by Julia Parks
b
Jane welcomed this return to a sane conversation; dealing with menus and guests was part of the real world for her, something tangible.
“Yes, but I wasn’t certain when you’d arrive, so it will be a little later than usual—another hour or so. Perhaps you’d care to rest? That is your room; mine is on the opposite side.”
Drew stood. “No, I’m not tired, but I shall order a bath. I feel as though I’ve got salt and sand everywhere.”
Jane blushed at her own thoughts, and Drew’s grin gave warning that he was not about to let such an invitation to mischief pass unnoticed. He moved to her side so that he could look down on her; but she couldn’t see his face without screwing her head about.
“Back home on the island where the water is clear and warm, I would have gone down to a little cove, shed my clothes, and had a delightful swim. But here, I would freeze to death.”
“As well you should,” squeaked Jane, trying to keep her tone light but failing. Perhaps he would think she was outraged instead of bewitched by his words.
Drew, however, ignored her. Resting his hands on her shoulders, he added quietly, “Do you know how to swim, Jane?”
“No,” she lied, deeming this the safest response.
“I would be happy to teach you. Perhaps—”
Tucker’s knock was a welcome interruption, and Jane almost shouted for the maid to enter. By the time Tucker opened the door, Drew stood by the entrance to his own room.
“Yes, Tucker?” Jane quickly regained her outward composure.
“I came to see if you needed anything, Miss Jane? M’lord?”
“Remember, Tucker, it is madam and sir now. There are too many ears about.”
“I forgot, Mi…madam. I’m sorry.”
“Just remember in the future. And I am settled for the night unless Mr. Davies has need of you?” Jane turned to Drew. “I asked Tucker if she would look after your clothes, and she readily agreed.”
“That’s very kind of you, Tucker.”
“’Tis the least I can do for you, sir.”
Drew gave the maid a warning glance, and Jane frowned. What debt could her maid possibly owe Drew? She would tax Tucker with this very question when they were alone.
Ending the awkward silence, Drew disappeared into his room. Before Jane could protest, Tucker slipped out the other door, telling the viscount she would have the landlord send up hot water.
Meanwhile, Jane was left with her own uncomfortable thoughts for company. She tried to be angry with Drew for provoking her with his suggestive flirtation. Teach her to swim, indeed! Why, a true gentleman wouldn’t even mention such an activity as swimming in the ocean sans clothing! He was horrid! A bounder!
She heard a splash as the hot water was poured into the porcelain tub. Resolutely, she opened her book of sermons.
The sermons had been divided into topics. She had finished reading those about stewardship. She turned the page. “Adultery,” she read. Jane skipped to the back sections of the book and began reading at random.
“And let me urge you, sinners all in this wicked world…”
Jane paused as she heard more splashing from the next room. This time, it sounded like someone rinsing. Drew rinsing. She took a deep breath and returned to her book.
“Read ye the gospel according to St. Mark, in the fourteenth chapter, eighth verse, ‘Watch ye and pray, lest ye enter into temptation. The spirit truly is ready, but the flesh is weak.’”
Another large splash as Drew stood up.
Jane closed the book with a snap. She peered over her shoulder to see if dear Friday-faced Pipkin had materialized in the room. She was just being foolish. She would go below stairs and find Tucker. She had to find some activity that would take her away from the tiny sitting room with the thin walls—anything to keep her wanton thoughts occupied.
Tucker was just unrolling a large cloth with a white shirt inside it when Jane located her. It was a laundry room. A hot fire smouldered in the fireplace where irons were heating.
“Madam, what is it?”
“I just needed to speak to you, Tucker.”
“Ye should have sent one of th’ maids, madam.” Tucker cocked her head significantly toward an open door to her right. Jane could hear other servants, mostly French, talking as they worked. Jane closed the door before continuing.
“I wanted to ask you why you told Lor… Mr. Davies that to do his laundry was the least you could do? What did you mean by that? Are you in his debt?”
“I meant, madam, that I’m grateful to him, though ye may disagree, but I’m grateful to him for coming wi’ us. I can’t help but feel safer for ’is bein’ ’ere.”
“Yet it was I who secured a suite of rooms for us,” said Jane. Remembering it had been Drew who had arranged for their transport to the out-of-the-way inn, Jane said briskly, “Never mind. What are you doing there?”
“Ironing a shirt for Mr. Davies, madam.”
“It is rather large, isn’t it?”
“Large enough. He cuts quite a figure,” said the middle-aged maid with a knowing smile.
“Tucker!”
“Only funning wi’ ye, Miss Jane,” she whispered. “Now ye’d best scoot upstairs before the whole world and ’is brother begins to ask what a grand lady is doing in the laundry room of an inn.”
“Yes, Tucker.” Jane, smiled despite herself.
As Jane opened the doors, Tucker said, “I’ll be up later to ready you for bed, madam.”
b
“I’m so hungry I could eat snails!” said Drew as he joined Jane at the small table in their sitting room. He looked over the assortment of dishes and said doubtfully, “There aren’t any here, are there?”
“Escargots? No, only a rich stew of sorts—lamb, I believe. And here we have steamed potatoes with garlic.” Jane’s nose wrinkled as she tested the aromas. “Tomatoes with basil, some fresh greens au vinaigrette, and the mandatory French bread.”
“Good!”
Jane nodded as he served her plate first, but her mind wasn’t on the food. With Drew occupied playing waiter, she was at leisure to appreciate his fine appearance. He wore a black brocade dressing gown in place of a coat and an informal neckerchief instead of a starched cravat. He had apologized for this bit of informality, saying it was too troublesome to shrug his shoulders into one of his tailored coats for an hour or two’s wear. Jane had readily agreed. The result was devastating.
He hadn’t shaved either, and the day’s growth of beard looked manly but not forbidding. His wet hair was combed, but as it dried, it curled endearingly about his collar and ears. One curl fell across his forehead. Jane longed to push it back into place, but of course, she didn’t. Instead, she sat primly, hands folded in her lap, a socially acceptable smile set on her face.
A proper little voice said in one ear, “Very well done, miss. Very well done, indeed.” The voice advised her to ignore those most improper longings that flared up here and there throughout her body.
What would it feel like to sit in his lap? asked another, wicked voice.
Never you mind, said the proper one.
Remember the last time you sat in his lap? In the carriage? You remember what it felt like to sit in his lap, don’t you, Jane? But of course you can’t remember. You were both too busy elsewhere.
Yes, she remembered that. Her breasts tingled at the memory “Jane? Jane, are you going to eat?”
Jane started at Drew’s puzzled voice. Ah yes, reality.
Smiling and nodding absently, she lifted her fork. Somehow, the food had lost its appeal.
Little conversation troubled their digestion; both parties were too engrossed in their own thoughts. It was not until after the maid took the covers away that Jane noticed Drew’s distraction.
Wanting to set aside her own disturbing ruminations, Jane asked, “Penny for your thoughts?”
He looked at her a moment before her query registered. He hesitated before smiling—a far away smile. “I
was remembering the last time I dined in the private suite of an inn with an unmarried lady. My God, it seems centuries ago.”
Jane leaned across the small table and placed her hand on his, giving it a gentle squeeze before returning it to her own lap.
“I fancied myself in love—a boy of nineteen, an innocent lamb running full-tilt toward the slaughter. Lamb is an apt metaphor, for I was no more than a sacrificial lamb for their twisted game of love.”
Jane feared to comment or even move the slightest. It might bring an end to these confidences. She breathed slowly, evenly, willing Drew to continue that she might understand his bitterness.
“The lady—and I use the term lightly, meaning no disrespect to you, Jane—” So he realized she was still present, “—this lady had led me to believe she returned my vows of undying love and devotion. She even suggested we elope, explaining that her guardian would never countenance a match with me, a nothing in society at that time. I planned it all, every detail, down to the last change of horses. From the beginning, things went awry. She insisted we stop at the first posting house outside London for a late supper, and I agreed. I would have agreed with any request she made.”
Drew stood up and began to pace. Finally, he stopped and leaned against the mantel, his dark eyes sought Jane. He held out a hand, and she went to him. As he seated her in the chair, his gentle smile warmed her heart.
“She was nervous during the meal. I put it down to maidenly shyness. I was such a gullible fool! As we finished our meal, the door to the parlour flew open. It was her guardian and eight or ten of their closest friends. I know now they were an ill-sorted lot of hangers-on and gossips. I moved to protect my lady, but she would have none of it. You may imagine my bewilderment. Through her laughter, she told everyone how stupid I was, how utterly childish to think that she could love me. Then she walked past me and into her guardian’s arms. I knew then it was all some hideous game they played—had played before and would do so again, even after they were married. Their laughter filled the room. It was a nightmare, but I couldn’t escape! I walked up to her and slapped her face. Her guardian wanted to kill me—I could see it in his eyes. That, at least, would have been merciful. But she stopped him with just a little shake of her head; such was the power she held over men. With that trill of laughter I had once loved so well, she announced that I had issued her a challenge to a duel and that she would meet me at dawn.”
“Oh, Drew,” breathed Jane, unable to keep silent. “How could Lady Cynthia do such a thing? How could anyone?”
“So you’ve guessed the identity of my first love. How indeed? But she did, and we met at dawn.” He seemed anxious suddenly to put his tale of woe to rest. “I deloped, of course, but not Cynthia. I never asked where she was aiming, but she shot my hat off my head. The jerk of the pistol knocked her down, and our audience—it had grown from the night before—rallied round the poor damsel in distress. I left the country shortly afterwards on the orders of my uncle. I took over my late father’s only property, a run-down sugar cane plantation in the Indies. Best thing to come out of the whole fiasco.”
“And you danced with that jade!”
Drew looked at Jane in surprise. She stood in front of her chair, her fists clenched and her feet braced.
He chuckled at her, his bitterness overtaken by amusement. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he said, “It’s all right, Jane. I had to be certain she had no hold over me.”
Jane studied his face for a moment before nodding, satisfied with what she read there. Then a shadow of suspicion crossed her face, and she said, “But you danced with her three times.”
“Yes, my dear, and I’m surprised you noticed since you were dancing with every man at that blasted assembly. As I recall, I wanted to shoot all your partners and throttle you.”
“You only asked me to dance once—a country-dance!”
“You didn’t give me a chance, short of clubbing you over the head to get your attention.”
“And what about all the other balls? You hardly danced with me at all. You turned me over to Mr. Stanton and Mr. Farley.”
“Hardly, my love. You were safe with them. They knew you were mine.”
“Yours?” whispered Jane.
“Always mine.” His arms slipped around her waist, and he pulled her into his warm embrace. A thousand thoughts and questions she wanted to ask him, but they disappeared as he tenderly kissed her lips. He lifted his head and repeated, “Always.”
Jane gave herself up to his kisses, joining in just as much as he was—no more, no less—exactly as her grandmother had advised her.
There were no sofas in the room, so Jane soon found herself seated in Drew’s lap. She didn’t question how they had become so situated, she merely returned his kisses with renewed ardour since she no longer had to worry about her legs collapsing.
Some time later, Drew kissed the base of her throat and mumbled, “Where’s Tucker when we need her?”
“Who?” Jane gasped as he kissed her neck again.
He chuckled and raised his head. While Jane tried to entice another kiss from his lips, Drew said with mock severity, “You are not paying attention, Miss Lindsay.”
Jane stopped trying to kiss him, took stock of her situation, and scrambled to her feet. She shook out the folds of her dress and looked in the tarnished mirror over the mantel. Most of her hairpins had slipped and her hair was down completely on one side while the other side looked even more ridiculous with only a few strands tucked up. She raked her fingers through the long locks and bent to retrieve the fallen pins.
“What are you doing?” asked an amused Drew.
“Trying to set myself to rights before you completely disgrace me!”
“I disgrace you? It seems to me I had more than a little cooperation from you, my dear. Always have had.”
Jane blushed a dull red and bent to continue her search. Drew took her arms and raised her to a standing position. Her blush deepened, but he refused to release her.
“Look at me.” She hung her head. “Look at me, Jane. That’s better. I must apologize for letting this happen.”
As if he read fear in her eyes, he smiled and shook his head slightly. “No, I’m not sorry it did, any more than I could be sorry for loving you. But my timing is deplorable. No, don’t speak. Let me finish. This trip was difficult enough before, now it will be unbearable. How can I keep from kissing you when I know how willing you are? And you are willing, aren’t you, Jane? You do care for me?”
His uncertainty was so endearing, Jane hastened to reassure him. “Yes, Drew, I do care for you. I…I may even love you.”
“Shh. I know you do, or I’ve hoped so, but you mustn’t put it into words. I might ravish you on the spot. Now,” he began, setting her away from him at arm’s length, “we mustn’t do anything to tempt one another. Not by word or deed. Or look, Jane. If you look at me so, how can I keep from making love to you?”
She lowered her shining eyes.
“I know you’re bound and determined to find Cherry, so I won’t suggest we return home right now. But while we’re together on this journey we must be very careful of one another. Agreed?”
Jane nodded, and Drew solemnly shook her hand, sealing their agreement. Then he said firmly, “It’s late. We both need to get some sleep if we’re to leave early in the morning. Goodnight.” Then he vanished into his own room.
b
Upon entering his room, Drew sank against the closed door. It was going to be a long, painful journey. All his decisions to take things slowly had backfired. They might have been betrothed by now, perhaps even married. This trip could have been their honeymoon. Instead, it had become an exercise in self-control, and he felt certain Jane had very little self-control over her passions. He would need to be strong for them both.
Suddenly it hit him—he hadn’t even asked Jane to be his wife!
He pivoted. With hand on the door handle, Drew paused. Slowly, he walked back toward the empty bed. He
couldn’t risk returning to her. He’d resisted temptation once; he didn’t dare tempt nature again tonight.
He looked at the bed again. With little effort, his fertile imagination conjured up the vision of Jane, lovely, ripe Jane, waiting there for him, impatient for him to join her.
Groaning, Drew hurried to the other doorway, the one that led to the corridor. He would find his old friend and share a bottle. There would be little rest that night.
Jean-Francois had a sympathetic ear, aided by an excellent bottle of wine. The bottle became two before Drew felt numb enough to be able to sleep.
“So, my old friend, how did it happen?”
Drew looked at Jean-Francois in surprise. “What?”
One of the landlord’s beady eyes winked. “How did you win such a beautiful lady? She is the type of woman makes a man…eh?”
“Be careful, my friend. You speak of my wife.”
“Ah, you English, always so proper. Am I not a man? Can I not see with my own eyes how desirable Madame is?”
Drew’s laugh was hollow. “Anyone who is a man could see. That’s the problem. I am a man, and I see all too clearly.”
“But she is your wife.”
Drew felt the effects of his wine. He was not past hope, but his natural caution had relaxed. He needed to tell someone—someone who would understand the nobility of sitting up all night drinking instead of seducing the woman he loved. He needed someone who would sympathize with the terrible longing, the aching in his loins.
“She is not.”
The sly grin that appeared on Jean-Francois’s face sobered Drew. “Don’t misunderstand. She will be—soon, I hope. It was like this…”
Over the second bottle, his story was told, and the Frenchman was sworn to secrecy.
To repay Drew for these shared confidences, Jean-Francois stood up, raised his glass, and toasted the beautiful, stubborn Anglaise. Then he pledged his willingness to aid Drew and his cause. Misty-eyed, Jean-Francois grasped Drew by the shoulder with his one arm and kissed his friend’s cheeks before bidding him good night.
