“And a fine one, at that. I’m much impressed by your convictions.”
He shrugged, and Jane noticed again the lines of exhaustion that marred his face.
Nodding toward the still sleeping Mr. Allan, he grimaced. “Why does he bother to remain here, if he sleeps so soundly? What is his purpose? Someone should wake him and send him to his own room.”
Jane looked to the man with a fond smile. “No, leave him be. He feels it’s his duty. Mr. Allan is quite devoted to your family, it seems. But you, Lord Westfield, must get some rest. Please. I’ll stay right here with her, till the sun rises.”
“I cannot ask that of you, Miss Rosemoor. You’ve done enough.”
“Come now, you’ve been awake for hours. I slept at length this morning and am now fully awake, eager to read.” She held up her book. “Leave me. I’ll send for you if there’s any change.”
“You’re certain?”
“I’m certain.”
With a weary nod, he acquiesced. Once he’d quit the room, Jane sank into the chair by the bed and sighed, keenly aware of his absence in every fiber of her being. More disturbing was the thought that something inside her had changed fundamentally these past few months, that never again would she feel peaceful contentment. Instead, the days ahead would be plagued with unfulfilled yearnings, with unsatisfied desire tinged with regret. She could only shudder at the thought.
Struggling to force the dark feelings away, she opened her book and began to read.
Chapter 17
“Where’s Lord Westfield?” Jane asked, looking up as Emily came in, followed by Mrs. Smythe who carried a tea tray.
“I’ve sent him off to bed. Here, I’ve brought you some tea and cakes. I thought you might need some nourishment if you insist on sitting up through the night again.”
Without a word, Mrs. Smythe set down the tray and bustled out.
“Well,” Jane said, “we’ve established a nice pattern, haven’t we?” Hayden sat with Madeline throughout the day, and Jane throughout the night. It had worked well for the past two days, and kept them from each other’s company as much as possible. She was satisfied by the arrangement.
Emily turned toward Mr. Allan, who busied himself by the washbasin, cleaning his instruments with a scowl. Finding him suitably occupied, she turned back to Jane and spoke in a hushed whisper. “Oh, Jane, I fear for Lord Westfield. His patience is wearing thin and his spirits are dreadfully low tonight. I do believe he’s lost hope. Mr. Allan has told him that she cannot hold on much longer and that he should prepare himself for the worst.”
Jane shook her head sadly. “Poor Lord Westfield.”
“I cannot even imagine...” Emily shook her head, her eyes squeezed shut. “I promised him that should her condition deteriorate in the night, you would summon him at once. He wishes to be with her at...” She sniffled into her handkerchief. “At the end.”
Hot tears blurred Jane’s vision as she looked to the child who lay so still and pale, the rising and falling of her chest now barely perceptible. “Of course. Go on to bed, Emily. I will do as you ask.”
“Very well. Goodnight, then, dear Jane.”
“Goodnight, Emily.”
After brushing a few golden strands from Madeline’s cheeks and readjusting the light coverlet that lay over the child, Jane settled herself into her chair and took out her needlework. She had begun an embroidered gown for Amelia weeks ago, and was anxious to finish it before the child grew too large to wear it.
More than an hour passed before she stopped and examined her progress. The candle had burned low; she moved it closer and held up the gown for inspection. Very pretty, she thought, pleased with her work. If her eyes held out, she’d finish it by sunrise.
A faint movement from the bed stirred her attention. She carefully set aside the gown and needle, rising on weary legs to peer down at the child. Were her eyes playing tricks on her? She held her breath, willing Madeline to stir. And then she saw it again–one thin arm moved against the coverlet, pale fingers grasping at the cloth. “Madeline?” Jane’s voice trembled with excitement. “Can you hear me?”
The child’s tongue darted out to wet her lips. “Thirsty,” she croaked, her voice rusty with neglect.
Jane’s breath escaped with a rush and her hands began to tremble. Oh, thank God! “You’re thirsty? Here, let me get you some water.” Jane clumsily reached for the pitcher and filled a glass, spilling a fair amount in the process.
“Here you are, just open your eyes, Madeline. Come now, you can do it!”
Jane’s heart accelerated as the child’s eyes fluttered open, her blond brows drawn over them in puzzlement. “Jane?”
“Yes, it’s me. Here,” Jane reached around Madeline’s thin shoulders and propped her up before bringing the glass to her lips. “Drink.”
Madeline sipped obligingly, coughing and sputtering as the cool liquid made its way down her parched throat. Panic rose in Jane’s breast, and she almost dropped the glass trying to pat the child’s back. Once quieted, Madeline reached again for the glass and took a long, gulping draught with no ill effects. Jane’s pulse settled at last as Madeline leaned back against the pillows, smiling wanly.
She raised a hand to the child’s forehead and almost wept with relief. It was cool! A thin film of sweat beaded on Madeline’s forehead.
“Mr. Allan!” Jane cried, quaking with excitement.
The surgeon roused himself at once and hurried to her side, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“She’s cool!”
“Very good, very good indeed.” He felt Madeline’s forehead, then her pulse. “Her fever has broken.”
“So sleepy,” Madeline murmured.
“Yes, child.” Mr. Allan patted her hand, smiling broadly. “You need a great deal of rest.”
They watched as she slipped back to sleep with a faint smile on her lips, her breathing far easier than before.
Mr. Allan retrieved his stethoscope, putting one end against his ear, the other against Madeline’s chest. Jane held her breath as he listened intently. At last he straightened, removing the single earpiece from his ear. “This is good, indeed. Her heart sounds strong, her lungs are clear. I believe she’ll make a full recovery,” he proclaimed, looking very pleased with himself. “Let her sleep. We’ll see how she fares by morning.”
“I must go tell Lord Westfield. Perhaps the news will bring him a peaceful sleep.” Her heart singing, Jane headed for the door.
“Yes, yes,” Mr. Allan said absently, settling himself into the chair by the bed. “Go at once.”
***
Jane blinked back the sleep that threatened to overcome her as she hurried to Hayden’s room. She hoped he’d managed to get some rest. Lord knew she needed some herself. Stepping up to the door with a sigh, she rapped sharply. “Lord Westfield,” she called out. “Are you awake?”
The door opened at once, startling her. She stepped back and caught her breath.
He reached for her wrist and pulled her inside, his face contorted with despair. She’d never before seen him so disheveled, so discomposed. He wore no waistcoat, no coat–only a simple, white cambric shirt that was pulled haphazardly from the waistband of his trousers. Even his hair, usually so neat, tumbled about in unruly dark waves.
“By God, has she worsened?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion.
“No, Lord Westfield. I’ve come to tell you she’s much improved. Her fever has broken at last.”
She saw the relief wash over his features as he grasped her hand in his so tightly that she feared he might crush the bones.
At last he dropped her hand and strode to the chair beside the hearth. Flinging himself onto the worn leather, he dropped his head into his hands. “If she had been taken, I would never have forgiven myself,” he said, his voice thick with grief.
Jane tiptoed to the doorway and looked out into the hall, listening sharply for any sign of movement within the house. All was silent. As quietly as possible, she pulled
the door shut and hastened to his side.
She knelt beside him and laid a hand tentatively on his arm. “You cannot say that, my lord. This was not your fault. Besides, she’s better. Mr. Allan says she should recover fully, now that the fever’s gone. Please don’t blame yourself.”
He raised his head and Jane flinched at the sight–his cheeks were dampened with tears, his eyes red-rimmed. He was weeping. Her stomach twisted in knots. She’d never before seen a man weep, and she had no idea what to do. She swallowed, trying desperately to retain her composure.
“It is my fault,” he continued, his voice breaking. “I love her, God help me. I knew the risks, yet I allowed myself to love her nonetheless.” He dropped his head again. “Madeline was all I had left.”
His words, so full of pain, ripped at Jane’s heart. “Come, now, Madeline’s much improved. Do not despair. You still have her, my lord.”
“Hayden.” He stood abruptly, nearly knocking Jane to the carpet. “My name is Hayden, and you can bloody well start calling me that.”
She rose and drew herself to her full height, facing him with her chest heaving in indignation. “I only meant to help,” she said, tears threatening her eyes. She spun toward the door but he reached for her hand to stop her flight.
“Jane.” His voice was a hoarse whisper. “Don’t go.”
Guilt washed over her. She couldn’t leave him alone, not in this state. He didn’t know what he was saying, so torn was he with worry and grief. One look into his tortured eyes told her so.
She reached up to stroke his cheek, rough with days’ worth of stubble. “Oh, Hayden,” she murmured, moving dangerously close to him. Her feet moved of their own volition, and before she knew it, she was standing just inches from him, peering up into his face, the heat from his body warming hers. In seconds his hands were on her flushed cheeks, one thumb tracing her lower lip. Her whole body quivered in anticipation.
With a groan, his mouth took hers, more greedily than ever before. Her skin tingled, her back arched, and she pressed herself against him. This time she didn’t flinch at the blatant evidence of his arousal. Instead, it fueled her desire, made her moan against his mouth as his tongue flicked teasingly against hers. It felt as if the world had stopped spinning, as if time was suspended and nothing–nothing–signified except the feel of his mouth possessing hers. Their bodies melded into one, their hands moving in unabashed exploration. He somehow managed to release her hair from its pins, and she felt the weight of her tresses brush her shoulders. His fingers combed through her hair before moving lower, working the fastenings on the back of her dress.
The breeze stirred against her bared back as her dress parted at last. His mouth moved from hers and his hands found her neckline, roughly shoving the fabric from her shoulders in one motion. In an instant, he had unlaced her stays and they fell to her feet with a swish. She shuddered convulsively as a warm, moist heat gathered between her legs. His mouth, hot upon her skin, moved to her neck, tracing a path from behind one ear, down the curve of her shoulder and across the swell of her breasts. Lower still his mouth moved, to one taut nipple. She tipped her head back, arching herself into him, desperately wanting him to suckle her.
Instead, he froze. His gaze rose to hers, his eyes glazed, half lidded. They swam into focus, his struggle for self-control evident in his countenance.
A sharp sigh of frustration escaped her lips. Don’t stop, her mind screamed. Not now. Not this time.
“I know I must stop,” he said hoarsely, “but I haven’t the strength, not tonight.” He shook his head and stepped away from her. “Go, before it is too late.”
“No, Hayden,” came her reply, her gaze boldly meeting his. “I can no longer deny my desires. I no longer wish to.”
He hesitated, his eyes seeking affirmation in hers. She only smiled. He nodded slowly and drew her toward him, his hands clutching at her chemise. He paused, his head dipping down toward her ear. “Thank you,” he murmured, then fiercely tore away her chemise.
She gasped as the fabric fell to the floor. Somehow she managed to kick off her slippers and step out of the folds of her dress, pushing aside the tattered remnants of her chemise with her stocking feet. She straightened, bared to him in the candlelight. His gaze raked over her body appreciatively, his eyes smoldering with desire. A shy smile formed on her lips in response, even as her heart fluttered in anticipation.
“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he said, his voice rough. “Do not ever doubt it.”
Without taking his eyes off her, his fingers flew furiously over his shirt’s buttons, and in seconds he pulled it over his head. Roughly, he removed his boots before stepping out of his trousers and standing proudly before her, his body entirely bared to her curious eyes.
Her cheeks burned as her gaze slid over his form in fascination, following the path of the dark dusting of hair that covered his finely sculpted chest and narrowed to a fine line, bisecting his taut stomach and tapered hips, and widened again at the source of his erection. She swallowed hard, amazed by the frightful size of him in arousal. Her heart skidded and her eyes quickly flicked back to his face, dark with desire, his eyes burning intensely with need. Dear God, he’s beautiful. More beautiful than she’d dare to imagine. Jane’s legs grew weak, threatening to buckle if he didn’t take her in his arms quickly.
As if he’d read her mind, he gathered her in his embrace and lifted her off her feet, cradling her against him as he carried her across the room to the heavily draped bed. She laid her cheek against his warmly scented skin where his heart slammed against his ribs, echoing her own.
Gently–almost reverently–he lowered her to the bed. His hands roamed the length of her body, sending flames of desire leaping from her skin at his touch. She felt his fingers stroke her legs, barely aware that he was untying her garters and sliding her stockings down until she felt his warm breath caress the curve of her calves. She closed her eyes as soft, featherlike kisses rained from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. His scent–tobacco mixed with sandalwood and the faintest hint of bergamot–enveloped her, sent her senses reeling, her head spinning. Turning her head to one side, she moaned softly against the bedcovers.
At last his mouth found her breasts, his teeth nipping at one swollen nipple until she cried out, arching her back off the bed as she did so. She tangled her hands in his hair as he took her in his mouth and suckled her, gently at first, then more insistently as his hand trailed down to her most secret place, his fingers searching for entrance.
She thought she’d surely die from pleasure when he found it. First one finger, then another parted her slick folds and entered her. Moaning in sheer delight, she ground herself against his hand as a mysterious pressure welled inside her. This was wicked, sinfully wicked, yet she did not want him to stop.
She whimpered when his hand withdrew, but soon his mouth followed the path of his fingers, down her stomach, across her thigh. She gasped as he parted her legs with his head, and her breath caught in her throat as she felt his tongue flick across her womanhood. Her soft moans increased and she bucked her hips in reply, moving toward something inexplicable.
Just as she felt herself teetering upon some unknown precipice, he shifted his weight and moved atop her, straddling her. And then she felt it, the tip of his swollen member, pressing insistently against her entrance. Instinctively she flinched as he pressed against her barrier.
“Jane, my sweet, this will surely hurt a bit.” He stroked her flushed cheek with his knuckles.
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head with complete assurance.
“I’m afraid it will,” he insisted, raising himself up on one elbow to peer down into her face. His gaze was steady, honest, his jaw firmly set. “But only for a moment, nothing more. And then, I promise you, you will feel nothing but pleasure.”
She bit her lower lip and nodded. She trusted him, with all her heart.
In one swift motion, he sheathed himself within her an
d she gasped sharply–not from pain, but instead from the sheer rapture of feeling him, deep inside her. This was right. This was meant to be. The certainty of it flooded her veins, brought tears to her eyes.
He stilled, clutching her against him as he reached up to brush away a tear that rolled toward her ear. “Forgive me. I couldn’t control–”
She covered his lips with her fingertips. “Shhh. These are tears of joy, Hayden.”
He nodded, and then a smile slowly spread across his features. He began to move against her, slowly and subtly at first, establishing a rhythm as he plunged into her, again and again. Jane allowed herself to move with him, their bodies one, the blissful sensations inside her building to a crescendo once more until she thought she might scream.
Instead, she cried out his name, over and over again as something inside her exploded into blinding flashes of rapturous pleasure, her insides pulsing against the length of him in undulating waves of pleasure. Before she’d even had the chance to recover from her own release, he threw back his head and uttered a primal groan intermingled with her name as his hot seed spilled into her. Fighting for breath, he collapsed against her. Their bodies remained entangled, slick with perspiration, as he rolled onto his side, taking her with him as he went. He pressed his lips against her neck, his breath warm and comforting.
No wonder people took such risks for such an experience, Jane thought with a smile of utter and complete satisfaction. It had been nothing short of exquisite.
***
“My sweet Jane,” Hayden murmured sleepily against her ear, burying his face into her tousled hair as she slept against him, her even breathing making him smile in contentment. Making love to her had been the single most sensual, enjoyable experience he’d known. He’d never felt so complete, so spent, so sated in all his years.
Unveiled (Undone by Love Book 3) Page 20
