Dark Fires (25 page)

47

Later that night, the earl paused in the threshold of his wife’s room. She sat reading in bed, a vision in diaphanous white French lace, her long platinum hair cascading about her. She had left one lamp on, so the room was dimly illuminated. She was Beauty Incarnate, and he loved her.

Sensing his presence, she looked up and smiled, laying aside her novel.

He did not smile back. He could not. Nor did he come forward. He stared at her. And inside, his nerves were so taut he thought he must vomit immediately.

“Nicholas?” Worry edged her voice. “What is it?”

He had to know. He had to know if she would reject him as Patricia had. He dared to hope that she would not when she learned he was partly Indian. Yet he would never forget Patricia’s horror and hysteria. He had loved Patricia then, yet it was nothing compared to what he felt for Jane. If Jane was repulsed, as a part of him was sure she would be, he did not know what he would do. He could not find any armor against the scorn and revulsion he was afraid would surely come when she learned this part of the truth. He would not reveal more than this, he could not. And even now he wished he could turn and walk away, without testing her. But he had to know.

“Nicholas!” Jane was sitting up straight, her face pale. “What’s wrong! You’re frightening me!”

He came forward slowly, like a somnambulist, pausing by the post at the foot of her bed. He stared at her. Would she reject him?

“What is it?” Jane begged.

“There’s something I want to tell you,” he said flatly, no emotion or turmoil in his tone.

“What?”

“My father is a half-breed,” he said, waiting for her reaction.

She blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

“My father,” he said, raising his voice. “Derek Bragg. He is a half-breed, half Indian, half white man.”

Jane’s eyes grew wide.

“That makes me,” he said roughly, “one-quarter breed. Do you understand?” Wide-eyed, she stared.

He waited, unable to breathe, the urge to vomit intense, for the rejection, the scorn, the revulsion.

Suddenly she smiled, then bit it back. “Oh, I had a funny thought, but now is not the time to be amusing. Nicholas, come here.”

“What was your thought?” he said stiffly, ignoring her summons. She would make fun of him now. This he hadn’t counted on.

Her lips curved up. “So that is why you’re so dark!”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

She got up and came to him, placing her hands inside his robe and sliding them over the bronze skin of his chest. “Why you’re so dark.” She lifted her gaze and grinned wickedly. “I think I like dark men.”

His heart began to hammer loudly. “You’re not disgusted?”

“Of course not,” she said softly, touching his face. “Why should I be?”

He could barely believe it, and was stunned.

With a smile, she slid her hand down his torso, around to his hip, and then clasped his hard buttock. “I definitely like dark men!”

He growled, lifting her up into his arms. “You had better like only this dark man,” he said fiercely, and then he kissed her, hard, voraciously, raping her with his mouth. She clung.

He carried her to the bed, pushing her down, coming down on top of her. He was shaking with need—and relief.

Jane managed to tear her mouth free of his rampaging one, stroking his thick arms. “Nicholas, it’s all right,” she said. “It’s all right.”

He pressed her into the mattress, burying his face in her neck, and he groaned, the sound long and low and a release of deep inner torment. She stroked his hair as he trembled on top of her, his body hard and rigid and searing. Then he lifted up. “Let me love you,” he whispered harshly. “Let me love you, Jane,” he begged.

She caught his face and kissed him fiercely back, wondering at the dampness there.

The earl lay on his back, looking up at the canopy tenting them. Jane was on her side, snuggled against him. They had been talking about leaving for Dragmore early the next week.

“Jane,” the earl said, turning his head. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay and work in London?”

She kissed his shoulder. “You are a dear. No, I am determined to go to Dragmore.” She grinned. “And you know how stubborn I am.”

He smiled, his gaze fond. “Are you stubborn?”

“Since I was a child,” she said. “When I decide to do something, I do it.”

“Like haunting the village bully? What was his name?”

“Timothy Smith,” Jane said. “He deserved it! But that was nothing! Do you know that once I won a hundred pounds at the men’s club, Boodle’s?”

“What?”

Jane laughed. “It was a dare—that I could not get into Boodle’s. I was fourteen, it was just before I left the acting company to live with Matilda and Fred at the parsonage. A few young actors thought they’d really got me with this dare. Of course, I won.” She wrinkled up her nose with disdain.

“I don’t believe it.”

“I did. I disguised myself as a boy and went in with two old lords with a reputation for liking young boys. They thought I was their entertainment for the night and they were just thrilled. They never guessed I was a girl. Nobody bothered to stop me from gambling at the tables—I think everyone found a young lad trying his luck quite amusing.”

The earl groaned. “And after? How did you escape your lecherous benefactors?”

“By running away,” she said simply.

A silence ensued. Jane cuddled closer, caressing the earl’s flat, iron-hard belly. He stared up at the canopy. “I have a story,” he finally said quietly.

Jane glanced at him to see that his eyes were closed.

“There was a young woman, newly wed and newly widowed. She was ravishingly beautiful but very delicate—more so than you. In fact, she had been raised in a convent in France.” He paused.

Jane gazed at him curiously, wondering what kind of story he was telling her, and why. He still had not opened his eyes.

“She lived on the frontier in Texas. While traveling there from France, overland in Mississippi, she had accidentally met a man. A Comanchero. He was stricken with her beauty and he wanted her. In fact, he succeeded in kidnapping her before her first marriage, but a Texas Ranger rescued her before she was harmed.” He paused again.

Jane shifted. She wanted to ask if he knew this woman, and was certain he did—but did not dare interrupt. His tone was so flat, so devoid of emotion, that it frightened her.

“Her first husband died—was killed actually, in a typical brawl. The frontier was full of violence back then. She married again—to the Ranger who had rescued her—immediately. It was not unusual, because a woman could not survive alone in the wilderness. One day, when he was on duty with his regiment, their home was attacked by Comanches, and she was taken prisoner.

“The leader of the attack was the same Comanchero Chavez.”

Jane could not refrain from speaking. “Oh, God. What happened?”

“He raped her,” the earl said flatly.

“Did—did he kill her?”

“No. Fortunately, weeks later, the Rangers found their camp and destroyed it, rescuing her. The Ranger who was her husband killed the Comanchero, mutilating him first.”

Jane shuddered. “This is an awful story. Nicholas?”

He opened his eyes, to stare up at the canopy. “She had a child nine months later. It was not the Ranger’s. It was his.”

Jane pressed close, sensing his need, and stroked his hip. “And?”

He shrugged. “That’s all. It’s just a typical frontier story.”

Jane was confused. Why had he told her this terrible tale? “What happened to the child?”

The earl hesitated. “I don’t know.”

She nuzzled his shoulder. “Why did you tell me this?”

He turned to her, his gaze dark and unreadable. “I grew up in this frontier where violence rules and only the strong survive. This is where I come from.”

Jane shuddered. She touched him. “Is it still so savage?”

“No. Somewhat untamed, but not like what I’ve just described.”

“Do you know the woman?”

His gaze moved over her features. It was a long time before he answered. “Yes.”

“That poor woman,” Jane said, suddenly inexplicably moved. “Did—did it destroy her marriage? To the Ranger?”

He shook his head. “No. He loved her, still loves her, more than life itself, I think. And she feels the same way about him.”

Tears came to Jane’s eyes. “How romantic! Love triumphs after all.”

“Why are you crying?”

Jane shook her head. “It’s a terrible story, but even more beautiful too because of the tragedy they overcame.”

The earl said nothing, just stared at her. Then he leaned forward, wiping away her tears with his big, calloused thumb. Surprised, Jane saw that his eyes were glistening. “Nich—”

“Sshh,” he said, claiming her mouth with barely leashed power, and then he claimed her body as well.

48

Summer had come to London in all its first glory. It was a beautiful day, red robins singing high in the elm trees, the sky blue and cloudless, the day warm enough to go with the thinnest of garments and no coats or wraps. The bold Dragmore carriage rolled through Hyde Park, pulled by its team of magnificent bays. The earl and Jane sat side by side, their bodies touching from shoulder to hip to knee. Nicole was in her mother’s arms, unusually quiet, and Chad sat on the seat facing them, waving to all those they passed and remarking excitedly upon any and everything.

“What a wonderful idea,” Jane said to Nick, her gaze lingering upon his handsome face. She was sure her love for him was easy to read and quite obvious to everyone.

“Governess Randall wasn’t exactly pleased,” the earl said. He had taken Chad from his studies.

“To hell with her,” Jane returned, her manner prim.

The earl laughed and took her hand, squeezing it. “Sshh, not in front of the children.”

Jane made a stricken face, and the earl laughed again. He did not release her hand. Jane settled more comfortably against him. They both ignored the many gaping, gossiping riders and coach passengers whom they passed.

“Papa,” Chad cried excitedly. “Can we go for a ride in a boat?”

They were approaching the lake, and a few rowboats were evident, ladies lounging amid the lace of their dresses and parasols, the men in striped shirtsleeves rolled casually up, rowing steadily.

“I don’t see why not,” the earl replied. He turned to Jane. “It’s up to your mother.”

Jane held his gaze. His words thrilled her, and she impulsively leaned forward to plant a light kiss on his mouth. “Of course it’s all right.”

The earl blushed, looking quite pleased. “Jane,” he said a few moments later, as the carriage stopped in front of the green, shingled boathouse, “do you remember that story I told you last night?”

Jane glanced at him curiously. “Of course I do.”

Chad interrupted, asking if he could go look at the boats. The earl nodded and his son rushed from the carriage. The earl and Jane made no move to follow. He stared at her. “That woman, Jane,” he said. “She is my mother.”

Jane gasped.

“I am the boy.”

Jane stared, her thoughts racing, her grip on his hand tightening instinctively. “Oh, Nicholas, what an awful cross to bear!”

He stared at her.

“Darling,” she cried, using the endearment for the first time, “have you been punishing yourself all these years for something you were not responsible for?” She touched his face.

“It doesn’t bother you?” he asked thickly.

“It hurts me to see you hurt,” she cried. “How could they have told you this terrible story!” She was suddenly furious, as all the implications settled in. This was the dark torment burning in his soul that she had sensed and seen signs of so often.

“They didn’t tell me,” Nick said quietly. “I found out just before I left for the war. They don’t even realize that I know the truth. My father”— and he hesitated—“Derek, I mean, he doesn’t know I found out the truth. That he is not my father, that Chavez is.”

Jane clutched his hand. The hurt in his tone was there, thick and palpable. “Darling, I’m sure he loves you like a son. You are his son! He raised you your entire life.”

“He is a great man,” the earl said.

Jane suddenly, intuitively, understood. “He is your father, Nicholas,” she said stubbornly. “You are the man you are today because of him. You must see him,” she cried. “This is awful, surely he senses something amiss. You must tell him you know!”

“Jane,” the earl said. “You don’t think I am like him?”

Jane knew who “he” was—the Comanchero. “You are kind and good. Don’t you ever say such a thing again!”

“I almost raped you,” he said, very low. “And, God, when you were only seventeen and just a schoolgirl, I wanted you. It was all I could think of. It was depraved.”

She covered his mouth with her palm. “We wanted each other, like men and women do who share the attraction we have for each other. It wasn’t depraved, Nicholas, it was destiny. Our destiny.”

He pulled her into his embrace. “God,” he cried, his face against hers, “what did I do to deserve you?”

“No, Nicholas,” Jane said, threading her fingers through his hair. “It’s the other way around. What did I do to deserve you?”

Their gazes met. His was glistening, but so was hers.

The earl took a deep breath. “Well,” he said, coughing. “Shall we?”

The footman was waiting at a discreet distance. The earl signaled him and let Jane precede him from the carriage. They caught up with Chad and Nick tousled his hair. “Come on, son, you can help me choose a boat.”

“I can?” Chad shouted, thrilled. He ran to the boats, the earl following. He paused to glance back. “Wait here, Jane.” His words were innocuous but his look was not. It was shimmering with deep, deep emotion. “We’ll only be a few minutes.”

Jane nodded. As the earl went to make arrangements, her mind was whirling with the significance of what she had found out. And with it came the determination to cleanse him forever of his guilt at being Chavez’s son and to help him learn, and believe, that he was the magnificent man he truly was. And, equally important, she would bring father and son back together again.

Jane was happy. It was the beginning for them all, the first day of the rest of their glorious life together. They would leave the dark past behind. Now was the present, shimmering with love and passion, and awaiting them was the future, its promise even more glorious.

The afternoon upon the lake passed too quickly amid much laughter and affection and camaraderie. As the Dragmore carriage sped home, Jane found herself imitating Chad, who had fallen asleep on the earl’s left, his head upon his father’s shoulder. Her own cheek pressed his other shoulder, and her lids were so very heavy. The earl’s palm stroked her arm, and she started to doze.

“We’re home, darling,” the earl said in her ear. “Chad, wake up, son.”

A sleepy entourage emerged from the carriage, Nicole starting to howl and squirm in Jane’s arms, Chad holding the earl’s hand. Thomas greeted them at the door with Molly, who rushed forward to take Nicole. The butler was as white as death itself.

“Thomas, what’s wrong?” the earl said sharply.

Jane became fully awake, to see that Thomas was in a rare frenzy, eyes popping as if he’d seen a ghost. “My lord,” he cried. “It’s your wife!”

“My wife?” the earl said, glancing at Jane. Jane suddenly pressed closer to the earl, sensing danger.

“Not the lady Jane.” Thomas gasped.
“The other one.”

The earl stared, then his eyes narrowed. “You are making no sense, Thomas,” he warned.

“It’s Lady Patricia,” Thomas cried. “She is here!”

“What?”

“She is here, in the parlor, alive—not dead!”

And then a stunning blond woman appeared from behind Thomas, her bearing regal and disdainful. With a glance, she took them all in, Chad, Jane, Nicole and Molly, the earl. “Hello, my lord,” she said coolly.

“My God,” Nick said softly, stunned.

Jane stared at the beautiful woman—his wife. And then the ground came rushing up to meet her and, blessedly, she knew no more.