by Burke, Darcy
She refused to give up. “I think it is. You don’t gamble anymore. That’s something. Wouldn’t that have pleased your father?”
“Yes.” He sounded a bit uncertain, and she squeezed his hand. “Yes, it would.” That sounded more confident.
He looked over at her. “What about your parents?”
She brought her hand to her lap, wondering if he genuinely wanted to know or just wanted to stop talking about his parents. “What about them?”
“Is there any hope for repairing your relationship with them?” He sounded quite caring, and she believed he genuinely wanted to know. “I’m aware they haven’t visited you since you moved to Cavendish Square.”
She snapped her gaze to his. “How do you know that?”
“Culpepper told me.”
She snorted. “What else has my butler divulged?”
“That he loves your household.”
Warmth expanded Jane’s heart. “I love it too.” Which was why she wouldn’t go back home. She’d never felt as comfortable there, as though she belonged. How strange was it to finally experience that sentiment with a household full of servants she’d only recently come to know?
“You aren’t going to tell me about your parents, are you?” he asked. “And after I endured you asking about mine.”
Jane exhaled. She couldn’t expect him to do all the hard work. “You make a good point. I don’t think I could ever do anything to make my parents proud of me. My failure on the Marriage Mart disappointed them, and my moving to Cavendish Square ensured they would never approve of me.”
“Does that mean you’ll have no relationship with them whatsoever?”
She hadn’t considered that. “I don’t know. I haven’t really tried.” Because it hurt to think about their rejection. “I have no reason to believe they’ve changed their opinions about me. My sister is getting married on Thursday, and I am not invited.”
“That’s criminal,” he whispered. “Family is family. Nothing should keep you apart—they’ll regret their behavior,” he said rather viciously.
Jane turned toward him and touched his face. She didn’t like having her glove between them, so she took it off and tossed it across the coach. Then she did the same with her other glove. Bare-handed, she caressed his cheek and murmured, “Much better. Thank you for your support. After the wedding, perhaps I’ll invite them to visit.”
“Why not before? Better yet, why not just show up at the wedding?”
Jane hadn’t considered that. “And risk making them even angrier at me?”
His gaze held hers. “If they would be angry with you for wanting to see your sister wed, to share in her joy, then they are perhaps a lost cause.” He pressed his lips together in frustration.
She rose up slightly off the seat and kissed him, intending to just briefly sweep her mouth over his. But his arms came around her, and he held her close to deepen the kiss.
Sighing, Jane lifted her hand to his nape, tucking her fingers beneath his collar and cradling his warm flesh. She slid her tongue along his. Anthony tilted her back into the corner and cupped her breast. Then he abruptly sat her up. “Good idea with the gloves.” He stripped his away and resumed their embrace, pressing her back with a smile. “This is a lovely way to pass the journey.” His mouth descended on hers, and she clutched his neck and shoulder as desire pulsed in her core.
He caressed her breast again, dragging his finger across her nipple, which she could barely feel due to her corset. He kissed along her jaw and neck, his teeth nipping her flesh at intervals, making her shudder with need.
“I suppose it’s too much to want to be naked,” she muttered.
“It is not,” he said against her flesh. “But wanting and doing are not the same thing, and I’m afraid disrobing you in these confines would be quite difficult.”
“If memory serves, I don’t have to be naked…” She let the suggestion hang between them.
He pulled his head up and gave her a wicked grin. “Are you trying to seduce me again, Miss Pemberton?”
“Is it working?”
“Always. We are, after all, having an affair.” He tossed her skirts up and pushed her leg to part her thighs, then skimmed his hand along her flesh until he met her sex.
Jane dug her fingers into his shoulder. He teased her for a bit, kissing her and stroking her folds until she was begging him to end her misery.
“Is it really miserable?” he asked, smiling.
“No. But it will be if we don’t finish before we arrive in Cavendish Square.”
“Actually, we don’t have even that long. My coachman instructed yours to stop outside town so I’m not seen getting out of your coach.”
“Then we’d better hurry.” She pulled his head down and kissed him thoroughly. He thrust his finger into her, and she bucked up as sensation exploded within her. She tore her lips from his. “I want you, Anthony.”
“I’m right here, my sweet.” He stroked her clitoris to make his point.
“No, all of you.”
“I see.” He clasped her waist. “Straddle me.” He held her gown up around her waist while she complied, inelegantly throwing her leg over him as if she were mounting a horse.
“I’ve never ridden astride,” she said, then gasped at the feel of him between her legs, his erection straining against his breeches.
He chuckled. “Aren’t you a saucy minx?” He reached between them and unbuttoned his fall. His movements brushed against her, sparking pleasure and need.
“Hurry.”
“I’ll add impatient,” he said. “Now, we must be careful so you don’t hit your head.” He glanced up at the roof of the coach, which was just a few inches above her bonnet.
She untied the ribbon beneath her chin and threw the hat aside. “That’s better. My goodness, but clothing, especially accessories, is overrated.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” He pulled his cock from his breeches and slid it across her opening.
Jane dropped her hands to his shoulders and ground down against him, seeking his entry. He guided his flesh into hers, then gripped her hips. He rolled his pelvis against hers, showing her a slow, steady, rapturous rhythm.
He filled her, then rocked back, then filled her again, creating a delicious friction that shot through her with devastating effect. She closed her eyes, giving in to the sensation.
“Jane, I’m not going to last long.” He sounded strained, as if he were in pain.
She opened her eyes and moved her hands to cup his neck, her thumbs meeting at the base of his throat. “Me neither.”
“Then don’t.” He slid one hand under her skirt and stroked her clitoris. The slow build of pleasure crashed over her with sudden violence. Jane jerked her hips, moving faster over him.
He came up, driving into her, intensifying her orgasm as he hit that spot inside her that made her see darkness followed by dizzying bright lights. “Jane, I have to—” He wrenched her off him just as she felt the rush of his seed against her.
She swung her leg back and sat on the seat beside him, then used the edge of her petticoat to clean him off. He gave her a lopsided smile. “Thank you.”
“Pity you have to finish that way. It seems like it would feel better if you remained inside me.” She lowered her skirts and arranged them around her legs.
“Did that ruin the end of your orgasm?” he asked with concern as he tucked himself back into his breeches and buttoned his fall.
“No, but did it ruin yours?”
He shrugged. “It’s been a long time since I came inside a woman. When I do now, I always wear a French letter.”
She stared at him, aghast. “Now?”
“Not, now now. I meant before…us.”
Us. She liked the sound of that. “I don’t know that I want to hear about your French-letter exploits. However, I’d be interested in trying that if it meant you could finish inside me.”
He smiled at her and kissed her cheek. “Very thoughtful of you.”
/>
“So they prevent a child as well as disease?” she asked.
“They seem to, but maybe I’ve been lucky.”
She thought about the countless women he’d probably used French letters with and decided she didn’t like this conversation. Before she could change the subject, he leaned over and kissed her soundly.
“One of these days, I’m going to shag you properly. In a bed.” He sat back, winking at her.
“I see you can wink again.”
“I can.”
“In fact, your face is almost back to its normal handsome state.”
“You find me handsome?” He waggled his brows, and she rolled her eyes.
“Stop fishing for compliments. You know I find you utterly irresistible. Or at least you should. I would think I’d made it obvious. How are your ribs?”
“Much better, thank you.” He winced slightly. “Though I wonder if that exercise was perhaps not the best for my recovery. Ah well, I have no regrets.” He glanced out the window. “We’re nearly to town.”
He picked up her bonnet and handed it to her, then set her gloves on the seat next to her. Then he retrieved his gloves and drew them on.
“When will I see you next?” she asked, already eagerly anticipating it.
“Even though you are unconcerned with your reputation, we should be as discreet as possible.”
She arched a brow at him. “Why, are you concerned with yours?”
He laughed. “Not particularly, but I will admit the gossips would go mad if they knew we were having an affair.” He sobered, taking her hand. “Mostly, I don’t want anyone who knew about that old, disgusting rumor to think they were right about you.”
Gratitude and something far deeper bloomed in her chest. “Thank you.”
The coach slowed, signaling their time was at an end.
“I’m glad you stopped the coach,” she said. “I hope I’ll see you soon.”
He kissed her wrist. “You will.”
The coach stopped, he grabbed his hat and gloves, then he was gone.
Jane sat back against the squab and smiled as she relived the time they’d just spent together. Until she thought about the conversation regarding their parents. She said she’d think about inviting hers over, but she was actually warming to his suggestion that she show up at Anne’s wedding.
Did she dare?
Anthony’s words rose in her mind: family is family; nothing should keep you apart. He was right, and she didn’t want to live with regret. That was the entire reason she’d chosen this path—to live the life she chose without apology.
And that was what she meant to do.
Chapter 11
The late May night was warm and the air softly scented with the trees and flowers of spring as Anthony made his way toward Cavendish Square. He ducked into the mews on his way to Jane’s garden. Though he’d just seen her yesterday morning on their return to London, he looked forward to seeing her again.
Even if she did want him to forgive himself and try to let the past go.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. All right, maybe he wasn’t ready to forgive himself and feared he might never be. But he saw the benefit in no longer being shackled to the past. Still, could he move forward and stop looking back?
He’d awakened this morning thinking he could, and then he’d received another letter from Sarah detailing the joy and delight of her daughter. When he thought of his sister and his niece and the fact that he’d deprived Marianne of her grandparents, he was once again overwhelmed with grief and regret. He had, however, kept himself from diving into a bottle of gin or brandy.
That was a small victory, and one he wasn’t quite sure he ought to maintain. Numbness could not be overrated.
The clarity in his brain, however, had only led to more thinking. He’d spent the day contemplating whether he should tell his sister the truth behind their parents’ death. Just the thought of doing so made him want to toss up his accounts. And it wasn’t because she would think less of him. He had to think she already did. He didn’t want her to have to share the burden that their deaths weren’t random, that they could have been avoided.
But maybe it wasn’t fair of him to keep the truth from her. He wanted to know what Jane thought. So here he was stealing into her garden.
He knew her household’s schedule, so he’d timed his arrival for after dinner, when she’d be in the garden room. He made his way through the garden to the doors. He tried the latch, but it was locked, so he knocked softly on the glass.
A flash of green silk caught his eye as she came to open the door. Her lips curved into a smile that sent flutters through his midsection. “Anthony.” She opened the door wide and gestured for him to come inside.
As soon as he stepped into the garden room, two balls of fur rushed toward him. “Daffodil, Fern.” He removed his gloves and tossed them on the table, then squatted down to pet the kittens simultaneously. Daffodil attacked his hand, while Fern flopped onto her back, inviting him to stroke her belly.
“They’ve missed you,” Jane said.
Surprisingly, he’d missed them too. “Of course they have.” He stood and looked at her. “Have you?”
“I just saw you yesterday.”
He took off his hat and placed it on the table by the doors. “My question still stands.”
She tried not to smile. “Yes.”
He took her hand and kissed her wrist, his lips lingering against the softness of her skin. “Good.” He inhaled her delicious scent—apples and almond—and felt like he was…home. The thought shook him, so he pushed it away.
“Is that why you came?” she asked. “Because you missed me?”
Anthony went to sit on the settee. He draped his arm along the back and crossed his legs. “Did I say I missed you?” He tipped his head to the side in exaggerated contemplation. “I don’t recall saying that.”
She sat at the opposite end of the settee and rolled her eyes. “Why did you come, then?”
“To ask you something.” Now that he was here, he didn’t want to talk about her plan for him to let go of the past or ask her about his sister. He wanted to carry her upstairs and shag her senseless.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “What’s that?”
He took a deep breath and forced himself to speak. “I’ve been thinking about my parents’ deaths.”
She gave him an encouraging smile. “I think that’s good. Even though our goal is to leave the past where it belongs, grieving will help you do that.”
Grieving? He wasn’t sure that was what he was doing. That would invite more emotion than he wanted to deal with. “I didn’t drink while I was doing it—thinking, I mean. That’s good too, right?”
She moved closer to him so their thighs almost touched. “That’s brilliant. I’m so proud of you.” She caressed his cheek and jaw, her touch soft and arousing.
Anthony tried to focus on what he’d come to say. “You’re distracting me, Jane.”
“Sorry.” She dropped her hand.
“I received a letter from my sister today. About Marianne.”
“I received a letter from Sarah yesterday. She sounds so happy.”
“Yes, and I want her to remain that way. However, I wonder if I need to tell her what happened to our parents, that it wasn’t some random act by a highwayman.”
Jane’s lashes fluttered, and she glanced toward the hearth for a moment. When she looked back at him, her gaze had darkened to a deep amber. “I think you should not.”
“Doesn’t she deserve to know the truth?”
“Does she deserve the heartache that will come along with knowing that?” She lowered her voice to a soft, supportive tone. “Because I do think it will cause her heartache, don’t you?”
He nodded. Taking his hand from the back of the settee, he ran it through his hair and braced the side of his head, as if he couldn’t support the weight of his thoughts without assistance. It wasn’t just that she’d likely despise him forever—a
nd he wouldn’t blame her for that—it was that he would cause her additional pain. She didn’t deserve that, especially as she delighted in her newborn daughter. Anthony could well imagine Felix, her husband and his closest friend, hating him and maybe even wanting to beat the hell out of him.
Which Anthony more than deserved.
“Would it absolve your guilt?” she asked softly.
His gaze connected with hers, and he saw how much she cared. It made his lungs contract. He fought to take a breath. “Nothing could do that.”
She took his other hand, the one on his leg, and twined their fingers together. “You’ll heal. In time.”
He couldn’t see how. His heart, his very soul, felt permanently broken. The only light he’d seen in the last eleven months had been with her. And even that didn’t last. There were still plenty of moments when the darkness claimed him.
Fern jumped onto the settee and crawled onto his lap, where she promptly curled around herself and went to sleep. Maybe Jane wasn’t the only source of light. And if there was more than one…
Jane smiled briefly at the kitten before looking back at him. “As you said, you didn’t drink today. You wanted to?”
“Yes. It’s far better than the alternative.”
She stroked her thumb along the back of his hand. “Which is?”
“Remembering. Thinking. Feeling.”
“Maybe you need more memories—better ones—to block out the others.” Her gaze began to smolder.
“Do I?”
She lifted a shoulder. “It seems a reasonable theory. Take yesterday’s coach ride. That’s a lovely memory.”
His cock surged as his blood heated. “It is indeed.” He glanced toward the open door leading to the hall. “Maybe you should close that. I’d get up, but…” He looked down at the sleeping Fern.
Jane chuckled as she let go of his hand and stood. After closing the door, she returned. “What can we possibly do with a kitten nestled on your lap?”
“That’s a very good point, particularly when I’d rather it was you there.” He snagged her hand and pulled her down beside him. The movement startled Fern, who jumped down. Anthony guided Jane to straddle him as she’d done in the coach the day before. “I didn’t come here to shag you.”
