The Passionate Love of a Rake: HarperImpulse Historical Romance

by Jane Lark

  Since Joshua’s assault yesterday, Jane had felt sullen and been prone to silence and tears, more due to the conversation which had followed than to the injury.

  She’d tried to keep her thoughts on other things today.

  She put aside the embroidery she’d been using to occupy her mind and picked up the sealed paper.

  She knew immediately who it was from. Violet knew, too, the minx. The seal was the Barrington coat of arms, Robert’s. Her fingers shaking and her heart beating harder, she broke it.

  Why had he written? Why not come in person?

  The familiar writing made her heart ache as she began to read.

  Dear Jane,

  Sentiment or formality? She could not tell; it was the same address he’d always used.

  I have done little but think of what happened and the things you said. I wish to make amends to you, if you will allow it. Come home with me, Jane, on Saturday next, for as long as you like. If you are worried over appearances, I shall, of course, ask Edward and Ellen to accompany us. I am sure they shall, and I will invite anyone you wish me to ask. Ellen may play hostess. I hope you accept, not for my own benefit, you understand, but for yours. If Sutton is your choice, so be it, but I will not turn my back a second time and let you do this without thought. Come away with me. Take some time at Farnborough to think things through. After all, it was as good as your home, too, once. When you are certain of your choice, then you may do as you wish. But just give yourself some time away from Sutton, to think. The man hit you, Jane.

  Forgive me, it is none of my business, I know. I am not offering myself as an alternative, you understand, but just as a friend, as you wished, a place to think things through, and a person to talk them through with, that is all.

  Well, that is it my offer exactly. Take it or leave it. If you accept, write back to me and I will set everything up, just as you request, and send word to let you know when my carriage shall collect you. I will go on ahead to check all is in order and meet you there.

  Yours forever, in friendship, for as long as you need me to come to your rescue.

  Robert

  Her hand, which held the letter, fell to her lap, and Jane stared at it.

  “Well?” Violet prompted.

  Jane lifted it and read it once more. No, she had not imagined the intimacy and sincerity in it.

  “Do tell, Jane,” Violet urged.

  “He has asked me to attend a family party at his country house. The invitation is extended to you and Geoffrey, if you wish.”

  “It says more than that. Your face speaks another story.”

  Jane gave her friend a mind-your-own-business smile, but deemed to throw a little more seed to her pecking. Violet had been her greatest support, after all. “He is apologising for our falling out, that is all.”

  “In pretty verse?” Violet prodded. “Barrington does not strike me as the poet type. No, I would say he is more a man who would deploy heartfelt sincerity to win the ladies, and you are blushing, so I am right. He is gushing, and you have fallen for it. He gets you to his country home and takes you to his bed, woman wooed and won, and that will be an end to it, and you shall never hear of him again.”

  “And thank you for cheering me up with that remarkably cutting assessment. I happen to believe his gushing, and I think I shall accept his offer and go. But if you intend to do nothing but disparage him, I ought to leave you here. Perhaps I am tempted by his bed and do not wish you putting me off at the last hurdle.”

  Violet sat beside Jane and laid a hand on her knee. “If you fancy his bed, I am certain it would not be unpleasant, so go to it with my blessing, as long as you are well aware of the possible outcome. And indeed, I should not come, as I fear I shall be too tempted to disparage him. If you are set on this course, Jane, go. All I wish for is your happiness. I will be overjoyed if you prove me wrong.”

  ~

  The countryside whipped past the open carriage window as the warm summer breeze flooded in, and Jane felt her stomach flip for the fifth time that morning. She’d been very bold in defence of her decision to Violet, but in practice, the thought of going back to Farnborough, to Robert, had set her on edge.

  She’d deliberately decided without thinking. She’d chosen with her heart not her head. The moment she’d read the letter, she’d longed to be here, with him. There could be nothing between them now. Too much had happened in the years in between, but she could escape Joshua, and she could be at home again, and feel safe, as she had not done for years.

  The passing landscape became familiar. The journey had taken four days. Robert had planned it, every change of horses, every inn, so that none of the concern was hers. She leaned closer to the open window, and her fingers gripped the sill. The breeze swept back her hair from her face beneath her bonnet as they crossed a narrow, humpback bridge over a shallow river that was depleted by the drought. Ahead, she saw the postilion rider on the lead mare as the carriage turned a corner. Her sense of excitement and nervousness grew.

  Oh, but it felt good to see familiar scenery, even if the grass was less green from the lack of rain; it was still home. The hills, the dales, the moors, the rivers, home, all of it, a part of her that she’d lost for so long.

  She’d mourned this place more than the loss of her parents.

  Pollen-laden, fresh summer air filled her lungs. She could smell the grass, the clover, and the heather.

  The team of horses pulled the carriage about the final bend and in through the gates of Farnborough, on to the long avenue of horse chestnut trees. She could see the sprawling mansion in the distance. It had developed through generations from medieval times onward. Its familiarity hit her hard in the chest, and her heart figuratively lifted to her mouth.

  Home. It did feel like hers, even though it was Robert’s, and it was her sanctuary now. She’d be safe here, for the first time in years.

  Her heart thumped as the carriage slowed, pulling before the front of the house.

  She’d never thought she’d be here again.

  The sound of churning gravel beneath the carriage wheels and horses hooves filled the air as the carriage drew to a halt. She could see the front entrance into the courtyard. The sounds outside the carriage became voices as grooms and footman surrounded it.

  A footman put down the step. Then she saw Robert beyond him, emerging from beneath the arch of the portcullis.

  She took the footman’s hand to descend, watching Robert stride across the gravel drive. Her stomach turned a summersault inside her, and her heart clenched tightly. She longed to run to him and throw herself into his arms as she used to do.

  “Jane.” He was there, taking her fingers from the footman’s and leaning close to speak confidentially as her foot touched the gravel. “I am so glad you agreed to come. I hope you do not mind the informal welcome, but I thought you would prefer it. You were always a no-fuss girl, as I remember. But if I was wrong, feel free to chastise me. You may be a part of the family or spend time alone as you wish. There is no pressure. This is your home, for as long as you wish it to be. I expect nothing of you, nor will Edward.”

  “What have you told him?” she asked as Robert let go her hand.

  “Nothing,” he said with a smile. “You are family. I told him I’d seen you, and you needed a bolt-hole. He cares for you too much to pry, just as I do, Jane. And that’s an end to it. You are not here for explanations. I offered you a place and space to think. You’ll have it. I promise I shall hold my tongue. Your life is neither mine nor Edward’s business. But if you want us, we are here. If you do not, it is your choice. Eat in your room, read in the library, whatever you wish.”

  “A horse,” she said as he stepped back a pace to lead her in.

  At her words, his eyebrows lifted. “A horse?”

  “Yes,” she expounded, her voice breathless, the words seeming distant to her tongue. “I would like to ride, not read. I think better, feel better, when I ride. I would like to be able to ride, if I may?”
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  “Then later, you shall pick a mount, or three. Try the whole damn stable, Jane. My staff know to answer to you just as though you were me. They will do anything you ask.”

  The man before her was not one of the foremost rakehells of the ton. He was all the youth she’d fallen for. An urge to hug him rushed over her again, and to kiss him. But it was hardly the thing to do when the vein of his introduction was kindness and friendship. It would be silly to stir up those impotent feelings between them, no matter what she felt for him, or he for her. There could be no outcome from it. Instead, gripping his elbow, she said, “Thank you.”

  “You are welcome.” He smiled. “Come along then. Let’s get you settled.” Freeing his arm from her grip, he clasped her hand and drew her forward under the raised portcullis and into the cobbled courtyard where the central fountain sent the sound of running water bouncing back off the surrounding walls of the house. They passed through the stone portico and into the old keep. There, he released her, and her eyes scanned the familiar room, the square twist and rise of the stairs. The house still felt huge to her, even as an adult.

  “Well then, what do you wish to do? I’ll leave it up to you. Are you tired? Do you want to stop for refreshment, or would you rather I have Mrs. Barclay show you up to your room and give you chance to freshen up? I’ve no need to show you about, of course. I’m certain you remember it all. You’re in the yellow room with a view of the garden.”

  Jane realised he was nervous, too. He seemed to be trying overly hard to do and say the right thing. She smiled broadly, a smile of gratitude straight from her heart. “Heavens, is Mrs. Barclay still here?”

  He smiled. “Yes, and Davis, as I told you. They are itching to meet you, but I did not want to overpower you with well-wishers the minute you arrived.” His eyes moved to the bruise still visible on her cheekbone, and his hand lifted. His fingers brushed across it, as if he’d wanted to touch it since he’d first seen her and could no longer resist. “It is getting better. Does it still hurt?”

  “Only if I touch it.” She laughed. Instantly, his fingers fell, but his touch had been too gentle to hurt.

  “What is it to be then, tea or a warm bath?”

  “Good Lord, nothing warm!” Jane laughed again, fanning her face with one hand while the other tugged the ribbons of her bonnet loose. “What would be nice is some lemonade. Do you think you could rustle some up?”

  “Not personally, but I’m sure Mrs. Barclay will manage it.”

  Jane grinned. “If I hurry upstairs and freshen up, could we drink it outside? Having been shut up in that stuffy carriage for days, I could do with some fresh air. I would love to see the gardens and take a stroll.”

  His gaze ran over her face then settled on her eyes. “Lemonade in the garden, it is then, Your Grace.” He bowed slightly, giving her his rakish grin.

  She lifted off her bonnet and shook her head to loosen the sweat-dampened curls from her brow, batting his arm with the straw confection. “Tease!” Then, instantly, she sobered as an intruding thought unsettled her. She did not want to be alone. “You will sit with me though?”

  “If you wish.” His smile had fallen, perhaps because he’d heard her concern.

  “I do. If you are not busy?”

  His smile lifted a notch again, closed-lipped and not rakish at all, just Robert’s. “I’m not busy. You have my undivided attention, if you wish it. Shall I meet you on the terrace?”

  “Yes. Thank you. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

  “Do you want a maid to take you?”

  “No, I remember it. Meg should be upstairs by now. I’m sure one of your footmen will have led her up.”

  “Very well then, I’ll see you in a moment.” He gave her another slight bow then watched her take a step backward before she turned. She hastened upstairs, glancing back a few times to see him still standing below, following her progress with his eyes. He smiled each time she glanced down. She smiled back, feeling light-hearted in a way she’d forgotten she could ever be.

  Silly woman, she told herself as she reached the landing. It was beyond stupid. It was definitely imprudent to feel so overjoyed at his attention. But she did, and she virtually skipped along the landing, she felt so happy.

  Reaching the yellow room, she found Meg bent over an open portmanteau. Jane tossed her bonnet on the bed and began peeling off her lace gloves then threw them there, too. “Heavens, Meg, find me a fan and my parasol. It is so hot. I am going to sit in the garden, but I refuse to put a bonnet back on.”

  Barely minutes later, having washed quickly and dismissed Meg so the maid could also seek refreshment, Jane rushed on to the terrace with a bounce still in her step. Robert was there. He was leaning on the balustrade which ran the length of the house at the back, looking out on to the parterre gardens. The air was full of summer scents, honeysuckle, jasmine, roses, and lavender, and the blue sky and sunshine were the perfect backdrop to the riot of colours in the formal gardens below. Summer sounds echoed about the grounds, too, a wood pigeon cooing, a little flock of sparrows chasing and calling through the box hedge, the water fountain running in the distance, and laughter. A child’s laughter, and the cracked laughter of a youth not quite a boy, but not yet a man. “John and Mary-Rose?” she said as she started to cross the terrace to him.

  He turned, and in that first instant, there was a depth to the dark brown of his eyes that was almost sad. But then he smiled, the rakehell’s smile, meant to charm.

  She was charmed, utterly. Something clenched low in her stomach, a tight, sudden spasm which disappeared just as fast as it came.

  “Do you wish to see them? They’ve decamped to the shade of a plane tree on the other side of the haw-haw. Mrs. Barclay has indeed risen to the occasion and prepared lemonade. It will be served there or here, wherever you wish.”

  “There, I think. I would love to see the children.” Jane unfurled her parasol and rested the shaft on her shoulder.

  “Well then, there we shall go,” Robert stated, offering her his arm. “Ellen has little Robbie up, too. He was too restless to sleep in this heat.”

  Jane flicked open her fan and began wafting it. “I do not know how you can stand to wear a coat.”

  “I admit, it is a bit warm.”

  “Then take it off.”

  “You are barely here an hour, Jane, and are already undressing me!” he stated with a satirical laugh.

  “I am giving you permission not to stand on ceremony. You said my visit was to be informal. If I am family, treat me as such.” Her words were reproachful, but she touched her voice with humour to match his.

  “Very well.” He raised his arm higher. “Help me with the damn thing then. The day is like a boiling pot.”

  She snapped shut her fan, let it hang from her wrist, balanced her open parasol on her shoulder, then helped him take off his coat.

  When they walked on, it lay over one arm, while her bare fingers gripped his other, embracing firm muscle beneath the thin cotton of his shirt. They did not hurry, but discussed her journey, Geoff and Violet’s growing romance, his staff, and the changes he’d made at Farnborough, while their footsteps crunched on the gravel paths.

  It was at least half an hour later when they reached the sunken wall which formed the haw-haw. Robert took her hand to help her down the slope to the gate which led through the steeply sided ditch into the fallow grassland. Usually, livestock were grazing there, but there were none today, and Jane looked to the sound of laughter and saw the edge of a rug behind a tree.

  She let go his grip, very aware of the intimacy of holding his warm hand. Its heat seemed to reach inside her, and memories of his touch on the first night they’d met in town came to mind. She could picture him without clothes easily in this heat, in this field, doing intimate things. An exhilarating tremor ran through her innards. She glanced at Robert, certain she was blushing, but he was looking towards the tree.

  “Your Grace! Uncle Robert!” It was John who saw them first. Th
e boy looked pleased to see her, or perhaps he was just pleased to see his uncle.

  She wondered then if they had been deliberately dismissed to a place beyond the formal garden so the house would be quiet on her arrival. She’d seen no one but Robert before this.

  The boy ran towards them, stripped to his shirt, too, his sleeves rolled up and a ball gripped in his hand.

  “Papa and I are playing piggy-in-the-middle with Mary. Will you play, Uncle?”

  She sensed Robert smile without even needing to look. “Poor little minnow, how does she stand a chance?”

  “The whole game is thrown. You know it is. She always wins. Will you play?”

  “Not at the minute, John. Give Jane a chance to get settled. And where are your manners? You have not even said a proper welcome.”

  Instantly, the poor boy looked mortified, as if hurt by Robert’s chastisement. Blushing and holding the ball to his chest, John bent into a deep bow. “Your Grace, my apologies. Of course, we are glad of your company.”

  He spoke with the perfect pitch of a future duke. She smiled and waved his words away. “Just Jane, please. Both your father and uncle think of me as a sister.”

  “Aunt Jane then,” John replied, rising up, his voice slipping easily back to that of a rambunctious boy.

  “John,” Robert challenged as if to deter.

  But Jane gripped Robert’s arm. “Aunt Jane is perfect. I’m happy with it. There is no need for formality, is there?” Robert’s eyes met hers, and they were warm with affection and rimmed by dark lashes. It was a look he’d have given her when he was only a little older than John.

  She smiled at John. “Come on then, John, lead me to the lemonade.” With that, she let down her parasol then clutched at her skirt, lifting her hem a little so she could keep up with John as they progressed through the uneven grass.

  Robert followed, watching Jane listen to John’s eager chatter. It felt so good to have her here. She looked different already. She’d lost half a dozen years. She was no longer the Duchess, just Jane. His Jane.

  Not his Jane. He couldn’t say that. He’d promised her space and a place to think. He was determined to let her have it. If afterwards, she chose to continue her affair with Sutton, at least Robert would know he’d tried to help her. At least he would not have to live with guilt over the son. He’d been enduring it for days over the father. The thought pierced Robert’s chest even now.