Dark Fires (11 page)

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.

The couturier was ready for them. Nick explained, first, that Jane was his ward and the granddaughter of the deceased Lord Weston, Duke of Clarendon. She needed everything: riding habits in silk and velvet, satin tea gowns, evening gowns in velvet, brocade, and so forth. “And the smallest bustle, please,” he said, knowing Jane would look ridiculous in an oversize one with her slender frame.

Not trusting Jane after the fiasco when she had appeared in the horrendous purple dress, Nick chose the fabrics for her—while she watched, wide-eyed. “This and this,” he said, picking up delicate swaths of pale-blue and mint-green silk. “The silver for evening. These pinks, the rose.” He squinted at Jane. “I think you can wear emerald and sapphire.” He held up samples against her skin, trying to be immune to the worshipful look in her eyes. “Yes, these as well.”

“How about the red?”

He looked at the flame-red dress and scowled. “Absolutely not. Maybe the wine. No red, no royal purples.”

He left them then to hours of fittings. But her adoring gaze haunted him all through the day.

Jane was late for dinner due to the time it took for all the fittings. While she had been measured and pinned, the couturier’s girls had altered several ready-to-wear pieces upon the earl’s instructions. She dined alone on cold roast chicken and watercress salad. Her heart leapt when the earl appeared in breeches and boots. She smiled tremulously.

“Are you too tired to go for a ride in the park?” he asked flatly.

Jane almost fainted. “No.”

“I’ll be in the study.”

Jane, no longer interested in food, raced upstairs to don a gray riding habit, hands shaking. She wondered if she should tell the earl she did not know how to ride, then decided against it. He would change their plans, and she would die rather than lose the opportunity to spend the afternoon with him.

Jane thought that her mount was an overly large thing. She studied the sidesaddle, then decided, What the hell? She was an actress, she understood the mechanics of riding, and everyone did it. How hard could it be?

Once in the saddle, her instincts asserted themselves and she held on for her dear life. The earl’s voice, from behind her, made her realize what she was doing and how she must appear. She tried to relax and look casual. “He’s a gentleman, don’t worry,” the earl said, his gaze sharp. “Are you afraid?”

Jane smiled brightly. “Of course not.”

His features softened. “Let’s go.”

Taking a deep breath, Jane nudged her heels to the gray’s sides and was surprised to find him ambling after the earl on his big bay hunter. Jane smiled. This was not so difficult. In fact, it was quite easy.

They rode down New Road at a sedate pace. The earl said nothing, and for once Jane did not mind. She was too busy accustoming herself to the feel of the horse’s gait and learning how to use the reins to steer him. She knew she should pull on the right rein if she wanted to go right, but a brief experiment brought no results. Fortunately, her horse was following the earl. This was easier than trying to control him, so Jane settled for taking up the rear. Besides, that way she could openly stare at the earl, even if it was only at his broad back.

They entered Regents Park. Jane stared at a couple on horseback who were coming towards them. The woman wore a red velvet habit and an elaborate black hat with lace veiling. Her companion was impeccable in polished boots, breeches, and a hunter-green riding jacket. As they drew abreast, Jane craned her head to watch them, and realized that the two were doing the same to watch her and the earl. A moment later she realized that they were not interested in her. They were staring at the earl. He nodded politely. They instantly put their noses in the air and ignored him. Jane was appalled. She opened her mouth to say so, saw his fierce expression, and immediately closed it.

A curricle passed. Jane looked within and saw two men in suits and a woman in tweeds. Everyone looked at everyone, except for the earl, who regarded no one. The trio’s undisguised curiosity gave way to elaborate shock. The woman gasped melodramatically, raised a gloved hand, and whispered loudly to her entourage. “It’s him! The Lord of Darkness! You know, the one who—” The rest was indiscernible.

Jane’s heart was pounding. She dared to peek at the earl. A vibrant shade of pink had stained his dark features, giving him the appearance of being sunburned. “I hate them,” Jane cried aloud before she could think.

“Let’s have a canter,” the earl replied tonelessly, nudging his steed into a lope.

Before Jane could say “wait” or even consider how to approach this new predicament, her own nag was following suit. Jane, thankfully, did not scream. Instead, she hung on to the saddle for her dear life.

She forgot about the reins, and they fell from her hands to flap loosely against the gelding’s neck. Her mount immediately became agitated, his gait increasing. The earl heard it and looked back—just in time to see a white-faced Jane slipping from the saddle in slow, slow motion.

“Damn it!” he cried, wheeling his hunter around roughly and then leaping off. He knelt in the dirt track by Jane, who was raising herself up on her elbows. She looked at the earl. Her cheeks grew pink.

“Are you all right?” he demanded. “Is anything broken? Are you hurt?”

“No, I think I’m fine.” Her voice shook. She was lying. She was in imminent danger of having a heart attack!

Abruptly he ran his hands over her ankles, calves, and thighs, on top of her skirts. Jane went very still. A fire flamed in the wake of his hands. He slid his palms over her ribs and she stopped breathing. The underside of one breast brushed the top of his hand, and she said, “Oh!”

He froze, looked up, and stared at her.

His face was very close to hers. So close, if she leaned forward, they could kiss. Unconsciously, mouth parted, eyes wide, she swayed toward him.

He stood up quickly, brushing off his breeches. “You’re all right,” he said, his voice hoarse. He extended a hand, and it trembled.

Jane took it and was unceremoniously hauled to her feet. “Thank you,” she managed.

“Why the hell,” he said with a growl, “didn’t you tell me you couldn’t ride?”

She bit her lip. Her backside was throbbing. Tears stung her eyes from the sudden smarting— and from the tone of his voice. And because he hadn’t kissed her and she had desperately wanted him to.

“We’ll walk back,” he decided abruptly, retrieving the reins of her horse, which was cropping grass near by.

“Is she all right, sport?” a fellow called from his horse, riding up to them from where he and his lady companion had been waiting and watching. “I saw it all, not a nasty spill, just—” He stopped in midsentence, staring at the earl. His eyes bulged.

The rider wheeled his mount away, returning to his lady friend. “It is he! It’s Shelton!” They trotted away, with many backward glances and much whispering.

The earl’s face was a mask. “So much for Samaritans,” he muttered. “The best thing,” he said, “is to get back on. If you don’t, you’ll always be afraid to ride.”

“I know,” Jane said meekly. Then she blurted, “They are hateful—every single one of them!”

“Welcome to London,” the earl said.

20

He couldn’t chase it away.

Inside, deep within, he felt dread.

Of course, the Earl of Dragmore refused to acknowledge such feelings. Just as he refused to dwell on the rudeness he’d encountered in Regents Park with Jane. Instead, he focused on the pertinent issue—how to get back into Society? For until he achieved this, he could not find Jane a husband.

But the dread was there, deep inside.

The Duchess of Lancaster was, he calculated quickly, now in her late forties. Ten years ago when Nick had first arrived in London with his grandfather, she had been a stunning, elegant woman. It mattered little that she was married, he soon found out, when she pressed her attentions upon him in an arbor at the Baron Ridington’s country estate one weekend. Nick was only too eager to oblige her. He had kept obliging her through that entire fall.

He’d run into the duchess from time to time during his marriage, but not since the trial. Indeed, since the trial he had rarely come to London, residing exclusively at Dragmore. Now he found himself not just back in London, but faced with the formidable task of gaining an entre into its social circles, and to do so, he stood awaiting the duchess in her parlor.

“You still ignore decorum,” she said, entering.

He was startled, but hid it. Time had ravaged her. Where she had been an auburn-haired beauty at thirty-eight, now she was wrinkled, too thin, and graying. But Nick took her hand and bowed over it. He did not kiss it. “Forgive me.”

She lifted his chin to look into his eyes. “A woman could never deny you when you speak like that.”

Uncomfortable, the earl eased back.

“You should have left your card with the butler,” the duchess told him. “And after you would receive an invitation from me to visit—if I decided to see you.”

“I know. Claire, I could not wait.”

They both stared at each other with this intimacy, a blatant reminder of the past.

“I heard you were back. Have you had enough of that isolated estate?”

“No. I need your help.”

She raised an auburn brow. Its color was exaggerated. “I am about to swoon. The grand earl needs me? Whatever for?”

“I need to regain my place in Society.”

“Ahh, yes, I should have guessed. I know you, Nick. You never gave a damn about Society, not then, and I suspect you don’t now. Why?”

“I have a ward. I must find her a husband.”

The duchess smiled, intrigued. “Who is she?”

“The Duke of Weston’s granddaughter.”

“I had heard there was some other offspring— from the wrong side of the blanket. So it’s true!”

“It’s true. Will you help me?”

She smiled again and touched his face. “One favor begets another.” Her hand lingered. “I will help you, Nick.”

“Thank you.”

Her hand had moved to his strong neck. “You are still beautiful,” she murmured. Then her tone became crisp. “Come this afternoon. At four.”

The earl stared. “So there is a price?”

“I am a selfish woman.”

“So I see.” He walked to the door and turned. “But I am no prostitute.” “Nick—”

Shoulders rigid, he left.

Jane was excited. Her excitement was barely contained. On the plush seat in the earl’s carriage, sitting beside him, she was wiggling enthusiastically. Hands clasped, she turned to him, her face wreathed with happiness. “I can’t tell you what this means to me!”

The earl stared at her. They were on their way to the Lyceum to see Henry Irving perform. He was feeling very uncomfortable. His decision to go to the theater was calculated—he wanted Jane to be seen by the right people. He had not even considered how she would react to the prospect, while she apparently thought he was trying to please her. He wondered if he might be blushing slightly, but fortunately, it was dark in the carriage.

Jane was babbling on and on about Mr. Irving, who was a well-known actor. The earl barely heard. She was stunning tonight in her new finery, a modest rose evening gown with flounces and polonaise. She wore her hair curled and hanging loose down her back. She was a vision, an earthly angel, beyond description.

He thought of the Duchess of Lancaster and felt sickened. So much for friendship. He should have known better. No one did anything for nothing. Jane touched his arm. The earl tensed.

“We’re here,” she told him excitedly.

He smiled slightly, unable to restrain himself.

Her smile answered his, and hers was uncontained.

The lobby was filled with the crowd. People were milling, quickly exchanging a few words, and hurrying to find their seats. Most socializing took place during the intermission. The earl took Jane’s arm firmly. He spotted Lindley with a young woman and another couple just as they were entering the auditorium. He tensed.

“Look,” Jane said, pressing close. “Lindley’s here.”

He was aware of her body warm and soft against his. Second, he was aware of her close scrutiny. Mostly, he was aware of his body’s flaming, uninhibited response. He cursed himself.
You are in a public place, for Gods sake!

He maneuvered Jane apart from him. “Let’s take our seats.”

As they took their seats in a private box, there was a tangible hush in those around them. Then he was cognizant of the whispers. “Ignore them,” he told Jane.

Jane looked around with a fierce glare. “I cannot!”

“Sit.” He gently pushed her down. “We are here to enjoy ourselves,” he lied. But he did not seat himself immediately. He stood in the box, raking the entire theater with his gaze, daring them all. Satisfied he had shown his courage and disdain, he sat. Jane was regarding him intensely.

His gaze skittered away from hers.

She placed her small, delicate, gloved hand upon his. “You are more man than all of them put together.”

He did not know what to say. Was she flirting? Her tone was sincere. He shifted and stared at the curtains of the stage.

The earl was fond of
Hamlet
, yet he could not concentrate on the production, despite Mr. Irving’s laudable performance. He found himself watching Jane. She was mesmerized with the drama, while he was mesmerized with her.

She laughed. She clapped. She
ohhed
and
ahhed.
She cried, she wept. She giggled, she shrieked. He could not take his eyes off of her. And he was glad he had brought her, even if it had not been for the right reason.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Jane cried as they made their way to the lobby for refreshments during the intermission.

“Quite,” he said dryly.

“Have you been paying any attention to the play?” she demanded.

“Of course.” He actually smiled at her.

She smiled back, knowing it was untrue, and then they both laughed.

Amazed, Jane saw two dimples appear in the earl’s cheeks. Her heart turned over. Impulsively she reached for his hand and squeezed it. He jerked his palm away. She flushed.

Then she saw he was gazing at someone, and she looked too. He was regarding an older, elegant auburn-haired woman, expensively dressed and heavily jeweled. The woman was staring at them, then she raised a gloved hand to whisper to her companion. Her eyes never left them. It was obvious she was talking about them and that her words were unkind.

Jane moved closer, protectively, to the earl.

“Would you like some lemonade?” he asked stiffly.

“No, I’m fine.” She hoped they could stand in this corner and be left alone for the entire intermission.

“You must be thirsty.” His gaze was direct.

“I am not.”

“I am.” He took her elbow. Jane felt the dread. They moved into the crowd.

A path cleared before them. Everyone was staring and gasping and whispering. “Look, look, it’s he! Dragmore!” “… Lord of Darkness. Who is she?” “… Weston’s granddaughter…. Illegitimate” “… He killed his wife.”

The earl’s shoulders were squared, his face an expressionless mask. Jane fought tears. These people were cruel. She hated London. She hated them. She wanted to go home.

“They were in the park today, I saw them,” someone said loudly. “He was kissing her, he was. Right in public!”

Jane halted, furious, and saw that the speaker was the rider who had stopped after she had fallen off her horse. He hastily looked away. The earl dragged her forward. “Ignore them,” he said, but his face had that sunburned look.

“I hate them! Let’s go home!”

“The performance is not over.” He paused in front of the refreshment stand. The man he was standing behind in the queue turned slightly. It was Lindley.

Jane could have sworn his eyes were sympathetic.

The two men stared, then nodded stiffly. Lindley moved aside, but paused to bow before Jane and kiss her hand. “Hullo, Jane,” he said softly.

With her eyes, she begged him for compassion for the earl. “Hello.”

“Jonathon,” a woman said in a whining voice.

Lindley smiled slightly and left. Jane turned to find the earl there, handing her a lemonade. His face was dark and he was drinking brandy. “Please let’s go home.”

“No,” he said, and they went back inside.