Dark Fires (6 page)

10

The earl was not particularly pleased.

He sipped a whiskey in his study, feeling, in fact, profoundly agitated. Normally he did not care when Amelia chose to just pop in. She never stayed for more than a few days, as the country “bored” her. She knew he would tolerate no disturbances during his work day, and what she did to occupy herself then, he never knew and did not care to know. At night she amused him, sufficiently well, to say the least. Then she would return to her London town house on Warwick Way.

Today, however, the earl was disturbed. He had been planning on going to Newmarket tomorrow to look at those breeder bulls. Now he would have to postpone his trip. Because of Amelia’s untimely arrival; it had nothing to do with Jane. And when the thought occurred to him that he could take Amelia with him, as they would have to stay overnight, he shoved it abruptly away. No, he would not go tomorrow, maybe next week. And this was the cause of his current agitation, nothing more. It certainly had nothing to do with the blue-eyed girl who had stood in the library doorway looking so devastated that afternoon. Or so Nick kept telling himself.

“Damn it!” he exploded.

It was for the best, he thought savagely. He was a man, with a man’s needs. Amelia was his mistress, one of many, so what? Jane was a schoolgirl and his ward and the sooner she realized this, the better. The sooner she got over her little schoolgirl’s crush, the better. Right, damn it?

“Right!” he roared.

“My, we are in a mood,” Amelia said from the doorway. He glanced at her.

She smiled and moved to him, undulating gently. She wore a low-cut, sleeveless crimson evening gown, the better to show off her magnificent breasts. For some reason, tonight she reminded Nick of a schooner, a top-heavy schooner crashing through the waves. He smiled slightly at the imagery.

“That’s better, darling,” Amelia purred. “Did you miss me?” She clung to his arm. Her bosom pressed there invitingly. The earl was, surprisingly, not in the least interested.

“Amelia, please, spare me the cute dialogue.” He shook her free.

“Damn you,” she hissed.

He turned to her, lifting a brow. “Too late, I fear I’m already on my way to hell. Or maybe,” he mused, “I’m already there. Care for a shot?” He raised the decanter of whiskey.

“You are in a worse mood than usual,” Amelia stated.

“True.” He poured them both large snifters. “If you don’t like it,” he said, handing her a glass, “leave.”

She stared.

He stared back.

She put her drink aside and tried a smile, touching his arm. “I’ll make you feel better, darling, I promise,” she finally said.

He looked her in the eye. “I doubt it.”

She could hide beneath the covers of her bed, or she could get up and get dressed and go downstairs for supper.

Jane was a fighter. It wasn’t in her personality to weep and be morose. Besides, he was a man, he was her guardian, he was almost old enough to be her father, and so what if he had that floozy redhead as a mistress? Did she care? Of course she didn’t!

But, Jane swore, she would not go downstairs dressed like some schoolgirl. Oh, no. She could be every bit as elegant as Lady Amelia Harrowby. She had a few of her mother’s evening gowns, which she had never even considered throwing away. She would wear the bold purple, the most elegant, expensive one of the lot. And she would have Molly put her hair up. No more braids for her! And a bustle, she would have to find a bustle. And he would look at her and be stricken by her beauty and …

Jane smiled. She ran to the door, flung it open, and yelled for Molly.

When the earl saw that three places were set in the dining room, he actually smiled. Then, of course, remembering their meal together at noon, remembering his purposeful rudeness, he felt a tide of shame rising.

“Who is joining us?” Amelia cried in dismay.

“I am” came a sweet voice from behind them. They both turned. Amelia gasped, and for an instant, the earl’s mouth hung open.

What in hell had she done?

Jane’s hair was piled high on top of her head. She was so small and fragile and she had so much hair that the effect was unbalanced and ridiculous. She wore a vibrant purple gown, sleeveless and low-cut. The color was all wrong for her—she was too pale, she should be wearing pastels. And the gown and oversize bustle were meant for a woman built like Amelia. On Jane it didn’t just reveal that she was slender, in fact, it made her look breastless and hipless when Nick knew damn well she was not.

Amelia started to giggle.

The earl shot her a look with imminent murder on his mind. Her smile vanished. Nick said, “This is the Duke of Clarendon’s grandaughter, Jane. She is my ward.”

That truly shut Amelia up. She stared, eyes narrowed now.

The earl turned to Jane. She was staring up at him with such a hopeful look that he had the urge to lift her in his arms, carry her away on a white horse, and be her knight in shining armor. Which was, of course, impossible. He was no knight in shining armor. He would not carry her away to a happy fairyland, he would ruin her and hurt her and toss her aside. After all, he was a depraved son of a bitch. Even his wife, whom he had once stupidly loved, had thought so.

The earl gestured for both women to precede him in. He saw Jane’s fallen look. What had she been expecting? Him to tell her she looked beautiful while swooning at her feet? He started after them. Amelia paused so she could cling to him as they rounded the table. He saw Jane surreptitiously tugging up the bodice of her dress, which looked to be in imminent danger of falling to her waist. I
will have to get her some clothes
, he thought grimly.

Amelia whispered loudly, “You must do something about that poor child’s wardobe, darling. Perhaps I can be of assistance.”

The earl froze. Jane, of course, had heard. Calmly he said, “But I don’t want her dressing like a whore.”

Amelia gasped.

Jane had frozen, and she was white, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.

Nick wished fervently that he was anywhere but there. He found himself taking Jane’s arm, his grip firm but gentle. He seated her. He knew she was surprised at his sudden manners, but what wrenched at him was how damn fragile she appeared, how bravely she was fighting the tears. Her mouth trembled. He wanted to kiss her wildly.

Amelia was clearly furious. Nick didn’t care. She was a bitch for what she had done. He refused to seat her, standing instead, impatiently waiting for her to take her seat or leave. She finally accepted defeat and sat. Nick signaled to Thomas, indicating he should pour Jane’s wine first. He knew she was gazing at him gratefully, adoringly, so he ignored her.

Supper was a silent affair.

And Jane was kicking herself for coming.

She had known the dress was wrong the instant she had looked in the mirror, hadn’t she? But Molly had encouraged her. Molly had watched, wide-eyed, awed by the expensiveness of the garment. Molly had told her she looked elegant. What did a maid know? She didn’t look elegant, she looked like a clown, or a little girl playing grown-up, which was worse.

His mistress had been laughing at her.

Jane had known, by the shock on the earl’s face, that she was a disaster. But for once he was kind. He hadn’t said a thing, he was treating her like an adult, he had even cut Amelia to the quick. But still, it was too late. Jane wanted to cry. She was a skinny, hopeless thing, and she could not compete with the lush beauty of his mistress. She wanted to run to her room and hide. But she would not.

She was not going to leave them alone together. Not if she could help it.

She could not eat. She didn’t even try. The wine alleviated some of her misery. It started to soothe the hurt. She found that she could not take her eyes off of the earl’s handsome profile. He was magnificent. Looking at him thrilled her. And he was kind. He had been kind tonight. He had been kind to her.

Then, after the main course, Amelia broke the silence and began flirting with the earl. It sickened Jane. It brought back the misery, and something more: jealousy. The earl did not respond. His answers were monosyllabic, more grunts than anything else. That did not stop Amelia, who laughed and chattered gaily, as if he had not practically called her a whore to her face. She stroked his hand, he removed it. She pushed her breast against his shoulder. This time he did not move away, but responded to whatever nonsense she was asking him. Jane wished lightning would strike her plumed headdress and sizzle every hair off of her red head. Leaving her bald.

“Amelia,” Nick finally said curtly, “I do not care about the goddamn Arlington’s ball.”

Amelia was silent.

He looked at Jane, to find her studying her full plate. He scowled. If Amelia was not there he would have cut her off from the red wine a long time ago, but he didn’t want to treat her like a child in front of the other woman. Not after what she’d done. He hoped she wasn’t drunk. She didn’t seem drunk. And, thank God, she was no longer making calf’s eyes at him.

“Shall we adjourn?” he asked, rising.

Amelia touched his hand with a laugh. “That’s my line, darling.”

He ignored her. He watched Jane stand and saw her sway slightly. She moved unsteadily away from the chair, bumped into the table. Amelia was watching too, wide-eyed and definitely gleeful. “Nick! She’s—”

The earl clapped his hand over Amelia’s mouth before she could utter another word. “Go to the drawing room, Amelia, and await me there,” he said softly.

She stared at him.

He wondered if he should throw her out now, or if he should use her to alleviate some of his own physical distress and then throw her out. He took Jane’s arm. “I’ll see you to your room.”

Jane gazed up at him with those big blue eyes, filled with infatuation. She smiled. It was beautiful and sweet and she was beautiful and sweet and Nick felt the terrible stabbing in his heart. “Awright,” she said, slurring softly.

They started to walk and her hip bumped his. He pretended not to notice. They moved past Amelia, who was red with anger. Jane was very unsteady on her feet. In the doorway she tripped on the Persian rug. The earl instantly did what his instincts had been clamoring for him to do: he swept her up into his arms. She weighed nothing.

She gazed at him.

He pounded up the steps. She was soft and warm and she smelled fresh and sweet. She clung to him. Her hair was spilling from its coif. He felt it tickling the back of his hands, softer than silk. Nick would not look at her. He didn’t dare. Another glimpse of her lovestruck eyes and he would be lost …

He was getting hot. His groin was aching, swelling. Just from the feel of her in his arms … he was in serious trouble.

Not that he would ever touch her.

He nudged open her door with his shoe and laid her atop the white, lacy covering of her bed. As he did, his gaze fell to her face. Her eyes were half closed, lidded with the sensuous look of a woman about to be bedded. She was as aroused from being in his arms as he was excited from carrying her. He was stunned. Slowly her head fell back to the pillows, her darkened gaze on him, lips parted, wet and full. His hands were still beneath her. It was reflexive—his glance roamed down, and he froze. Her bodice had fallen, revealing her breasts.

He couldn’t move. She was fuller than he’d imagined, actually voluptuous for a petite girl, each breast round and high and a perfect handful. Her nipples were the pink of a virgin. Pink and pointed, tiny and tight. She moaned, her head going back, offering him her lovely throat and lovelier breasts.

He wanted to touch her. He didn’t.

She turned her head to look at him, nostrils flared, eyes hot and bright. She lifted a hand, imploring. “Please,” she said throatily.

“Damn,” the earl croaked, leaping up from the bed. He had to get away from her. Because if he didn’t, he would touch her, kiss her, take her.

“Oh, God!” Jane cried, her hand flying to her forehead. “Don’t move like that!” And then she leapt up herself, her face green now, sliding to the floor and staggering to the chamber pot. She began retching.

Desire fled, sympathy and concern welled. Nick found himself beside her, kneeling, supporting her. When she had finished vomiting all the wine, she started to weep.

“Are you in pain?” he asked anxiously. “Let me take you to the bed.”

She shook her head, sobbing.

He thought she was finished, so very, very carefully, he lifted her and carried her to the bed. “Jane, don’t cry,” he ordered helplessly.

“Oh, God, how could I make such a fool of myself …” She rolled onto her stomach.

She kept crying. He wanted to touch her but was afraid to. Not because of desire, for he was now under control. Still, she was just a child, little different from Chad. He ignored the image of her young, ripe breasts that immediately taunted his mind. Shakily he reached out and tangled his hand in her hair. He gasped from the sheer pleasure of it.

“How quaint,” Amelia said through gritted teeth from the doorway.

Nick withdrew his hand as if he’d been burned, standing.

“Are you blushing?” Amelia asked incredulously.