by Jane Lark
How could she have thought she could?
She met his gaze and stepped back. “I cannot.” Then she turned away to collect her clothes, shaking. She felt so foolish.
“Jane? What the hell is this?” His voice was irate and impatient.
Oh yes, she remembered his anger, his instinct to judge and blame, and the cruel accusations he could cast. He’d yelled and railed at her when she’d told him she was promised to the Duke of Sutton. That was the last time she’d seen Robert.
Her clothes clutched against her chest, she held a hand out to ward him off as he stepped forward. “Robert, I, I’m sorry. I thought I could, but I cannot.”
He stilled, staring at her, and she could see he was seething. God knew what he thought of her after this.
She moved to touch his arm. “Robert, I just—”
He knocked her hand aside. “Do not bother, Jane. I have no desire to hear more of your excuses. I heard enough years ago. You obviously take great pleasure in turning me down. What was this, a game? No, do not answer that. I don’t care.”
With that, he spun away and strode towards the door, growling as he went.
His anger was in every taut muscle as he moved.
“I’ll stir Jenkins from his bed and have him call for the carriage. If you are lucky, he may have not yet retired.”
“Robert! Wait! I can walk.”
He stopped dead and laughed. It was a horrible, heartless, mocking sound. Then he looked back, and his glare hit her like a blow. It was callous and accusing. He turned, then, and crossed the room with long strides, advancing so fast, she instinctually backed away.
“Jane,” he barked to stop her as he neared. Then his eyes dropped to look at her left hand a moment before his fingers gripped it.
It was then before her face, with his finger pressing beneath hers, which still bore Hector’s obscenely large, emerald betrothal ring.
“You think you would make it home safely with this on your finger? No, Jane. I will get you a carriage. No one has ever accused me of being inconsiderate. Perhaps that is why you think you can be so cruel to me? Perhaps you believe the rest of us are as heartless as you?” As he glared at her, one eyebrow tilted as though waiting for some response, and his lips twisted in a sneer.
What could she say? This was beyond an apology. It was not about what had happened just now. It was about what had happened between them years before, and she wouldn’t apologise for what had not been her fault.
She lifted her chin and held his gaze, unflinching, just as she had faced Joshua earlier, determined not to bow or bend. She had done enough of that in her life.
He turned away, growling again, then launched into a stream of what she knew must be obscenities, but not in English. He grabbed his shirt before storming from the room.
Her heart hammered as she rushed to dress. Why had she thought she could do this? It did not take her much to find the answer. It was because Joshua had made her angry. That was a part of it. She’d wanted to spite him, yes, but mostly because it was Robert. She would not have even considered it with any other man. But he wasn’t her Robert. She didn’t know this man. He was a stranger in so many ways. Not the youth who’d loved her, but a man who’d mastered seduction and sex, and played with sensual feeling solely to use and discard women.
Tears in her eyes, her fingers shaking, she struggled to secure the buttons of her dress. She’d made a mess of things again. She’d never be like Violet. Perhaps she ought to just stop trying to emulate her friend.
“Let me do it,” he barked from across the room, his sudden reappearance making her jump, but his temper seemed to have cooled a little, at least.
Her hands dropped as he crossed the space between them, and her eyes lifted to his face.
His hair fell forward on his brow as his head bent, and he looked at her buttons. They were secure in a moment.
He’d roughly tucked his shirt into his breeches while he’d been away, and now, his back to her, he picked up his evening coat. He did not put on his neckcloth or his waistcoat and left his evening coat undone. He looked back at her.
“Are you ready?”
She nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat.
His arm lifted as if to encourage her forward, and it somewhat surrounded her as she passed him, but he did not touch her. They left the room in silence, and when they reached the hall, she saw the butler below. He also looked as though he’d dressed quickly, and he frowned when he passed her cloak to Robert.
She stood still as Robert slipped it on her shoulders, but she could not stop herself from shaking. She made no comment, knowing if she did, the only thing that would erupt would be tears.
Robert did not speak, either, but once her cloak was on, his hand touched her back and slipped to her waist. It only made her wish to cry more.
They left the house and faced his groom, who held the carriage door open, struggling to hide a yawn.
Robert gripped her elbow when she climbed the step, then followed her in.
They sat on opposite sides in the furthest corners as they’d done before.
Once the door had slammed shut, Robert knocked on the roof, and the carriage stirred sharply forward.
She stared out the window again as they raced across town through the dark streets, never looking at Robert.
When they reached Violet’s a short time later, Robert shifted quickly, rising, opening the door, and kicking the step down himself before the groom was even on the pavement.
She accepted Robert’s hand to descend. There was nothing intimate in his touch now. It seemed cold, and she felt bereft of him.
He let go the moment her feet touched the pavement.
She wished she could thank him for sharing with her the things he’d done. It had felt good in the moment. He’d been gentle and kind, despite her desertion. But, instead, she fought against the lump in her throat, held back her tears and ran up the steps to Violet’s front door, expecting him to go.
He did not. He followed her up and stood beside her again.
“Do you have a key?”
She shook her head.
He sighed before lifting the knocker with a resigned air.
It seemed ages before there was any sound. Then, finally, she heard footsteps.
A sigh escaped her throat, but on her inward breath, it became a slight sob as pain welled in her chest, and she bit her lip.
Then, as they heard a bolt draw back with a sharp, metallic scrape, his fingers touched her shoulder, turning her to him, while his other hand tucked beneath her chin and lifted her face. Then his lips touched hers briefly.
“I am sorry I shouted at you,” he whispered when he pulled away.
He must think it was that which had upset her.
The door opened.
“Your Grace?” the young night footman questioned.
“Forgive me.” It was all she could get out as she stepped inside without a word to Robert. She could not even look at him.
Immediately, once she was in, she swept across the hall and up the stairs in as close to a run as she could discreetly manage. When she reached her bedchamber, she shut the door behind her, and, leaning against it, slid to the floor and wept.
Chapter Four
The next morning, Jane walked into the day room where Violet took breakfast, knowing she did not look her best.
Meg, Jane’s maid, had tried to hide the ravages of a late, tearful night, but with little success.
Jane was tired, and her thoughts were a tangled muddle as images of Joshua and Robert tormented her.
Her body was still alive with the sensations Robert had taught her last night, and her heart ached for impossibilities.
She felt exhausted and fragile.
The wonderful aroma of freshly ground coffee and chocolate instantly restored her appetite, though, and a blue sky beyond the windows mocked the unsettling regrets in her thoughts.
Jane liked this bright room. The morning sun always r
eached in through the bank of windows facing the garden, and its cream and yellow decoration was a cheery choice, distinctly Violet. The mahogany table was laid for breakfast, covered in a starched, cream cloth and laden with coffee, tea, chocolate, hams, cheeses and sweet cinnamon rolls.
“Ah, my dear.” Violet smiled and beckoned Jane forward. “You must be starving.”
Jane smiled and took the seat that a footman withdrew, facing Violet.
“Coffee, please,” Jane ordered. She needed something to get her thoughts in order. The footman poured it.
“And now, Daniels, disappear. I am sure Jane will be happy to serve herself.” Violet waved him off with a flick of her hand.
Jane’s fingers trembled as she reached for her cup and, yet again, she remembered the things Robert had done last night.
He’d dislodged her sanity. Her tingling senses just kept stirring memories in her head, of his kisses and his touch. The image of his predatory stare in the ballroom hung in her mind, too, and the conversation she’d overheard.
He knew how to capture a woman’s interest. He knew how to speak his intention without words. He knew how to make a woman feel special. No wonder he was infamous.
She thought of his room, of the props set out for Lady Baxter, not her. Yet, as she pictured it, she heard the apology he’d given as he’d left.
The door clicked shut behind the footman. Jane looked up and met Violet’s gaze.
“Well, well, Jane,” Violet whispered, her eyes dancing with silent laughter. “And there was I thinking you the shy and retiring type. How wrong I was!”
Jane opened her mouth to answer, but Violet lifted her hand.
“No need for explanations. I am not shocked in the least. But surprised, yes! Your husband is but weeks in the grave and you allow Barrington to take you home. I am sorry, Jane, but you are fooling no one now. You must take off those blacks.” Violet laughed.
Jane opened her mouth again, but Violet’s butter knife lifted and bobbed up and down, pointing in Jane’s direction.
“Do not try to deny it, my dear, you cannot. I saw you return in his carriage in the early hours, with Barrington in dishabille.”
“But I did not—”
“Oh Jane, there is no need to explain. I really do not care what you do. You know I am partial to the company of men. But you have outdone me by a mile. It was at least a year after my dear Frederick passed before I took another man.
“However I suppose the former Duke of Sutton can be no comparison to a buck like Barrington. Yet, you strike me as a woman with a tender heart, Jane, and Barrington is likely to break it. As I said last night, he is not known for his constancy. The man is fickle. He’s littered Europe with broken hearts.”
Jane interrupted then, her coffee cup clicking back down on its saucer. She could not let Violet think Robert was any man. “Violet, you misunderstood. He and I are old friends. Last night was not our first meeting, and—”
Violet’s knife bobbed again. “Jane, have you been keeping secrets? Friends with Barrington, indeed? Why did you not mention it?”
“Because I had no idea he was in London, and it is a lifetime since I last saw him.” To Violet’s knowing look, Jane added, “It is not what you think, Violet. My father’s estate and his bordered one another. We knew each other as children. We were catching up, that is all.”
Violet laughed. “And does catching up remove a gentleman’s cravat?”
Jane felt a blush rise in her cheeks.
“Well, it is of no concern to me if you were catching up or not, just guard your heart, Jane. Your friend or not, he is not reliable.”
That hardly mattered. Jane knew she had no heart to break. He’d shattered it years ago. Then why was there a deep ache lodged in her chest this morning?
“See.” Violet pointed her knife again, and her voice rose in pitch, but she smiled. “You are already affected. You cannot take your mind from him. Beware.”
Jane smiled too, and wondered where she would be without Violet. But she still denied the truth with a blatant lie. “I am not affected. He has simply reminded me of the past, that is all.”
Violet’s eyebrows lifted.
Jane blushed, but she did not let Violet speak. “We were very young, nothing happened, and please, do not say anything to anyone else, or to him. It would mortify me if it became common knowledge, especially with his reputation as it stands. I would rather keep our former friendship between ourselves.”
Violet’s colour suddenly heightened, too.
Jane assumed she had caused offence.
“I am not a gossip, Jane. You are my friend. But if you wish to keep it secret, then disappearing with him from an event the size of the Duchess of Weldon’s was not the way to do it.”
“I know, it was foolish.” Jane felt a blush again. “I was just surprised to see him, and when he suggested it, I did not think.”
“A symptom which is common for women in Barrington’s company, I believe.”
“You do not like him?” A memory of the scene in his bedchamber spun through Jane’s head. Had Violet?
“I only know him by reputation. But he is not for me, and I have not, Jane, if that is what you are asking.” Jane felt her skin turn crimson as Violet continued. “He is polite and indecently good-looking. But just keep your head over the man, Jane. I do not wish to see you hurt.”
The thought gave Jane pause. The man who’d apologised before he’d left had been the Robert she remembered and had loved, and the one who’d kissed her palm … But Violet implied he treated women callously and last night, it had seemed he could. The room had been dressed so carefully, and they’d shared such intimacies, yet he’d shared the same with numerous women. It appeared it was the act of sex he was attracted to, not the woman, if he could swap his attentions from Lady Baxter to her so easily.
She’d known he’d changed though. It was no surprise. “I did not have to come to London to hear his reputation. The gossip sheets have been full of tales about him for years, Violet. I know what he’s become. You do not need to warn me. But he was like a brother to me as a child.” She could not think him callous.
“A brother?” Violet challenged with another laugh.
“And later, a good friend,” Jane redefined at Violet’s dismissive hand gesture.
“A good friend who is a good kisser, no? You did not look at all like brother and sister from my bedroom window last night. You looked thoroughly kissed, and he looked—”
“I—” Jane again sought to deny it, but Violet stopped her, lifting her hand.
“Never mind, Jane. I am only teasing you. You do not need to justify yourself to me.” Then with a smile she asked, “Well, then, what shall we do today? Lord Sparks has invited us to the horse races, if you would like to go?”
Jane smiled and nodded. Most of their days had been spent visiting or shopping. Watching the races would be a novelty. It might even stimulate her mind to think of something other than Robert.
~
Jane wished she’d found an excuse to cry off and stay at Violet’s as she walked beside her friend and Lord Sparks. Lord Sparks was naming the horses as they passed them, while Jane’s eyes were drawn forward for the umpteenth time to the couple strolling some distance ahead. The Earl of Barrington’s broad, muscular back dominated her view, and his arm embraced Lady Baxter, his fingers gripping the woman’s waist.
It was torture, watching them. Jane felt a fool.
Robert had not once turned back as they progressed, but Jane would swear he knew she was there.
He leaned and whispered something to his companion.
Jane felt herself blush and looked at Lord Sparks, trying to focus on his explanation. She felt as if she was intruding on Violet and her lover, though. Violet’s hands were wrapped about Lord Sparks's forearm as they walked, and her attention was all for her beau.
Jane tipped her head back to see beyond the rim of her black bonnet, and looked up at the blue sky.
A s
ingle, wispy, white cloud hung above her. The rest of the sky was clear.
She really did not wish to watch Robert pawing the blonde woman in front of her.
Taking a deep breath, she shut her eyes for a moment, begging for patience and sanity, or, at least, a little common sense. She could not allow Robert to unsettle her. She had enough things to worry about without adding to her woes.
So, last night, he had chosen her over Lady Baxter, and now, he was merely gathering up loose ends. No doubt he was angry because Jane had walked away. Well, she had not come to town for an affair. She’d come to escape Joshua, and certainly not to find Robert.
Her heart clenched. She’d thought she’d conquered this pain long ago. She stubbornly thrust it aside and opened her eyes.
She was a long way behind Violet and Lord Sparks. Instead of following, she turned towards the horses. If she must feel alone in a crowded place, she may as well be alone.
A black mare whinnied in Jane’s direction, pitching up her muzzle for attention. A young groom stood beside the horse. Jane walked over, answering the mare’s call, and touched its muzzle.
It was a beautiful animal. She kissed its velvet cheek, and the mare’s nostrils flared. “You’re a beauty, aren’t you?” she whispered.
The horse whickered, pushing its head gently against Jane. She gripped the loop of the bit at the edge of the horse’s mouth and looked into the animal’s large, dark eye. “Now, what did Lord Sparks say they called you?”
“Her name is Minstrel, Ma’am,” the young groom acknowledged, bowing briefly. Then he smiled. “I helped to train her.”
“And is she a good runner?” Jane’s hand fell on the animal’s flank.
“Oh aye, Ma’am, she’s a real fine, fast runner.”
“Then you would recommend I put my stake on her?”
“My Lord said she’ll win us a fortune, Ma’am.”
Jane smiled, but the boy’s gaze had passed across her shoulder.
