor and to the window. “Look.”

He looked at the lawn, specifically, he looked at the muddy runnel he had made with his horse. He looked at Jane intently, searchingly. He did not look at Lindley. He was embarrassed. “Just what the hell do you care?” he asked, low, his gaze trained upon hers.

She did not flinch. “I care.”

He flinched. Then, icily, he said, “It’s my goddamn lawn and it’s my goddamn house and if I want to track mud I will.”

“Very well,” Jane said. “That was spoken like a five-year-old.”

His color heightened. Her gaze was blue fire. He jammed his hands in the pockets of his breeches and turned his back to her. He felt about five years old.

Lindley stood, clearing his throat. “How about some dinner? I think I smell roast beef.”

Jane hadn’t meant to berate the earl in front of Lindley. She had almost lost her temper when she had seen her sparkling floors tracked up, and then, when she had seen the lawn, well, that had been the final straw. The earl certainly knew better! Instinctively now she knew it was better to let the incident pass than to apologize. And, perhaps, the earl would start to think about what he was doing.

Jane dressed for supper with excitement. She wished desperately that she had an evening gown and jewelry, but she did not. (She would not dare wear another of her mother’s gowns!) She wore her best dress, a dark rose, and let her hair fall free with a pearl-studded comb pulling back one side behind her ear. She pinched her cheeks and lips and studied herself in the mirror, eyes dancing.

Jane was discovering her power over men.

Last night she hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. But she had. Lindley thought she was beautiful—and so did the earl.

The Earl of Dragmore had admitted she was beautiful.

Yet it now became clear that even though he thought so, he still did not see her as a woman equal of him. However, Lindley did.

Lindley had defended her to the earl. Lindley thought her à woman. Jane knew it from her eavesdropping, and more important, she knew it from the way he looked at her and the way he flirted with her.

She was learning that a soft, intent look, lowered lashes, a sweet smile, could bring a warm glowing light to a man’s eyes. Lindley’s admiration was obvious and direct. Jane was used to admiration. She had been adored her entire life until she had left London to go to the parsonage. Finding this kind of love again was food for a starving soul. She felt that she could walk upon clouds!

And …

If the earl did not quite see her a woman equal to him, she would show him that she was—by flirting back with Lindley.

Jane glided down stairs, flushed with anticipation. Both men were waiting for her in the library, Lindley clad in evening wear, the earl in black trousers, shirt, and waistcoat. Yet it was the earl who stole her breath, who made her body tighten and pulsate with sexual awareness. However, Jane merely smiled at him. She beamed at Lindley.

“You are breathtaking.” Lindley gasped, clearly meaning it.

Jane murmured something appropriate as he kissed her hand warmly. Behind her, she heard the earl coughing as he choked on his drink.

“May I escort you?” Lindley asked warmly.

“You can always escort me,” Jane said daringly, her voice throaty. She did not look behind her, but was aware of the earl’s burning regard. “Anytime, anywhere.”

Lindley laughed, thrilled.

The earl came up behind them, his presence looming and hot. “He will escort you,” he said, “only when I allow it.”

Lindley chuckled. “Relax, old man. What—got a case of jealousy, have you? Can’t help it if she knows which of us is the handsome one.” Lindley winked at Jane.

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.