The Dark Seduction of Miss Jane

by Amanda McIntyre

  THE DARK SEDUCTION OF MISS JANE

  Amanda McIntyre

  Chapter One

  Boston, 1887

  The slender glass of imported champagne, meant to toast her engagement, slipped through Jane’s fingers and splintered in shards across the rich, marbled floor.

  The maid let out a high-pitched shriek as her gaze—frozen somewhere between horror and pleasure—met Jane’s. She lay on her back atop the grand mahogany desk in the study, her skirts bunched around her waist. Between her parted thighs stood Frederick, pumping furiously, his face turned toward the ceiling, oblivious to the woman’s cries.

  This was the man to whom she was about to commit her heart and life.

  The woman rattled off a string of words, none of them coherent. Ignoring her, the man’s groans grew more pronounced. She slapped at his arms, but her efforts to gain his attention slacked as her climax took over and she let out a scream. Unaware he’d been caught in his indiscretion, he covered her mouth with his hand as he finished, whispering something fierce that instantly quieted the woman.

  Jane just stared in stupefied silence, wondering how she could have been so blind. She blinked, hoping it was only a dream, a play on her imagination. The stress of planning the wedding had stolen her sleep. She’d not been eating properly.

  But this was no dream.

  Mesmerized, she watched as the woman scooted from the table, gathered her cleaning supplies, and, clutching them to her rumpled clothing, skirted past Jane. Stunned by the sheer audacity of it all, she turned a cool gaze to Frederick and waited.

  “My dear, I wasn’t expecting you.”

  Jane’s gaze held his, seeing him for the selfish bastard he was. She supposed she should thank her lucky stars he’d shown his true self. She found her voice. “That seems rather evident, doesn’t it?” she remarked with much more decorum than she felt. Eventually, the shock would wear off. Now it kept her from committing murder. Still, a morbid curiosity assuaged her. “What were you thinking?”

  A few yards down the hall sat a dining room filled with close friends, dignitaries, and family members, all waiting patiently for the happy couple. Even now, she could hear the muted string quartet hired for the auspicious occasion of announcing their engagement. After all, it wasn’t every day that Frederick Reynolds, heir to one of Boston’s premiere families, chose the woman whom he would call his wife. Yet, as the first course was served, and Frederick hadn’t showed, Jane had covered for him with a joke that he was undoubtedly lost somewhere with his nose in a book.

  She had found him, all right—only it was not his nose in a book, but his prick in the maid.

  “Oh, Jane,” he sighed, straightening the lapels of his jacket before reaching back to smooth down the dark, slick curls over his ears. “Let’s not pretend, darling. We know how it is. We marry, you give me the required heir to my fortune, and then we move ahead with our lives. Nothing needs to change.” He continued to straighten the disarray he’d made on his father’s desk, content that his explanation would suffice.

  Jane’s gaze narrowed. “Just so I fully comprehend what you’ve said—you mean to go ahead and dally with your mistresses, or whomever else you choose, while I wait in patient adoration for your attention and the occasional perfunctory fuck?”

  His dour gaze rose to hers. He had the gall to be shocked. “Surely your aunt has tutored you in the ways of society, Jane. Loyal wives, proper women, do not take part in such lewd activities. Your duty is to set an example for our children, and to be at my side when required.” He tossed her a wicked grin. “And as charming that sweet mouth of yours is, my dear, I recommend that you curb your crude language if you intend to make a decent impression on my family.”

  He smiled then, that dimple winking at the corner of his beautiful face. She knew that he expected her to swoon, but visions of what she could do with the letter opener he held kept her knees locked.

  “Well, then, everything seems to be in order. Shall we go to lunch?”

  Proud of her extensive grasp of the English language, Jane was generally not at a loss for words. But this was a conundrum. She could not think of a single word that best described what a disagreeable, loathsome bastard he was. She could fall apart. A weaker woman would have. Thoughts of hiring an assassin to rid the world of his pathetic existence crossed her mind, but for now, her choices, though doubtful they’d be hailed, seemed very clear. “Poor, misguided imbecile. There is no engagement.” Her tone was businesslike. She reached for the doorknob instead of the heavy brass candlestick nearby, and pulled the door toward her, stopping mid-thought. “Oh, just one last thing. Consider it a parting wish from your ex-fiancé. It is my fervent wish that you get a disease so rancid that it causes your cock to shrivel and fall off.” She slammed the door so hard that one of the paintings of the family heirs dropped to the floor in the hall. Jane set her jaw firm, her insides trembling with anger as she strode with purpose to the dining room. Her mother and father, as well as her Aunt Cornelia, had taught her to be a woman of honor and dignity. Jane was about to blow that—and Frederick Reynolds’s reputation—to holy hell.

  The sheer ostentatious air of the house hit her full force as Jane walked down the marble-tiled hallway. The titter of lunch conversation filtered from the dining room. Over seventy-five guests had assembled to receive the celebrated news of Frederick’s betrothal. Jane took a deep breath, smiled, and entered the room. All eyes turned to her in silent question—had she found the man of the hour?

  “My sincere apology for the delay.” Jane looked at Aunt Cornelia, her one and only trusted ally in the entire room. “I’m afraid there’s been a change in plans.” Her aunt’s dark brow lifted. With careful precision, the woman dabbed her mouth and lay her napkin aside, leaving her soup unfinished. Jane’s fingers curled over the back of a chair, giving her the support needed to face the curious faces. The extravagant engagement ring on her finger sparkled in the soft glow of new electric chandeliers. “You’ll have to excuse me.” She nodded to Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds. “ I have quite simply lost my appetite.”

  “My dear—“ Mrs. Reynolds started.

  Jane held up her hand, halting the woman. “Please understand that your kindness and generosity have been most appreciated.” She hesitated before she summoned the courage to speak the truth. “However, it would seem that Frederick—for lack of a better explanation—misplaced his cock in one of the housemaids.”

  Several gasps launched from various guests. One woman fainted dead away and had to be attended to by her flustered husband. Jane’s gaze skipped over the commotion her news had caused. She searched for her human port in the storm. Aunt Cornelia stood as she smiled and nodded her way around the massive table. Knowing her aunt to be the model of etiquette, she would no doubt receive an earful on the carriage ride home. By the manner in which she hurried, Jane knew she’d be anxious to usher her away from the house before any further damage could be done.

  Jane had only one more thing to say. “I regret to inform you that I am calling off my engagement to your son.” Jane caught her aunt’s worried look as she worked to pry Jane’s slender fingers from the chair.

  “Come, Jane, dear,” she stated with quiet dignity. She’d often used a similar manner when trying to comfort Jane’s nightmares after her parents died. There was nothing, however, that Aunt Cornelia could say to make this nightmare go away. Jane pressed her hand to the threshold, blocking her aunt’s persistent nudging. She glanced back at Frederick’s confused parents. She’d humiliated them in front of their guests. They’d never forgive her or Aunt Corny that. It made what she had to say all the easier. “Please let Frederick know that I never wish to see his ass again.” She sn
iffed. “Frankly, from what I’ve seen, I am not impressed.

  The butler silently handed Aunt Cornelia her parasol, called the carriage around, and left them on the steps.

  Moments passed without a word spoken. Jane stared out of the window, aware of other carriages on the street, aware of how happy those who strolled in the park looked on this fine day. Blankets were spread in the shade of great trees—mothers, fathers, and children ate together, played together. These relationships—this interaction of family—were foreign to her. She had no siblings, and few friends. Only acquaintances at best, and most through connections to her aunt. She pondered the mysterious notion of relationships—of love. “Was it my money that he wanted? Did he ever love me, for me?” She posed the questions aloud, knowing her aunt, while possibly still angry at her behavior, loved her unconditionally. Widowed shortly after marriage, she’d spent much of her life as a single woman, building her station and wealth by her choices alone. She was the strongest woman that Jane knew. She wanted desperately to emulate her aunt, to possess her intelligence and strength. Jane’s heart would heal, she knew, but for the moment Frederick’s betrayal stung—if only to her pride. How could she have been so blind?

  Aunt Cornelia cleared her throat, drawing Jane’s attention. She regarded her as she removed her lace gloves and crossed her hands in her lap. Her aunt was a woman of few words, but in all ways wise and thoughtful. “You realize, of course, that this will cause a wildfire of gossip?” As usual, Aunt Corny did not skirt the issue.

  Jane blew out a resigned sigh. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. But what choice did I have?” Her gaze swerved away from her Aunt’s scrutiny. “Besides, you didn’t answer my question.”

  “Good lord, child. You’re like a dog with a bone once you make up your mind on a matter. Yes, Jane. In all likelihood, that toad was probably after your money. That seems rather evident in retrospect now, doesn’t it?”

  Jane glanced at the closest thing to a mother she had left in this world. “Betrayal does tend to remove the veil rather quickly from one’s eyes.”

  “I fear I owe you an apology, my dear. I thought the Reynolds family was better bred.”

  “Well bred, perhaps, but ill mannered,” Jane responded. “Besides, his behavior, or that of his family, is not your doing.” She shook her head. “Frederick is simply a deplorable human being. A prick of the highest order.” Jane wrestled with the hatpin holding the ridiculous flounce of feathers and lace to her head. She took a cleansing breath and caught Aunt Cornelia’s disapproving look. “I’m sorry. But you have to admit I’m right.” Her aunt was tolerant of Jane’s unconventionality most days of the week, but now and again—today being one of them—she sensed that she was struggling with her duty in rearing Jane in a suitable manner to be accepted by Boston society.

  “Your language, Jane. With your extensive education, you would think that you could speak less like a dockworker,” she said with a look of disdain.

  Jane knew it wise not to argue. Aunt Corny was right. Recently, she’d debated whether it was even necessary that a woman marry. Today proved, once again, the absolute futility of trusting a man with her heart. She hoped her aunt would not take blame for the way she was. Jane realized that she was wired differently than most women. She’d always been a curious child, reading by the time she was five. Painting, drawing, creating imaginary friends filled her afternoons at play. Art galleries, learning to cast fishing line, even how to clean a fish were all a part of her childhood memories. Her mother said that Jane’s natural curiosity was both a blessing and a curse. But that thirst for knowledge was the seed that blossomed into her desire to be an investigative news reporter. The fact that such a career was entirely male dominated was never a deterrent. If she’d learned nothing else in her non-conventional rearing, speaking her mind and never settling for second best had become her mantras. She’d let that rule slip under Frederick’s superficial charm. “I never really liked him, you know,” Jane said and folded her hands in her lap, dignifying her response as she stared out the window. She glanced at her aunt, the woman who had taken on the task of raising her young niece alone. She’d treated Jane as her own daughter, caring for her, educating her and had made Jane heir to her fortune, which had been invested wisely via counsel of her aunt’s dear friend, Victoria Woodhull. With her future secure, Aunt Cornelia had become the mainstay of many of Boston’s most worthy charitable organizations. Jane knew without a doubt, that by morning, there’d be a backlash of social calls that her aunt would need to make due to Jane’s rash behavior. The ripple effect, Jane considered silently, might have an effect on her aunt’s annual fundraising gala, usually well attended by the upper crust of Boston. “I am sorry, Aunt Cornelia. When I get home, I will pen a note of apology to Frederick’s parents, if you feel it will do any good. Unfortunately, I have no power to stop the onslaught of ignorance when it comes to casting misjudgments, and I know this may have residual effects on you. For that, I am deeply sorry.”

  Her aunt dismissed her concern with a wave of her hand. “No, Jane. I think it best, at least for a time, that you keep a low profile. Let’s not stir the pot.” She gave Jane a direct look. “If that is at all possible for you, my dear.” A soft smile curled her lips. Love shone in her gaze as she shook her head. “You are so like your mother.”

  “Stubborn and willful, you mean?” Jane grinned.

  “Grounded in her beliefs. Ahead of her time,” she responded. “But perfectly suited to my brother. Of that there was no question.”

  Jane’s thoughts turned wistful as she thought of her parents. There were times she missed them terribly. “They truly loved each other, didn’t they?”

  “Indeed,” Aunt Cornelia responded with a soft smile.

  Jane considered the events of the past few months, how she’d allowed her life to revolve entirely around Frederick. In view of things, she was quite certain her mother would have seen straight through her fiancé…her former fiancé, that is. Jane glanced at Aunt Cornelia. She would not allow her to carry the blame. Her aunt had only arranged the meeting. Jane had walked into the relationship of her own free will, perhaps afraid of becoming a spinster. It was a harsh lesson to learn for one who thought herself fearless about most things. “Perhaps I am not meant for marriage.” Jane regarded the large ring, sparkling in the sunlight. She would return it tomorrow by courier. As for dreams of a happily ever after—she wasn’t going to hold her breath.

  “This too shall pass, my dear,” her aunt remarked. “And despite how you feel right now, my hope is that one day you will find someone worthy of you to share life with. I have few regrets, Jane, but being alone has not always been easy.”

  ***

  “Another card, madam.” Samuel, Aunt Cornelia’s head servant, held out the silver tray. It was the seventh card she’d received in the past week. Fewer, in truth, than Jane had anticipated.

  Jane looked up from her book. “Another request to meet with the board?”

  Her aunt’s sigh was audible as she laid the note aside. She nodded to Sam, dismissing him. “Yes, I’m afraid so. I knew, of course, that the Reynolds foundation supported a great many of the charities in Boston. I just had no idea how many. It seems they are considering pulling their annual pledges.”

  “Because of me,” Jane added, slamming her book shut. Her eyes welled, more fury and shame than anything. She hadn’t cried, not over the break-up. But the pain she’d caused her aunt threatened to swallow her. “Perhaps I should write another apology?” She twisted her hands, pacing in front of the fireplace. It was mid-April, and though the snow was melting, a chill remained in the air on cloudy afternoons.

  “You’ve written three already, Jane. I don’t really see what possible good another one would do.” She took a sip of her tea, acting as though it didn’t bother her. But Jane detected the concern on her face.

  “We could leave. Go traveling for a few weeks until this blows over, or another scandal breaks out.” Jane pulled her chair cl
ose to her aunt and sat down, enthused for the first time in weeks about anything. The newspaper that sometimes accepted various articles from Jane had suggested she take a break. What began as a week turned into two—it had now been close to four since she published her last article. “Where would you like to go? What about Paris?” Jane leaned forward, her hands clasped together in her lap. It had been ages since she and Aunt Cornelia had taken a trip together. When she was young, her aunt had taken her to New York, Philadelphia, and Washington. They had been to all the best parties, with grand ballrooms, beautiful music…

  “I cannot leave just now, Jane. It’s imperative I stay here and straighten out these matters before the gossip destroys everything we’ve worked so hard to obtain.”

  “That you’ve worked so hard for,” Jane corrected.

  Aunt Cornelia carefully put her teacup down and took Jane’s hands in hers. Her blue eyes, the same as her brother Camden’s—and the same inherited by Jane—regarded her with compassion. “I am very proud of you, Jane—proud that you made the choice not to marry one who didn’t deserve you. But I agree, it’s time for you to move on with your life.”

  A sob clogged Jane’s throat. She nodded. Deep down, she knew her aunt was right.

  “Do you remember my friend Miss Woodhall—Virginia Woodhall?”

  “The one who has counseled you on investments?” Jane nodded. “Yes, I remember her.”

  Her aunt patted her hand.

  “She writes that a lady friend of hers is starting up a women’s writing group in London. Now, they aren’t official yet, of course. They meet in a house for now. But they do have a degree of organization, and the majority of the women who belong are well traveled and highly educated. I think it could be a very exciting adventure. With London’s theater district and the Queen’s Jubilee, there would be plenty of writing opportunities for you.”

  Jane’s chin quivered. The thought of leaving Aunt Cornelia wouldn’t have been so difficult to accept under different circumstances. “I abhor leaving you here to deal with the mess I’ve made.” She clutched Aunt Corney’s hands tight.