Dark Fires (28 page)

53

Rathe Bragg sat on the edge of the big, four-postered bed in his and Grace’s silk-walled bedroom, shirtless. His thickly muscled torso gleamed in the gentle gas lighting from the chandelier. Now his expression was amazed, even stunned. “Nick’s mistress! Grace! Nicole is my niece!”

Grace was pacing in a filmy nightgown and robe, one of the many intimate gifts her husband constantly bought her, her long, magnificent red hair loose and cascading to her hips. “Poor Jane!” she cried. “Do you think your brother really asked her to be his mistress when Patricia came back?”

Rathe grimaced. “It’s certainly possible. And knowing Nick, with Nicole involved it’s even likely. He would want to see mother and daughter frequently, I think. I can’t believe this!”

Grace sat down hard next to him. “What are we going to do?”

Normally, Rathe firmly opposed his wife’s schemes, for she was, he had to admit (fondly), a fervent busybody once aroused to a cause. This occasion seemed to warrant some interference, however. “So she’s carrying Nick’s child,” he mused, “and she loves him.”

“I didn’t tell her he is on his way here,” Grace said intensely. “Should we tell her that Nick is coming?”

“I wonder if he’s bringing Patricia,” Rathe responded obliquely. “He didn’t say in the telegram —but we’ll find out soon enough. I imagine he should be here any day.”

Grace abruptly rose to pace again, like a restless tigress. “Rathe! I feel guilty knowing Nick is on his way and not telling Jane! She has already suffered so!”

Rathe got up and went to her, clasping her shoulders and pulling her back against his chest. He held her there, kissing her neck. “Darling, if she knows he’s coming she’ll run away. Let’s let nature take its course. They need to resolve their affair one way or another. Jane’s running away left it open. Maybe she even wants Nick to chase after her. And Nick certainly has the right to know about the child.”

“What if she decides to marry Lindley?” Grace asked, twisting to face him.

“That’s her right,” Rathe said simply. “After all, Nick is married.” He grimaced and cursed graphically. “God, I can’t believe that bitch is alive! Too bad!”

“Rathe!”

“She made my brother miserable and you know it,” Rathe said vehemently. “She nearly destroyed him! What if he’d been convicted of her murder?” Then he looked intently at his wife. “I don’t think this is a coincidence, Grace, do you?”

She regarded him levelly. “I was wondering the same thing. Jane appears here, and Nick is on his way—when he’s never been back to America since he took up his inheritance at Dragmore.”

“He’s coming after her,” Rathe said firmly, and their gazes locked in understanding.

Grace wrapped her arms around her husband’s waist. “Maybe he loves her,” she said softly. “Maybe you’re right. He is chasing her—and she wants him to, even if she doesn’t know it consciously.”

“Maybe he does,” Rathe returned. “If he didn’t, would he run after her like this?”

Suddenly they smiled at each other, understanding exactly what the other was thinking— that they were doing the right thing in not telling Jane that Nick was coming and in bringing the two together. “Oh, we’re terrible!” Grace said.

“We?” Rathe protested, but his dimples were deep. “This is your scheme, I’m just an innocent accomplice.”

“Darling, the terms are a contradiction.”

“You are a contradiction,” he murmured, kissing her. “So smart, and so beautiful.”

“And you,” she said throatily, kissing him back, “are unrepentant. Haven’t I reformed you yet?”

“Keep trying,” he managed to gasp.

The divorce would be final when he returned.

It was a happy thought in an otherwise grim day. The Earl of Dragmore stared out the window of the rented hansom at First Avenue. It was a rough ride, due to the cobbled street. He barely noted how New York had grown in the ten years since he’d left the States, he was too preoccupied. He and Chad had just arrived on a passenger ship and were on their way directly to his brother’s home on Riverside Drive.

He intended to scour every hotel until he found them.

He still could not believe she had left with his best friend—he still prayed, desperately, for a reasonable explanation.

He knew, or he thought he did, that Jane cared about him. No woman could be such a superb actress, could she? He winced at his thought, because Jane
was
an actress, and he had forced her into marriage with him. What they had shared was good sex, nothing more. Instantly he corrected himself. They had shared a grand passion, one he certainly had never experienced with any other woman before.

And then he remembered her reading to Chad and Nicole in her sitting room, their outing in Hyde Park, boating on the lake. He remembered their breakfasts, Nicole dominating with her outlandish temper, and he remembered dancing until dawn. They had shared more than even a grand passion.

And even though she had left him, again, lied to him and left him, run away with his best friend, stolen his daughter—he still wanted her.

He still loved her.

Of course, if she was Lindley’s mistress he would kill him, and he hoped then he would be so disgusted he would no longer want Jane. Anger vied with need, and the result was a coiled, confused desperation.

As soon as he had discovered that Jane had fled, he had hastened to Robert Gordon’s, expecting to find her there. Gordon had informed him that Jane had left for America. The earl had been shocked.

“She loves you very much,” Gordon had said bluntly. “And Patricia’s return has killed her.”

Was it true? Did she really love him?

His plans to follow her were delayed because he decided to take Chad for that long-overdue visit to meet his grandparents. Soon he found out that Lindley had also gone to America, on business. The coincidence was impossible, and he was enraged. Gordon confirmed that they had gone together.

“Is she fucking him?” the earl had shouted, at that moment wanting to kill them both.

“I told you, she loves you!” Gordon was hot to defend Jane. “Lindley has always been her friend, even if he is in love with her himself. But Jane is not that type of woman, and if you don’t know it, you should!”

He did know it, didn’t he? She had given herself to him when she was seventeen and had not given herself to another man in the years since. Until perhaps now, in anger and in hurt …

He could not bear the thought. And as much as he felt he could kill if this was the case, another side of him, the dark desperate side, would forgive her anything if only she would return to him.

His brother’s home was a red brick mansion set high on a hill, surrounded by brick walls topped with a wrought-iron curtain. Nick smiled wryly as the cab turned through the open gates. Rathe had certainly done well for himself, he mused, not just a little bit surprised. His brother had always said he was doing rather well in his business affairs, which consisted of many diverse investments across America, but Nick had had no idea that he had done this well. Tall, stately pines from upstate, undoubtedly, graced the long sweeping drive. Beside him, Chad was bouncing in his seat with uncontained excitement.

Nick reached out to touch him, his own heart starting to thud.

It had been just a couple of years since he’d seen Rathe, but even that was too long. This thought led to another. If two years was too long to be apart from his brother, how about the more than ten that had passed since he’d seen his parents? He felt a surge of old anguish, but it was duller now, the old hurt and betrayal having recently faded. Because of Jane. He knew he was doing the right thing in returning to America. First he would find Jane and settle matters between them. He was not going to Texas without her. And then he would take Chad west, to the ranch that was just as much his heritage as Drag-more. To see his grandparents, his grandfather.

And it was because of Jane. He knew that a year ago he wouldn’t have even considered a trip to Texas. A year ago had been before Jane. Before she’d given him her love and warmth and incredible courage, before she’d reminded him, shown him, what love meant, what a family meant. Now it was almost hard to believe that he’d put off this trip, this resolution with
his
parents, with
his
father, for so long. But in a way he understood. Before Jane, nothing had really mattered. She had changed all that; she had changed his life.

The hansom stopped by the immense, flat tiers of pink granite steps leading up to the imposing teakwood front doors of the mansion. Nick paid and thanked the cabbie, and stepped out after his son. At that precise moment, Rathe came through the front doors, beaming and dimpled, his blue eyes dancing. Behind him, Nick saw a beautiful tall redhead, obviously his wife.

“Nick!”

The earl smiled a genuine smile, revealing his own dimples, so like his brother’s. The two men embraced, clinging for just a moment, then drew apart, embarrassed. The earl was blushing slightly. “God, it’s good to see you,” he said, smacking Rathe’s shoulder.

Rathe punched him back. “My brother, the earl! And who’s this? No—this can’t be Chad? You said he was only six!”

“Seven!” Chad cried, grinning. “Are you my Uncle Rathe?”

“You bet!” Rathe swung him up into his arms and Chad squealed. “Want a ride, champ?” he asked. When Chad responded enthusiastically, he set him on his broad shoulders. “Nick, this is my wife, Grace.”

Grace smiled with genuine warmth as Nick kissed her hand. “I’m so glad you’ve come,” she said softly.

Nick studied her openly. “I’m so glad my hell-raising brother finally found his match,” he said at last.

Grace grinned; Rathe groaned. “You don’t know the half of it!” he exclaimed. “How was your trip? Nick, we have some company, I hope you won’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Nick said easily, following his brother with his son on his shoulders into the house. His attention, however, was caught by Grace, who had given Rathe a warning look, her own gaze worried.

“It’s someone you know,” Rathe continued easily, swinging Chad to the ground in the doorway of a small, intimate parlor and taking his hand.

Nick’s smile died as he glanced past his brother. His heart actually stopped in midbeat, and he stared, stunned.

Jane, impossibly beautiful and impossibly pale, sat alone on the sofa and stared back, equally shocked.

54

He had come to New York to find Jane, but he had never expected to find her in his brother’s house. For one long moment he could not speak or move, he could only stare.

Jane rose nervously to her feet, clutching her gown in her fists, her eyes as big as saucers, her face whiter than a ghost’s. It was then that Lindley came forward from the tall, draped windows, his stride hard, his face set. He moved toward Jane, as if to protect her.

The earl didn’t think. He rushed forward, swinging. Lindley ducked, and the earl’s blow, containing enough power to kill, merely glanced off his temple. But it knocked Lindley off balance and to his knees. The earl went after him like a maddened bull, dragging him up by his suit lapels. Grace cried out in protest clutching the wide-eyed Chad. Rathe was rushing to them, grabbing his brother from behind and trying to tear him from Lindley. “Nick! Damn it, stop!”

Jane stood frozen, hands clutched to her breasts.

Nick burst free of Rathe’s hold as Lindley backed warily away, panting. ‘I’ll kill you if you’ve so much as touched her, you son of a bitch!” Nick roared. His face was red, the veins standing out rigidly in his temples, his throat corded. “I will kill you, do you hear?”

Rathe grabbed him again. Furious, Nick spun free. “Stay out of this,” he warned his brother, who instantly stepped back, not out of fear, but out of sudden understanding and respect.

Chad broke free of Grace’s grasp to run to his father. “Papa! Papa!”

The earl caught him. “It’s all right,” he said firmly. “Go with your aunt Grace. Jane and I have something to discuss.”

Chad was reluctant, but Grace came forward to take his hand and lead him out, despite his many backward glances.

The earl moved to Jane, fist raised with frustration, but clearly not raised at her. “Did he touch you? Are you sleeping with him? Are you?”

Jane shrank back. “No.” It was a barely audible whisper.

“You’ve done enough,” Lindley shouted from behind them. “Leave her alone—can’t you see that you’ve practically destroyed her?”

The earl whirled, but Rathe was between the two of them before further violence could erupt. Jane swallowed. “He is only my friend,” she managed, her voice quavering.

Jealousy was red and hot, a haze blinding him now that he had found them together. “How good a friend, Jane?” he demanded.
“How good?”

“He is not my lover!” she cried, a flush rising to her face. “How dare you even ask! How dare you —when you have Patricia running your household and warming your bed!”

That froze the earl, and he stood there panting, his shoulders straining the seams of his jacket, sweat beading at his temples. Jane was panting too, facing him, her breasts rising and falling rapidly above the low, lace-edged bodice of her gown.

“Jon,” Rathe said quietly, yet there was authority in his tone, “let’s leave them alone.”

“You knew he was coming,” Lindley hurled. “Yet you didn’t tell us!”

“He is my brother—and the father of Nicole.”

“I am not moving,” Lindley stated. “Jane, we don’t have to stay here and take this abuse. Let’s go back to the hotel.”

Jane bit her lip, tears coming to her eyes, and she nodded. But she only took a step before the earl grabbed her, hauling her to him. “You lied to me! You told me you were going to the house on Gloucester Street! Instead you left me!” His voice broke, agonized. “Damn you, Jane, how could you?”

“How could I not?” Her voice quavered. “How could I not? You expected me to remain with you as your mistress and send you home to Patricia every night? This I could not, and cannot, do!”

He stared, then he shook her. “Did I ask you to be my mistress?” he shouted. “Did I?”

“You said there was an obvious solution!” she cried back. “You said you would take care of me! Did you or did you not?”

He released her, incredulous. “You fool! Do you know me so little? Jane, I—” He stopped, unable to continue. He wrenched away and wiped the sweat from his brow. And Jane stared at his back, hope so plainly etched on her face that Lindley allowed Rathe to lead him from the salon, closing the doors on them both and leaving them alone.

Jane waited, unmoving.

He turned to face her. There was a suspicious film on his eyes. “I didn’t just come here to bring Chad to his grandparents,” he said, low.

She swallowed. She gulped down tears.

“I cannot let you go from my life, Jane. I cannot.”

“I will not be your mistress,” she said, and then her face collapsed and she moaned. “Oh, damn you, Nicholas! Why couldn’t you let me go? Why?”

She sank onto the couch. “Leaving you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but staying with you will surely kill me, a little bit every day.” She stared at him out of glazed eyes. “But you know what?” Her voice quavered. “I would rather die a little bit every day with you than live without you in a world that would be frozen and barren and lifeless.”

She closed her eyes, his widened. “All right,” she said heavily, her voice breaking. “You win. I love you too much, you see. I will return with you, I will be your mistress. For as long as you want me, I will be yours.”

He cried out and dropped down beside her, wrapping her in his arms. She began to cry. So did he. “Jane, you fool! I am getting a divorce! How could you think anything otherwise?”

“What?” She pushed a bit away, blinking, cheeks tearstained and nose as red as a cherry.

“It will be final very shortly. Patricia already knows. How could you not have understood what I meant when I said there was an obvious solution?”

“A divorce?” She gasped.

“Jane—did I hear you right?” He brushed hair from her cheek. His hand trembled. His own cheeks were as damp as hers. “Did you say you love me?”

“I’ve always loved you, Nicholas,” she said simply. “From that first moment when we met in the parlor with Aunt Matilda.”

He crushed her to him, hard, his power raw and agonized and so immense, Jane knew, in that moment, that he loved her too, with an intensity she had never dreamed of.

“Will you marry me?” he whispered humbly. “Jane, please, will you be my wife?”

“Yes, Nicholas, oh, yes.” She wept, clinging.

They rocked each other for a long time, his lips pressing against her cheek and temple and hair again and again, until she turned her mouth up to his, and blindly, their lips met in mad desperation. It was a long, hot, hard kiss filled with the power of love.

“I love you,” he finally said. “Jane. Jane, God, I love you.”

She understood what it cost him to say it, she could hear it in his low, barely audible, strained tone. He cupped her face to look at her. “Jane, I’ve never said it before, not to Patricia, not to anyone.”

“I know,” she said, attempting to stall the tears.

He fought himself too. “I—I never felt this for her, it wasn’t like this. What I feel for you—I can’t live without you,” he managed, raw.

She sniffed, brushed a tear from his eyes, while finally letting her own flow unchecked. “Does this mean you forgive me for my stupid impulsiveness once again?”

He laughed through the blur of his vision. “Darling , I can forgive you anything—as long as you never stop loving me.”

She smiled then, impishly. “Stop loving you? That, Nicholas, would be impossible.”