20150618 A Midsummer Night's Kiss epub final

by And Then the Moon) (epub)

  She was happy as she recited the vows after the minister. Marriage was, obviously, a big step, and she wondered if she should feel more anxious. But when she looked at Stephen, a calm came over her.

  She loved him to the depths of her heart. She loved the way he would adjust his spectacles just so. She loved his enthusiasm for knowledge. Most of all, she loved the way he looked at her, as though a brilliant light dazzled him.

  Her father had spoken to her privately after what had happened in the conservatory. He’d leaned forward in his chair with his elbows resting on his knees and surprised her by saying, “You don’t have to do this, Jane.”

  She’d stared at him in astonishment. “But I’ll never make a good match now. I thought that was what you wanted.”

  “Sometimes,” he said wryly, “I let my ambitions cloud my judgment until your mother knocks some sense into me. I was so caught up in the idea of having a titled son-in-law that I didn’t stop to think about the fact that you might not want the same. Don’t marry him if you don’t want to. We’ll deal with the rest.”

  A smile lit her face. “I do want to, though.”

  And she did. She didn’t experience a moment of doubt during their ceremony. Though some time later, after the wedding breakfast, she wondered where her new husband had gone off to. Both he and his father had disappeared from the drawing room.

  Jane went downstairs to find him, eager to leave so they could get started on their journey to Goodview House. If they waited too long, they’d be traveling into the night. Low murmurs sounded from the earl’s study, so she approached the door, raising her hand to knock.

  And paused, her fist hovering in the air, when she heard her new title spoken. Lady Somerby—she still wasn’t quite used to the sound of it. She leaned closer to the door instinctually, wondering what they were saying about her.

  “I’m proud of you, Stephen,” the earl said after a moment. She heard the clink of glasses and assumed he was pouring a drink. “You’ve gone above your duty.”

  “Thank you, Father,” her husband muttered.

  Jane frowned, wondering what on earth they were talking about.

  “I know I haven’t made the best financial decisions, and I hate that I’ve passed the burden to rectify my mistakes on you.” Then he chuckled slightly. “I, unfortunately, am not young or unattached. Ruining an heiress wasn’t an option for me.”

  Jane stiffened, catching her breath. Stephen murmured something she couldn’t make out.

  “And what an heiress. The amount of her dowry goes a long way in hiding her vulgarity, doesn’t it? I thought it was simply a rumor that she collected strays like other ladies collect jewels. Though I always thought she smelled a bit off. She might as well sleep in the stables.” He sighed. “But what can one expect of commoners?”

  “I haven’t noticed a smell,” Stephen said quietly.

  “Yes, well, just remember to breathe through your mouth when you bed her and you likely won’t notice. Anyway, you will only have to endure until she gives you an heir and a spare. Let us hope she’s a quick breeder. But,” the earl said, “I digress. I should be the one thanking you. I know you didn’t want to marry her, but you came through for me anyway.”

  Her husband remained silent, and that silence spoke louder than any words ever could.

  Jane backed away from the door slowly, staring at it as though it was a viper ready to strike. She felt like she’d been sleeping and her pleasant dream had suddenly turned into a nightmare. An ache started in her chest and spread to her throat.

  Oh God, how could this be happening?

  She’d been married for less than an hour. She was supposed to be happy. She was supposed to be in a carriage with her loving husband on the way to their new home.

  A sob strangled in her throat. Loving? What a lie that was. And she’d never guessed, she hadn’t even suspected, not for a second.

  And now it was too late, too late. Too. Damn. Late.

  Her hands shook and she pressed them to her mouth, not certain if she was trying to suppress their shaking, or the trembling of her lips. “How could you?” she whispered, pain twisting the words raw. “How could you?”

  She was eternally bound to a man who didn’t love her.

  She turned and fled, heading toward the retiring room as tears flooded her eyes. She’d gather her composure there before she reappeared in the drawing room. She wouldn’t crumple, no matter how much she wished to. She would gather her dignity around her.

  What else did she have left to hold onto?

  She made it through the carriage ride by feigning sleep, but when Stephen appeared in her bedchamber after she’d changed from her traveling clothes, she knew one could only pretend to be asleep for so long.

  The night took on a dream-like quality. She watched him through a thick haze as he stepped closer and kissed her. He said something. She didn’t know what. She tried to smile, but her lips were numb. She could get through this—this moment she had been so looking forward to only a few hours before. Now her emotions were only dread and ice, a numbness creeping along her spine.

  But she wouldn’t embarrass herself. She couldn’t be the only woman who didn’t want to bed her husband.

  He touched her, in that way that so disarmed her, a little tentatively, as though not quite sure of himself, but with warmth and passion. How could he feign the way he touched her? Or perhaps, for a man, respect and lust didn’t always go together, she thought bitterly.

  And as he touched her, as he slowly undid her dress and her stays, something horrible happened. The warmth of his touch transferred to her, seeped into her heart.

  Fine. Fine! Her body wouldn’t listen, her body still thrilled to his touch, but she wouldn’t look at him. She closed her eyes and the next few minutes were a dizzying darkness full of impressions—hands and lips, heat and scent, skin on skin. The mattress was soft along her bare back, his body hard over hers.

  His weight pressed her down, and she opened her legs for him. She felt a pressure there, and she tensed until his hand ran along the side of her thigh and up along her ribcage like he was soothing a startled horse.

  Damn him. It did soothe her.

  And then he pushed. And her eyes flew open at the shock of pain.

  It was a mistake. Her gaze immediately caught his—he’d taken his spectacles off—all she could see was the clear blue-gray that had so attracted her at first. He was staring down at her, his face strained, his eyes alight, and she wanted to believe it was love in his gaze, but how could she believe anything when it came to him?

  She stifled a gasp when he began to move, slowly. It hurt, certainly, but behind the hurt was the promise of pleasure—the kind that made one lose oneself. She couldn’t lose herself. She couldn’t.

  Her hands were on his upper arms. She curled her fingers, nails digging into his skin.

  The pain gradually lessened under the slow precision of his movements.

  She tried to hold onto the pain, tried, tried, and failed.

  With the stinging sensation a faint echo, there was only her and him and the blue-gray of his eyes boring into hers. What could he see? Nothing? Everything? Her soul?

  Her nails dug in harder. “No.”

  He stopped, his chest heaving. “What?”

  She pushed at his arms and he immediately withdrew. He stood at the side of the bed, staring down at her with a confused notch between his brows. He was completely naked. She’d never seen an erect penis before—it glistened with moisture—evidence of her body’s betrayal. She looked away.

  “Did I hurt you?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “Then what is it, Jane?”

  The gentleness in his voice nearly undid her. Why was it so easy for him to sidle past her defenses? She clenched her fists in the bed sheet, anger welling up in her chest. Damn him. Dam
n him. “I cannot bear your touch,” she said, her voice shaking with both pain and fury. “I simply cannot bear it.”

  It wasn’t untrue.

  He flinched, his face paling. “I don’t understand.”

  “How can I state my feelings any clearer? I don’t want you to touch me.”

  “But…” The expression on his face was almost too painful to witness—hurt and the beginning of some awful realization. “Your plan was to act loving until the register was signed?” he asked.

  How dare he accuse her of some insidious plan? He was the one who wanted her dowry. And now he had it. But he would never have her.

  She didn’t respond to his question. Let him think whatever he wanted to think. It no longer mattered. “Get out,” she whispered, her voice sounding more defeated than she would have liked.

  He looked like she’d struck him. Only wounded pride, she told herself.

  “Very well,” he said stiffly. “If that is your desire.”

  “It is,” she said, staring at the plasterwork on the ceiling. She heard his measured strides as he stalked out, and then the door behind him, which he shut a little harder than necessary. She gripped her pillow and curled onto her side, breathing deep ragged breaths that scalded her lungs, that seemed to be drawn from the depths of her aching soul.

  After their wedding night, the state of their marriage deteriorated quite quickly.

  Chapter Four

  This Summer

  Jane stared at the butler in dawning horror. “Escaped?”

  “Somehow the ferret got out of its cage. When the maid opened the service door…” he spread his hands helplessly. “She tried to catch him, but he was too quick.”

  Jane was already brushing past him, entirely forgetting about her conversation with Stephen. Plato wasn’t used to the city—he could be crushed under a horse’s hooves, or struck by a street sweeper’s broom, or be forever lost in the maze of alleyways.

  She burst into the mews behind the townhouse, only vaguely aware of the low clouds and light drizzle. “Plato!” she cried, running down the street. She stopped when she nearly collided with a street sweeper—just the sort she’d imagined bashing in Plato’s head moments before. A lump formed in her throat.

  “Have you seen a ferret?”

  The man looked out at her from under the brim of a wide, battered hat. “I did see a ferret, love.” He grinned, revealing yellow teeth. “Went that way, ‘e did.” The man flicked his thumb over his right shoulder.

  “Thank you, sir!” She thought she should pay him, but she’d forgotten her reticule.

  But then Stephen was there, pressing a few shillings into the man’s dirt covered hand. She hadn’t even realized he’d followed her.

  “Come on,” he said, taking her hand in his warm grasp.

  They set off at a sprint down the walking pavement, weaving around pedestrians like they were in a hedge maze. Ladies shrieked and gentlemen glowered as they bowled past.

  Memories came flooding back to Jane of Stephen’s hand around hers as they’d run away from the gardens at Hadley House. At the ball they’d been wearing gloves, now their hands were bare, and the heat of his skin against hers was reassuring.

  She swallowed against a thickness in her throat.

  Why did she find his presence so comforting? What flaw in her caused her heart to yearn for a man who could so easily break it? When she looked at him, she saw shelter.

  She might as well be a ship dashing itself against the rocky shoals underneath a fake lighthouse. There was no shelter for her here.

  Jane stopped when she heard the shrill sound of Plato’s cry, dragging Stephen to a halt beside her. They turned down the next alleyway, where a young man, whose dark hair was matted and eyes were blurred—it looked like he hadn’t yet gone to sleep after a night of revelry—had cornered the frightened ferret.

  To Jane’s dismay, the man drunkenly brandished a pistol. He tried to aim at Plato, but his hand wasn’t steady enough.

  Stephen stepped closer to the man warily, his arms outstretched. But before Stephen could reach the drunkard, a loose pebble caught underneath his shoe and skittered away, resounding loudly in the alleyway.

  The man spun, pointing the pistol at them and squinting as though he couldn’t see them clearly. Stephen pulled Jane behind him, sheltering her with his own body.

  “We don’t want any trouble,” he said. “Just put the pistol down.”

  “Can’t,” the man muttered before turning away again. “This city is crawling with giant rats.”

  Rat? He thought Plato was a rat? Jane was outraged. Even a man deep in his cups, or in an opium haze, or whatever in the world this man was, should know the difference between a ferret and a rat. “That’s a ferret!” she exclaimed. “My ferret.”

  The man chortled as though she had told a particularly funny joke. “I know what a ferret looks like,” he said.

  With a great effort, he steadied his arm. The hammer of the gun clicked, sounding like a crack of thunder in Jane’s ears. She surged forward, but Stephen was faster—he grabbed the man’s arm, wrenching it skyward as the shot fired, the harsh sound echoing off stone walls.

  Jane got down beside Plato—who, even though he was trembling, recognized her scent. He let her lift him and cradle him against her chest. “Well, take me for a cake,” the drunkard said, peering at them as Stephen removed the pistol from his hand. “It is a ferret!”

  Her husband sighed and expelled the man from the alley with gentle but persistent pushes before he came back to her. He leaned over them. “Is Plato unharmed?”

  Jane rose to her feet. “A little frightened, I think, but fine. Thanks to you.” She stared at her husband, shaken. “You could have been hurt.”

  Stephen shrugged off her concern. “I couldn’t very well let him shoot Plato, could I?”

  “I didn’t think you cared that much.”

  He frowned at her. “Of course I care,” he said, as though there was never any question of it. “Now can we take him back before he decides to run off again?”

  They walked in silence back to the townhouse, where they gave Plato food and water and made sure the cage was latched securely. All the while, Jane’s mind raced. Stephen’s actions didn’t make any sense to her—he’d risked his life for Plato. It wasn’t the sort of thing a man did lightly.

  She thought back to what he’d said about the idea of her loving another man breaking his heart—could his reaction to her presumed affair truly go deeper than she’d assumed?

  “I don’t understand it.”

  “What don’t you understand?”

  Jane didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until Stephen answered. They were alone. She’d started up the stairway absentmindedly. Stephen stood at the base of the stairs, one hand on the balustrade as he gazed up at her.

  “Why you would risk your life to save Plato? He’s just one of the things that make me vulgar and common, isn’t he?”

  And there. It was said. It couldn’t be taken back. Her heart was rattling against her chest, and her pride had become a dirty, tattered shawl that barely covered her. But she couldn’t continue like this anymore, suspended in this half-life of repressed emotions. She couldn’t allow herself to be drawn to him again. And if that meant he had to know that she knew, then so be it.

  She wanted to be done with pain. Done with uncertainty.

  A wrinkle appeared on Stephen’s forehead as he frowned. “You’re not common and vulgar, Jane. What are you speaking of?”

  “It’s what your father called me. You didn’t disagree with him.”

  His lips parted. He shook his head slightly, realization turning his face into a pale, startled mask. “You heard our conversation?”

  “I heard,” she said, feeling like crying. But she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t cry in front of him.

  �
�Jane, you don’t understand.” His knuckles were white. He still hadn’t taken his hand from the railing. “I don’t think any of those things about you. I married you for one reason—one reason only. I love you.”

  Her eyes stung, but she still didn’t cry. She wanted to believe him more than anything, but wanting to believe something didn’t mean one should. “A man who truly loved me wouldn’t agree to his father’s plan to ruin me,” she said softly. “A man who truly loved me would have defended me.”

  He climbed two steps, stopping when she stepped back. “I should have,” he said. “I know I should have. But you have to understand…when I’m around my father, I feel like I’m five years old again. It’s not an excuse, but the things he said…none of it was true. It doesn’t matter what he thinks. I know what’s in my heart.” He pressed his fist to his chest. “You are in my heart. You have been since the night I fell from that tree and landed at your feet. There’s nothing common about you.”

  Oh, how she wanted to believe him. She wanted to fold herself into his arms with the soft, blissful sigh of surrender. But some betrayals cut far too deep. Some hurts couldn’t be eradicated.

  “Even if what you say is true—” she stopped abruptly when her voice wobbled. Damn, damn, damn. She pressed the heels of her palms roughly against her eyes. “I can’t. I can’t. I don’t trust you.”

  It wasn’t that she didn’t trust he cared for her—she could see it now, written on his face—as clearly as the stars shone in the black sky, and that was so much more than she’d hoped for merely an hour ago. But in the depths of her battered heart, she knew it wasn’t enough. She didn’t trust that his love would be enough to face whatever hardships were thrown their way. Not when it couldn’t even bring him to stand up to his father.

  And what was love without trust? Nothing but the bitter ashes of what could have been.

  She took a deep breath. “I think it would be best if I go back to Goodview House after the Midsummer Ball. Alone.”