Unveiled (Undone by Love Book 3)

by Kristina Cook

  “I don’t know what you mean.” She shook her head, the heat rising in her cheeks. Had she been so obvious?

  “Oh, I think you do,” he answered good-naturedly. “Hayden Moreland, the Earl of Westfield. I heard what happened earlier tonight, and I can’t help but wonder.”

  “Wonder what?” she bit out, more sharply than she intended.

  “Why, if he’s tempting your resolve. If he’s succeeding where I could not.”

  “I assure you, my resolve is as firmly in place as ever. I’m not so easily trifled with.”

  Nickerson grinned down at her. “Perhaps someone should warn him, then. He’s positively simmering with jealousy at this very moment, even while he holds the lovely Miss Upshaw in his arms.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I’m feeling a bit reckless tonight. Perhaps I should hold you closer.” He did just that, pulling her dangerously close.

  Jane couldn’t help but smile.

  “Hmmm, maybe not.” He slackened his hold on her. “He’s a good deal larger than me, after all. I do value my limbs.”

  “Come now, Nickerson, you’re teasing me. Hasn’t anyone told you it’s cruel to tease a spinster?”

  “I wouldn’t dare tease you, Miss Rosemoor.” His eyes danced mischievously. “Especially with such a powerful and, I might add, enormous man glowering at me. You’d best put your heart under lock and key. I fear you may lose it at last.”

  Jane threw back her head and laughed. “I assure you my heart is safe from the likes of Lord Westfield.”

  The music ended, and Jane stepped back from her partner, right into something solid. “Oh, pardon me,” she said, spinning around. She sucked in her breath as she raised her gaze to Lord Westfield’s brooding glare.

  Refusing to be cowed, she turned back to her partner with a practiced smile. “Perhaps I could use a breath of fresh air, Mr. Nickerson. It’s decidedly stuffy in here.”

  “Of course,” he replied with a slight bow, offering her his arm.

  Without a backward glance, she followed him out, feeling Lord Westfield’s gaze boring through her as they made their way across the ballroom.

  Only once they’d reached the doors did she dare turn, searching the crowd for him.

  He stood just where she left him, his dark head bent toward Miss Upshaw’s fair one. She almost stomped a slippered foot in frustration as she watched him whisper something into the girl’s ear and then pull her into his arms for the next waltz. He’d already engaged her for two dances–as many as propriety allowed. Wherever was the girl’s chaperone?

  “Shocking, isn’t it?” Nickerson murmured, his gaze following hers.

  “Indeed,” she answered, feeling decidedly old and irritable. She was no longer a young debutante, no more the darling of the ton. She reached one hand up to her temple, surprised to find that the realization bothered her so.

  “Some air?” Nickerson asked.

  Jane could only nod in reply.

  Chapter 11

  “Hurry now, Jane. You’ll be late.” Emily waved her hands toward the door.

  “Are you certain you won’t go? Lucy will be sorely disappointed.” Jane was loath to leave her there alone, fearing another bout of despondency threatened her cousin’s fragile state.

  Emily smiled. “I’m certain, dear Jane. It’s nothing more than the headache. I could use a quiet evening at home. Please go, and enjoy yourself. The gardens are said to be lovely this time of year.”

  Indeed they were. Jane longed for the entertainments at Vauxhall. Still, she worried over leaving Emily. But then a disturbing vision of Cecil prowling about Vauxhall’s secluded lanes flitted through her mind. She shook her head resolutely, her mind made up. She would go.

  An hour later, their party settled themselves into their supper box. The meal was lively and festive, the accompanying music delightful.

  As soon as the remaining bits of ham, tiny capons, assorted biscuits and cheese cakes were cleared away, Cecil stood and reached for his walking stick. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll take a brief turn. It’s a lovely evening.”

  “Isn’t it?” Jane added, quickly rising to her feet. “If you haven’t any objection, perhaps I might join you.”

  She saw his eyes darken as he offered his arm. “Of course.”

  “Make certain you return in time for the fireworks, Jane.” Lucy waved a hand at the sky. “You get a much better vista here than out on the walks.”

  “Of course.” Jane placed her hand in the crook of Cecil’s arm as she followed him out. They strolled aimlessly for more than a half hour, their conversation held to a bare minimum. They traversed the length of the elm-lined Grand Walk, then over the Cross Walk and finally to the South Walk. At last Jane began to feel a bit winded, and she looked around for a place to rest.

  Spotting an alcove ahead, she tilted her head toward it. “Perhaps I might sit and rest a moment.”

  “Of course,” Cecil replied, leading her to an ornamental bench where she sank gratefully.

  He removed a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his brow. “I say, Miss Rosemoor, you do look a bit peaked.” He scowled as he stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket. “In fact, you look frightfully pale, if I might say so. You must remain here and let me fetch you a lemonade.”

  “No, there’s no need.” She shook her head. “I’m perfectly well.”

  “Oh, but I insist. I fear I’ve allowed you to overexert yourself. However will I face Emily if you fall ill because of my carelessness?”

  “I assure you I am well. You cannot leave me here–”

  “It will only be for a brief moment,” he interrupted. “I promise to return at once with a lemonade. You look as if you sorely need one.”

  Jane lost her desire to argue with the irritating man. Whatever his true intention, the idea of a moment of quiet solitude suddenly pleased her. She did not object again as he strode off, back in the direction from which they had come. Surely he would do as he said and return promptly. Wouldn’t he? A shadow of doubt flitted across her consciousness.

  The night was unseasonably warm and she reached for her fan, flicking it open with one sharp movement of the wrist. She looked up to the sky then lowered her gaze to her immediate surroundings where the silvery moon cast a metallic glow across the greenery. Absently, she began to stir the air before her. The strains of the orchestra filled the warm night with its rich tunes, and she felt herself tapping her toes. Several couples strode by, no doubt headed for the darker and more secretive Lover’s or Druid Walks. Ah, to be young and in love. Jane couldn’t help but smile at their boldness. For a moment, she closed her eyes and breathed in the rich, earthy scents around her, the air redolent with the first blossoms of summer. Whatever was taking Cecil so long?

  She heard approaching steps, far too brisk and purposeful to be those of a lady, and she looked up from her fan, thinking the errant Cecil had returned at last. Her heart leapt in her breast as she took in the familiar figure headed her way instead, his looming shadow perfectly outlined in silver moonlight.

  Lord Westfield.

  She twisted her torso away from the path, raising the fan to her face. Even as she shrank into the alcove’s shadows, she couldn’t help but peer over the top of the pleated silk as the footsteps hurried by her at a brisk clip. Her heart beat wildly, mimicking the rhythmic tapping of his boots.

  And then he paused.

  Jane held her breath as he stood motionless, not twelve feet away, his back to her. Her breath let out in a rush as he slowly but deliberately spun around, as if he sensed her presence. Even in the dim shadows, she could see his gaze trained directly on her. She lowered her fan to her lap.

  Several seconds passed before he spoke. “Miss Rosemoor? Whatever are you doing there, cloaked in shadows?”

  “I was out for a stroll with Cecil,” was all she could say in reply.

  “And where is he now? Do not tell me he has left you alone?” As he moved silently toward her,
she could see the firm set of his jaw.

  “I thought I was being so clever, forcing my company on him to keep him from mischief. It seems he found a way around my watchfulness.”

  “Indeed? And what excuse did he find for depositing you here and disappearing?”

  “A lemonade, my lord. He went to fetch me a lemonade. Quite some time ago.”

  “I’ll break his neck when I see him.” He balled his hands into fists by his sides, and for a moment Jane feared he might do what he threatened.

  She cleared her throat uncomfortably. “Yes, well, until that time, perhaps you’ll escort me back to our supper box? I’ve come with Lord and Lady Mandeville and they must wonder where I’ve disappeared to.”

  “Actually, I’ve just come from their box myself. It seems Lady Mandeville has taken a notion to dislike me. I cannot for the life of me fathom why, as we’ve only just met.”

  Jane arched a brow. “Can’t you?”

  Understanding lit his eyes, and he smiled ruefully. “Hmmm. The Falmouth ball?” he offered. “My abominable behavior?”

  Jane nodded.

  “I suppose I further piqued her ire just now, talking politics on a night like this. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “It certainly is. So, Lord Westfield, Mandeville tells me you are a political ally. What are your feelings on the Combination Acts? Will you vote to repeal them?”

  Now it was his turn to quirk a brow. “A lady, interested in politics? Most unusual.”

  “I think you’ll find I’m unusual in many respects, my lord.” She wasn’t a simpering miss like Miss Upshaw, for one, she thought acidly.

  “There’s no doubt of that, Miss Rosemoor. Suffice it to say I’ve never before met your equal. Although,” he said, scratching his chin, “I wouldn’t be surprised to find that Lady Mandeville comes close, should I have the opportunity to know her better.”

  Jane laughed. “Wherever do you think I pick up my revolutionary tendencies? You’ll never meet a lady as keenly intelligent and accomplished as she.”

  “Then I suppose I must apologize to you at once for my boorish behavior at the Falmouth ball. And, of course, you must convey to Lady Mandeville that I’ve done so.”

  “She won’t be satisfied by an apology made simply to gain her favor. No, it won’t do at all, I’m afraid, Lord Westfield. You must try harder.”

  He looked at her with a mischievous grin, then dropped to one knee, clutching her hand to his breast. “My dear Miss Rosemoor, you must accept my most earnest, most heartfelt apology for treating you as unspeakably as I did at the Falmouth ball.”

  Jane reached a hand up to stifle a giggle.

  “But you see,” he continued, “I confess that your very presence alone sends all rational thought and gentlemanly behavior out the window, as you might have already noted.”

  Jane found herself laughing aloud. “Do get up. What if someone were to see you?”

  He dropped her hand and rose to his feet, towering over her once again. “Does that mean you accept my apology?”

  “Yes, of course. Anyway, Lucy was angrier at you than I was. I’ll admit to my role in provoking you.”

  His face was all seriousness now. “Admit to nothing. My behavior was inexcusable, and no fault of yours. In all seriousness, I hope you will forgive me.”

  Jane’s gaze dropped to her slippers. She nodded silently, suddenly unable to speak.

  “Thank you. Now, to answer your question, yes, I’ll vote to repeal the Combination Acts, not that I have strong sentiments about the Trade Unions. Like Mandeville, my concern lies mainly with social reforms, namely education.”

  Jane nodded. “I confess I was a bit skeptical at first of Mandeville’s convictions toward educating the street urchins. After all, in what manner can we educate them? ‘The most effective kind of education is that a child should play amongst lovely things.’ How can you accomplish that in London’s roughest neighborhoods?”

  Lord Westfield stared at her, his brow furrowed. “Did you just quote Plato?”

  “Of course.” She shrugged. “But after listening to Mandeville’s arguments, I’ve concluded that it’s worth trying. As to the street urchins, pickpockets and the like, ‘For if you suffer your people to be ill-educated, and their manners to be corrupted from their infancy, and then punish them for those crimes to which their first education disposed them, what else is to be concluded from this, but that you first make thieves and then punish them?’ Therefore it’s our responsibility, wouldn’t you agree, Lord Westfield?”

  He blinked and shook his head, but said nothing in reply.

  “Lord Westfield?” She peered up at him curiously.

  “Sir Thomas More.”

  “Yes, Utopia. Have you read it?”

  “I have. What amazes me is that you have.”

  “Why shouldn’t women have the equal education of men? ‘If women are expected to do the same work as men–’”

  “...’we must teach them the same things.’ Plato again.”

  A smile spread across Jane’s face. “Yes. Oh, I realize that women aren’t truly expected to do the same work, but still...” He was studying her face intently, his mouth slightly agape. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “You are, without a doubt, the most extraordinary woman I’ve ever met,” he replied, his tone almost reverent. Jane felt a blush creep up her neck. She rose and stood before him, waiting for him to offer his arm.

  Instead, he peered down at her curiously, his brow furrowed and a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Only when he reached for her shoulders did she realize her mistake. She’d held the handle of her fan to her lips, a blatant request for a kiss.

  She backed away from him, shrugging off his hands as she shook her head. “You must excuse me. I’m not myself tonight.” She silently cursed her carelessness, her foolishness. Whatever made her do such a thing?

  High above them, a spot of white light zigzagged across the sky, erupting into a starburst of twinkling light that drifted down toward the treetops. When the last light faded into nothingness, his eyes sought hers, and she met them with equal determination.

  “Come with me,” he commanded, holding out a hand to her.

  Without thought, she took it. Her heart soaring, Jane hurried beside him, her hand clasped in his.

  Brilliant displays of color lit the sky, one after another, as they raced down Druid’s Walk. Slowing his pace at last, he ducked behind a row of hedges, pulling her with him into the most shadowed, secret place. Without a word, he pulled her into his arms as a burst of fireworks fell from the sky above them. She could see the purple points of light reflected in his face, in his eyes, as his mouth descended on hers, taking it roughly, possessively.

  The explosions of color and sound above only fueled her desire as she yielded, opening her mouth to meet his, kissing him with a hunger she didn’t recognize. She felt her knees buckle as his tongue parted her lips, teasing her own with light flicks before plunging inside. She stumbled back, pulling him with her against the trunk of a sturdy, old oak.

  Her heart accelerated, echoing the booms from above, as his hands coarsely moved down her bodice, across her breasts, her stomach, around to cup her bottom in his grasp. It felt as if her skin was afire, burning with an unfamiliar, terrifying heat.

  She reached her hands up to his broad chest, running her fingertips across the hard planes while she explored his mouth with her own traitorous tongue. She slid her palms up his flat, taut stomach, up to his heavily muscled chest, feeling wicked, wanton, even as she did so. If only she could see him shirtless once more, touch him this time as she longed to do by the pool, trace the path of hair down his stomach.

  His mouth retreated from hers with a groan, his hands seemingly everywhere at once as his lips sought her throat. “Dear God, Jane,” he ground out, and then she felt his tongue tantalize her skin behind her ear and down to her collarbone, his breath warm against her skin. She inhaled his scent, unmistakably masculine, an
intoxicating mix of cedarwood and sandalwood, perhaps a note of bergamot.

  Before she knew it, he’d reached around to cup one breast, his insistent mouth seeking the hardened peak through the fabric of her bodice. Jane threw her head back as a shiver raced from the back of her neck down to her toes. “Oh,” she cried out as his teeth found the nipple, teasing it, taunting it.

  She knew these wondrous feelings were wrong, very wrong, yet she was unable to find the strength to fight it. She wanted his touch. She wanted him.

  But she could never have him. The thought echoed in her ears as she summoned the will to drop her hands and push him away. “My lord, we cannot do this.”

  “Hayden,” he said hoarsely, gripping her shoulders as he met her gaze with his.

  “Hayden, we cannot do this. You must stop. At once.”

  “Change your answer, Jane,” he demanded, gripping her shoulders. “It’s not too late. Marry me.”

  She couldn’t meet his eyes, focusing instead on the tips of her slippers. “No. I can’t.” She shook her head. “I won’t.”

  He dropped his hands to his sides.

  Her hand rose to her breast, to the place his mouth had possessed only moments before. “We can never do this again,” she said, her voice hoarse. “Never.”

  “You’re right.” He hastily straightened his waistcoat and jacket. When he looked at her again, his face was guarded. His implacable mask had returned to shield her from his thoughts, his emotions. “What I’ve done here tonight is inexcusable and cannot be repeated.”

  “I...of course,” she stammered.

  “Tomorrow I will ask for Miss Upshaw’s hand in marriage.”

  She froze, unable to speak. The pounding of her heart reverberated in her eardrums, nearly deafening her.

  “I presume she will accept,” he added, unnecessarily, his face a stony mask.

  Still, she said nothing. She looked into his eyes, wondering if this would be the last time she could study them so closely, the last opportunity she’d have to see how the gray and green intermingled seamlessly, how a ring of darker green encircled the irises.