Regency Romance: The Viscount's Blazing Love (Fire and Smoke: CLEAN Historical Romance)

by Charlotte Stone

  A scuff, the sound of a man’s boot, had her head darting up like a nervous doe in the forest. She was ready with a smile, expecting Ben or Shep or even Georgie, if he had managed to escape the many pairs of hands watching him. But when she saw that it was John, her face closed in on itself. Her mouth tightened as she watched him, observing. She was unwilling to give away her feelings, even with an expression, before he did. He could lead this conversation. She had certainly made the first move last time and look how well that had turned out.

  “Hello,” he said quietly, reminding her of the time she had found him with the bruised knuckles and face. He sounded so solemn then and now. “I am sorry. I did not mean to disturb you.”

  “You did not disturb me,” she retorted with as little inflection or feeling as she could manage. “You do not disturb me, John.”

  “You are angry with me,” he noted.

  “Am I allowed to be angry with you?” she asked, shutting the book with a snap. “Wait. Do not answer that but this instead. If it had gone the other way, if I had said something purposefully hurtful to you to dissuade you from your feelings, if I decided for the both of us that it was better that you were hurt but protected, would you be angry with me?”

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets as he looked out the window, the rain glazing it. His jaw clenched. “Yes. I would not like it.” He turned toward her. “Jane, you must know, you have to know…” He shook his head. It was not fair. Whatever declaration had been on the tip of his tongue disappeared like a puff of smoke. “It does not matter.”

  “It does matter, John!” she insisted, setting the book aside and uncurling her legs to stand.

  He closed his eyes as if he were in pain. “Do you not see? It cannot matter.”

  “Well, that is something different entirely,” she replied with a little more tenderness. “If you do not want me, if you do not love me…”

  He interrupted her without meaning to. He could not stop the words from escaping his mouth, his very heart in fact. “Nothing could be further from the truth,” he stated emphatically in a furious whisper. “Do you not think if I saw a way for it to be… Jane, I love you so much I would do anything for you, even let you go. I would forgo any chance of happiness if it meant you had one.”

  “But what if you are my chance for happiness?” Her voice sounded breathy. She did not recognize it as she walked to him and took one of his hands in hers. It was the same one she had bandaged for him years ago. “And you should know that is what I believe, John. I know it. In my bones, I know it,” she insisted. “And you can argue with me over it and you can give me every reason in the world and still I know that any chance of happiness I have in the world lies with you.”

  He leaned toward her, his hands on her cheeks, pulling her nearer, his lips touching hers with a quickness and a ferocity that stole her breath. Every part of her was tingling as she wrapped her arms around his middle and pulled their bodies flush together. She felt both weightless and heavy at the same time, as their lips sank into one another. It was like finally eating after going hungry for so long. And when they were far from sated but needed breath, he pulled only far enough away that his forehead could rest on hers, his nose brushing hers. When they breathed, they breathed the other in.

  Trying to grain some control back, he stepped back, letting her hold on to his hand because neither of them could bear to be parted from one another completely. “I love you, John,” she whispered.

  He held his breath. He wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe her with all he had. But when she pressed a kiss to his knuckles as she had years before, only then it had been innocent, he was reminded of exactly why his knuckles had been so badly hurt. He was reminded of exactly what he came from. He could not escape it. “So then you have confided in your sister and told her that?” he wondered.

  Her eyes clouded over, suddenly troubled. “Well… Not yet. Not exactly.”

  He actually felt his heart break. But he had no time to dwell on it, because he could still save her and so he would do what he had to. He would have to push her away, to show her that she had gotten carried away. “But if it is as you said, if you know it in your bones, then why have you said nothing to your sister? I have never known you to keep something like that from Cat.”

  “It is not so simple,” she cried, releasing his hand. Whether she realized it or not, he took that as symbolism for the whole affair. “She is dealing with so much right now.”

  “That is a handy excuse,” he noted wryly as he rocked back on his heels. God, what had he been thinking, imaging a life with her? Staying in this house? He did not belong here. He never would.

  “An excuse?” she sputtered as she backed away in anger, but there was a flush on her face now as if he had found her out. “It is not an excuse.”

  “Please.” He tried to sound conciliatory. “I do not doubt that you have feelings. And I am not belittling them. And I do not think less of you for seeing that there are some insurmountable blockades in our way. Speaking to your sister, having your sister handle the idea of a match between us, is one of them. You forget how long I have known you. If you were free of shame of me, you would have told Cat everything immediately.”

  “And you forget that I have never been in love before!” she cried. “You act as if everything I do or do not do has some hidden meaning, showing you that I am ashamed of you. I am not! I hardly know what I am doing. I have never been in this position before. Can you not give me a little room for error?”

  Even if she was right, he could not be with her, not when it would be the end of her, at least in his mind. “If you loved me, you would have spoken of it to someone. If not your sister, then what of the duchess who are so fond of you? A friend? Anyone?”

  “Stop it!” she insisted, with tears in her voice. “I do not know how to speak of it!”

  “Because you are ashamed of me,” he replied with just as much stubbornness. “I do not think less of you for it. In fact, I cannot imagine what I have been thinking all this time. What I was thinking at the ball or what I am even doing here.” He tugged at his cravat. “I do not belong here. And we do not belong together.”

  Her eyes were burning with unshed tears. Her throat felt as if someone had scraped nails down it. “Go then!” she shouted. “If you do not belong here and you should not be with me then stop kissing me and telling me you love me and go wherever you belong!”

  His eyes were hot liquid silver, his breathing quick, as he took in her countenance for a moment longer before striding out of the room. She could hear a murmur from Carlisle and then the front door slammed as John exited. Others would think that he was taking a walk to cool off. Someone else who did not know him would be sure he would return once his temper was better and the argument was over. But Jane knew him better than that. He had gone and he had no intention of returning to Pritchford Place.

  She sank to the floor as she held herself, her own arms wrapped around her waist. Her head bent forehead, her chin nearly touching her chest, wishing the carpet would just swallow her up. And when she wept, it was with bitterness and anger and regret and the knowledge that they had botched the whole thing up somehow. She did not think it could get worse than this.

  She was wrong, of course.

  * * *

  12

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  “I WILL ALWAYS WANT TO PROTECT YOU.”

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  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Three Sisters

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  “J ane?”

  She heard her name but could barely lift her head to see who was calling it. She not cried the first time John had left two years ago. Somehow that had felt less final than this. He had hurt her and she was angry, but she knew she had hurt him, too. She had let him down.

  “Jane,” Julia gasped and suddenly her friend’s lavender-scented arms were around her. “Catherine!�
�� she called. “We need to see you in the library.”

  Jane was aware, as her sobs lessened, that Julia was leading her back to the divan, her arm soothingly patting her back. “There, there, Jane,” Julia soothed. “Please try to calm down. Are you hurt? Did someone hurt you?”

  Jane shook her head fiercely because she did not want anyone to think that John would ever lay a hand on her. Nothing she could ever do would have him doing that. And yet, if she did not calm down, she would not be able to communicate the truth to anyone.

  “What is it, Julia?” Cat asked from the doorway before she saw the pitiful mess that was Jane. “Oh my goodness! Jane, what is it? What has happened?”

  Jane pressed her own hands to her chest, as if she could force the words out, but she shook her head. In the end, all she could say was, “John is gone.”

  “Gone?” Cat asked as she rushed nearer, concerned at the intensity of Jane’s emotions. She had never seen her sister like this before.

  “I am sure that is not the case,” Julia replied with confidence as she met Cat’s eyes over Jane. They communicated without words.

  “I have made a terrible mistake,” Jane whispered brokenly, as both women sat beside her. “I have ruined everything.”

  “Oh, darling,” Jane murmured, gripping her hand. “I think I would be proof enough that no matter how badly it feels like you have ruined anything, there is such a thing as second chances and third chances and fourth chances.”

  “God has a plan that we cannot ruin,” Cat echoed, brushing a hand over her sister’s blond locks. “Are you able to talk about it?”

  “I do not know,” Jane sighed. “I just feel so awful. I do not know how to speak about it.”

  “Why not try?” Julia asked. “I know what it is like to keep things inside and sometimes it works, but, Jane, these tears may indicate that it is not working.”

  Jane let out a wet laugh. “No, it is not working.” She paused and took a deep breath, trying to get back some control. “I am so sorry for being so dramatic.”

  “Darling, darling…” Julia mused. “I think your sister will tell you that I, of all people, would never call anyone else’s actions dramatics. Except Shep’s, of course.”

  This earned a small smile from Jane. After a moment, she looked at her older sister. “Cat, I do not think I have been completely honest with you…with either of you,” she added, glancing at Julia. “I…” She pressed her eyes shut and then let out another breath. “I am in love with John,” she said in a rush.

  “Of course you are, Jane,” Cat murmured, still caressing her hair. “I have been waiting for you to admit it to me.”

  “We did not know if you had admitted it to yourself yet,” Julia confessed. “But we have seen it. It has been there all along.”

  “Has it?” Jane asked with some awe. “How long?”

  “I can tell you that it was one of the reasons I worried about your friendship with him,” Cat admitted.

  “I have thought so since I have known you, but you were young, so I had no idea if it was a passing infatuation. Then, as you grew older, it was clear,” Julia offered.

  Jane shook her head. “But I did not even know.”

  “Denial is a powerful thing,” Cat concluded. “Believe me.”

  “Tell us the whole thing,” Julia encouraged.

  So, Jane did. She told them of the conversation two years ago and the ball and all her feelings in between. She admitted what had happened yesterday and told them nearly word for word what had taken place this afternoon. After she was finished, she found the urge to cry was gone. She was still sad, but she also felt as if her secrets had been poison and at least that was gone now.

  “You really think I do not approve?” Cat asked after a long moment of silence. “After the way he saved my life and never looked for credit? After the good friend he has been to you? His past only proves how extraordinary his character is.”

  “I knew you would not be against the match personally.” Jane could not meet her sister’s eyes. “But I also knew you would want to protect me from the backlash here in town and in London.”

  “I will always want to protect you.” Cat gripped her hand and squeezed it. “And so will Julia and Ben and Shep, even.” She paused to choose her next words carefully. “If I were writing the perfect fairytale for you, I would spare you any of that. Even now, if there was some way I could take that backlash on for myself and spare you, I would. But if there is anything I have learned from my own disasters with love and the redemption of those disasters, it is that you know in your heart what will truly make you happy. And you know in your heart if it is worth the backlash. Sometimes it is too high a price and that is all right.” Then she thought of her husband and all that she had risked, or felt as if she was risking, when she had agreed to marrying him, scars and all. “And sometimes, when you consider life without the other person, it is worth anything.”

  Jane blinked up at her sister, her eyes swollen, her nose sniffling. “So, then you approve? Ben approves? I could not bear to let you down.”

  “Jane,” Cat replied with tenderness. “We want you happy and well. We approve of you marrying a good man who loves you. The rest…”

  “We shall always help you figure out the rest,” Julia promised.

  And so, the three sisters sat and talked and cried and laughed and planned.

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  13

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  “IT IS YOU WHO UNDERSTANDS NOTHING.”

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  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The Prodigal Son

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  J ohn had not ever expected to ever return home. He had kept up writing to his brothers and sending money, but returning while his father was still alive had been out of the question. He had certainly never expected to return after walking out of Pritchford Place, leaving Tom behind and showing up on the small, miserable stoop in his fine coat and cravat, with his hand-tooled boots, his wealth on display. But that was exactly what he had done.

  His brothers had made fun of him in a good-natured way because at the end of the day, they understood the money he sent had allowed them to work the farm and have a comfortable life. It was much more comfortable now that their father had taken ill in bed and did not appear to have much time left on this earth, according to the doctors, which John’s money had paid for. John had known his father was not in the best of shape, but he had no idea how bad it was.

  His brothers had rightly explained that they had not want to worry him nor make him feel guilty, since there was nothing for John to do. In any event, a visit from John would only agitate their father. For some reason, he had always hated John worst of all and the way John had come up in the world only made it worse.

  Somehow, John would have to get word to Tom that he would be spending the remainder of their time in Pritchford with his family and that they could meet to take the coach to York and then on to London. A great pounding from the room that housed their father startled John a few hours after his arrival.

  “He pounds that cane when he wants something,” one of his brothers informed John, only to return quickly and tell him that their father wanted to see him.

  John sent up a quick prayer for patience.

  He had not thought about Jane since he had knocked on the door. Of course, he had beaten himself up during the long walk to his own home but once he entered, he did not think of her. He could not hold her goodness along with his painful, awful memories. There was no reason why that dirtiness should touch her, even in his mind. Somehow this compartmentalizing was helpful. Perhaps not in the long run, but at least for now, he did not feel as if he wanted to be run over by a herd of horses. He felt carved out, sorrowful, but now he would have to deal with his father and there was no place to consider Jane here.

  “The prodigal son,” his father hissed from the bed. His skin had turned a d
eep yellow color.

  “I did not know you ever paid any attention to the teachings of the Bible,” John replied without thinking. His father was not as big as he remembered, his emaciated frame pitiful in the bed. His face began to redden in anger beneath the yellow paste on his skin.

  “I want none of your cheek, ye hear?” the old man demanded. “Ye aren’t welcome here.”

  “I pay for the roof over your head,” John noted wryly as he folded his arms in front of him. “And my brothers work the land far more successfully than you ever did. I am as welcome here as anyone.”

  “Never knew your place. Always hated ye,” his father gasped after a fit of coughing. “Get your arse out of my room and take your dandy suit with you.”

  “With pleasure,” John replied, but his stomach was churning. It was one thing to remember the vitriol that had been directed him as a youth, but it was another thing entirely to feel it again, even if his father was not well enough to put any muscle behind his feelings.

  He walked to town and paid a skinny boy missing his front teeth to take a message to Pritchford Place to Tom, explaining about his father and that he would remain where he was until it was time to leave for London. It was a thinly veiled excuse, but it was not a lie. It was clear his father was dying.

  He slept fitfully in the barn on a comfortable bed of straw, which only made him laugh. Last night, he had been in a feather bed at Pritchford Place. Maybe his father was not completely wrong. Maybe he had been correct when accusing John of never knowing his place. He certainly did not know where he belonged now.