by Brenda Joyce
Chad crowed with delight, stroking the Shetland and patting him enthusiastically. “Did you see? Did you see us?”
“Well done.” The earl smiled. He rode round to his son. “Here, reward him.” He handed his son a carrot and the boy leaned forward to feed the pony.
The earl’s thoughts changed. Again. Where was she? He and Chad had left after tea. The earl of course did not drink tea, but for his son’s sake, he observed the afternoon snack with the boy. Jane had not appeared. She had been gone for hours. Nick had to face his feelings, and he didn’t like doing so. He was worried.
What if she had twisted her ankle and could not get back to the house?
What if she had been accosted by vagabonds?
He and Chad continued on. His son was quiet, having already told him all about his day. Every other sentence had been about Jane. Today she had shown him how to make a sling shot. They had been having a shooting contest, their target a row of bottles on a fence. He had won, he had said proudly. Tomorrow she was going to teach him how to talk through cans.
“Through cans?” The earl was dubious.
“Through cans,” Chad confirmed.
It did something, hearing of his son together with Jane. It also made the earl think of how badly the boy needed a mother—not stern Governess Randall. Nick cut off his thoughts. One marriage—particularly his—was enough to last a lifetime.
They took a path through the woods on their way back to the stables. They rode in a companionable silence, their horses blowing softly. A late-afternoon sun had dissipated the day’s heavy mist, and now it pierced brightly through the canopy of leaves overhead, glittering on the damp bark and foliage. The forest sparkled. Ahead of them a brook gurgled, followed by the sound of splashing and laughter.
“Someone’s swimming in the creek, Papa,” Chad alerted his father.
“Probably a couple of the tenants’ boys,” the earl responded, not caring. After he left Chad back at the house, he would have to search thoroughly for Jane. She could not just walk off and disappear for hours and hours without telling a soul where she was going.
They entered the glade that the brook crossed. The earl at first saw that he was right. A couple of boys stood knee deep in the water, fishing. He recognized Jimmy, the head groom’s nephew, and his cousin, who was a few years older, maybe fifteen. And then he saw her.
He yanked his mount to an abrupt halt and stared.
Jane stood on the far side of the stream, in the shadows. Like the boys, she was in the water—but up to her thighs. Like the boys, she held a stick and line. Like the boys, she was soaking wet, from head to toe. That was where all similarity ended.
Her blouse and chemise were practically transparent. It molded her firm young breasts like a second skin. It left no doubts as to her gender, nor to her burgeoning womanhood. Her skirts molded her slim hips and her curved thighs and what was between them. She was practically naked.
“Jane!” Chad squealed. “Jane! Can I fish too? Papa—can I fish too?”
The earl was so stunned that he couldn’t speak. Then the beginnings of hot, hot fury started its slow burn. He looked at Jimmy and his cousin, somehow, miraculously, controlling his rage.
Jimmy was only twelve, and the earl dismissed him. His cousin was another matter. The redhead stood near Jane, in the sunlight, not the shadows, and he was no boy. He was nearly full grown, tall and lanky, almost as tall as the earl. He had been saying something to Jane, grinning. She had been laughing. At Chad’s voice, all conversation and activity ceased.
“Pop, let’s go fishing!”
“No, Chad,” the earl said unequivocally, and Chad fell silent. “Get out of the water, Jane.”
Her smile faded. He saw her confusion. His heart was thrumming hard and fast. He watched her wade out. Her long, long legs became visible, the skirt clinging to every feminine inch as she climbed to shore. The redhead was staring too. Not with a little boy’s interest. The earl saw him tug at his crotch.
“Shit,” he said with an ominous growl.
Jane froze, just yards from him.
“This,” the earl ground out, “is highly inappropriate.”
She blinked.
He spurred his hunter to her, and before she could move, he reached down and hauled her up in front of him, as if she were no more than a sack of potatoes.
She wiggled. “Sir! I protest! You can’t manhandle me—”
“No?” he said in her ear. Already he was aware of his mistake. Her perfect little behind was wedged between his thighs, not an auspicious place for it to be. Soon he would be tugging at his crotch. “Sir still!”
“I am not a child,” she quavered. “To be treated like this!”
He clamped his arm around her waist, steadying her. “Then why,” he muttered in her ear, “do you persist in acting like one?”
15
Jane was humiliated.
The earl had hauled her down from the horse with Thomas watching from the front steps, and then he’d hauled her inside and down the hall and into the library. He kicked the door closed behind them, and its reverberations boomed loudly through the manor.
The Earl of Dragmore was furious.
“I was only fishing.” Jane gasped. The sound was strangled. He was actually red in the face.
“Fishing.” He said the word as if she’d told him she’d been on her back, skirts up, the way Amelia had been. Jane skittered away from him as he took a step toward her, then his hands caught her, hauling her again to him, and turning her so her back was to his chest. He propelled her forward, and Jane found herself facing a huge mirror over a Louis XIV table. “What do you see?” he demanded.
Jane saw the earl’s face above her, with its rigid angry lines. Their gazes met.
“Not me,” he said through gritted teeth. He shook her once. “Look at yourself, Jane.”
She obeyed, afraid not to.
Her face was white. Her eyes were wild-looking. Her hair was a wind-whipped mass, a third of it having escaped her braid. Then she noticed her blouse, and two pink spots bloomed on her cheeks.
Mostly she noticed her breasts.
They stood out like plump melons in the wet, clinging shirt. Her nipples were hard little points. She looked into the earl’s reflection and saw that he had been remarking what she’d been remarking. His grip on her arms was so very tight. Her blush deepened. He released her and spun away.
“Have you no sense of propriety?” he grated.
She opened her mouth to reply—and shut it.
“Do you think you’re twelve? Did you see the way that redhead was looking at you? Were you encouraging him? Another few minutes and he’d have had you flat on your back—your skirt to your ears!” the earl roared, grabbing her again.
“Propriety?” Jane gasped as he hauled her one more time up against him. Indignation rose full steam. “You berate me about propriety?”
“Did you hear me?” the earl cried, shaking her.
“Did you hear me!” she cried back. “Of course I wasn’t encouraging him, we were only fishing!”
They glared. “Your behavior is in question here, not mine.”
“But yours should be,” Jane cried recklessly. “You’re the one who tracks mud everywhere, you’re the one who keeps a mistress publicly, you’re the one—” She stopped, knowing she had gone too far.
The earl’s hands shook. “What? Pray continue, Jane.” His voice was soft and dangerous.
“I’m sorry.” She gasped, flushing.
“I’m the one who killed my wife?” It was a purr.
Jane started. “No! I mean, I wasn’t even thinking that!”
“No? You would find fault with all of my behavior except the most critical?”
She bit her lip, desperately sorry for fighting back and, apparently, hitting the earl where it hurt.
He smiled, with no mirth, and released her. “As an adult, I can damn well do what I want, when I want, and frankly, my dear, I’ve long since ceased to giv
e a damn about propriety.” His tone went hard. “But you are another matter. Do you understand that, Jane?”
“That’s not fair,” she began.
“Don’t you dare speak back to me.”
“But you treat me like a child!”
“You are not a child, God damn it, didn’t you look in the mirror?” he shouted.
Jane blinked.
He paced away, pouring himself a stiff drink. Jane felt a surging of excitement. “No, I am not a child,” she said softly to his back. “I am seventeen, and a woman.”
He made a sound, not a polite one. “You are not quite a woman—just close enough!”
Joy vanished. “I am not a child! When will you realize that!”
“When you stop acting like one,” he said cruelly.
She felt the heat of tears. Jane folded her arms, upset, hurt. Then she saw where his gaze was, upon her breasts again. He turned away quickly. But not quickly enough. Jane stood very still, thinking. He says one thing, she thought, but does another. He has noticed that I am not a child. Maybe he does not know how to be anything other than insulting. He is aware that I am a woman. He was looking at me. He was looking at me the way that silly redhead was looking at me.
She trembled. He knows—he just won’t admit it
He turned to her. “I want you to understand. As a young woman”—he stressed the adjective—“you cannot roam around the woods unescorted. There are unemployed riffraff everywhere these days. It is not safe.”
She nodded, her eyes glued to his face. He has finally seen that I am not a child!
“And as for this afternoon, Jimmy’s cousin may be younger than you but he is nearly a man, bigger than you, and nothing more than a farmer. When faced with temptation such as you offered, his needs will be more enthusiastic than his common sense. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” She understood—she understood that now she had a chance.
He breathed a sigh of relief. He kept his regard carefully trained above her collar. “Supper is at eight.”
Jane started. He was expecting her to dine with him. This was a far cry from his attitude when she had first arrived. Everything was a far cry from her arrival a few days past. She hid a smile. Maybe he didn’t just expect her presence at his table, maybe he actually wanted it. There was one problem, and gracelessly she blurted, “What about Amelia?”
“Amelia is gone.”
Their glances met, hers wide and elated, his hooded and unreadable.
Jane nearly skipped from the room.
The earl made a dashing figure in black trousers and silver waistcoat. He had not bothered to don a jacket, but Jane admired him just the same. He paused in the midst of a mouthful to meet her bold stare. Jane smiled. “You look very handsome tonight.”
He choked.
Alarmed, Jane jumped up and began pounding his back. Outside, the hounds were baying. The earl reached for his water glass, Jane kept hitting him. The water spilled over his wrist. “Ooh!” Jane cried, ceasing to pound him. But her hand lingered upon his back, and she was standing so close to him her dress touched his left thigh. That was how the Earl of Raversford found them.
“Hullo, Shelton,” he said cheerfully, walking in unannounced. He froze, taking in the scenario. “Well, what have we here?” He grinned.
Jane realized the impropriety of the moment and returned to her chair, her cheeks burning. The dark blond was regarding her openly, his handsome face admiring. “Aren’t you going to introduce me, Shelton?” He grinned again.
The earl rose. “Damn it, Lindley, I forgot you were coming.”
“I can see why.” Jonathon Lindley’s brown eyes were dancing. “I’d forget my own last name if I had her.”
Annoyance flickered on the earl’s face. “This is my ward. The Duke of Clarendon’s granddaughter.”
Jane stood to curtsy.
“I didn’t know old Weston had any heirs other than Chad,” Lindley exclaimed. The earl made no comment. “Hullo.” He took Jane’s hand, bowing over it and kissing it. His mouth wasn’t supposed to touch her skin—but it did.
She yanked her hand back as if it’d been burned.
Lindley smiled, but the earl’s face grew tight. “Cut it out, Lindley,” he warned. “She’s seventeen.”
“And private property?” Lindley turned to see the earl’s black expression. He held up a hand. “Just kidding,” he said somberly. His eyes were quizzical.
“You did not see what you think you saw,” Nick explained stiffly. “I was—er—choking.”
Lindley raised a brow.
“I was pounding his back,” Jane admitted.
“Of course,” Lindley said. He seemed to doubt them.
Thomas was setting another place. Lindley grinned affably at the earl. “Does this mean you have also forgotten the race this weekend?”
Nick scowled. He hadn’t forgotten that he had intended to race his stallion No Regrets this Sunday. He had just put off the decision he was now making. “No. Damn it, Lindley, I meant to send you a message. Somehow it escaped me. I can’t get away this weekend.”
Lindley chuckled. “Of course not. I wouldn’t budge either, if I were you.”
“What in hell does that mean!”
“Easy, old man, don’t take offense. Why don’t we sit? Something smells awfully good.” He smiled at Jane. “It seems I’m in the nick of time.” His smile widened as he glanced at the earl.
Nick caught his meaning and shot his friend a warning look, which did not seem to affect Lindley at all. After they were all seated and Lindley served, the handsome peer turned to Jane. “So tell me,” he said amiably. “However did you arrive here?”
The earl leaned back on the big, maroon sofa in the drawing room, legs sprawled indolently in front of him. He looked from Jane to his best and only friend, Lindley.
Jane sat at the piano, playing beautifully, singing with the voice of an angel. It had been Lindley’s suggestion, damn him. He was staring at her, admiration in his eyes and on his face. It was obvious he found her very attractive. Damn him.
Nick had never been unhappy to see Lindley before.
He looked at Jane. She was a vision. He looked at Lindley. Lindley was a notorious rake. He had dozens of mistresses. He admired all women of passable charm. He was a born flirt. The earl had seen him admiring many women the way he was admiring Jane. She was too young for his attentions. He didn’t like it, not one goddamn bit.
But he lost interest in Lindley. Jane was mesmerizing him. He could not take his gaze from her. She was so graceful, more graceful than any seventeen-year-old—or any woman—had a right to be. He thought of her today, in the stream. He remembered the sight of her in her clinging clothes, remembered how she’d felt in his arms on his hunter. He remembered how she’d flirted with him in the dining room.
He wanted her.
Physically. Now. He was stiff and erect. He did not want Lindley to notice. He toyed with a small pillow. Lindley was too enraptured to even notice Nick’s strange behavior. Pillows, indeed.
When Jane had finished, Lindley applauded enthusiastically. Jane smiled briefly at him, then turned to look at the earl. Their gazes met, held. “Very nice,” he said thickly, ignoring the way Lindley was watching them. He lunged to his feet and left the room.
Nick poured himself a finger of whiskey in the library and listened to the hum of their voices. Jane’s soft and sweet, Lindley’s bold and flirtatious. Lindley then appeared, and Nick automatically poured him a brandy. Handing it to him, he said, “Don’t flirt with her. She’s only a child.”
“A child? Come on, old man, you don’t believe that, not for a minute. You can’t fool me.”
“She’s seventeen.”
“Seventeen and ripe for the plucking.”
The earl stared.
“I’m joking. What’s wrong with you?”
“You’d better be.”
“You can’t deny that she’s very beautiful.”
“No, I can’t,�
� the earl said. A silence followed.
Jane poked her head inside, cheeks pink enough to show she’d heard some, or all, of their conversation. “Excuse me, I’m off to bed.”
The earl nodded, his gaze on her. Lindley kissed her hand. “Good night, Jane. Will we ride tomorrow? At eleven?”
“I hope so,” she said, smiling. But she looked at Nick. “I think I need permission.”
Nick hated the thought of them riding together, but Lindley was his best friend and, despite what he’d said, he trusted him. “You have it.” He drained his glass.
“Thank you,” Jane said, and with another good night, she left.
“You are testy,” Lindley said. “Does this mean I’m intruding?”
“You are not intruding.”
“No? Good. You know, I thought Amelia would be here. I saw her in London Monday last, at the Crystal Palace. She led me to believe she was coming this way.”
“We’re finished,” the earl said.
Lindley was surprised. Then he laughed softly, looking at the door, where Jane had left. “Are you smitten, old man?”
“Of course not. She’s seventeen!”
“Seventeen and imminently marriagable.”
“Exactly,” the earl said. “And I intend to marry her off immediately. Do you have any suggestions?”
16
The earl pulled out his watch and looked at it for the sixth time.
He was sitting astride his big bay gelding in one of the south fields, where a gang of laborers was mowing hay. It was half-past eleven.
He rode up to the gang’s foreman and told him to give the men a fifteen-minute break. The day was unusually hot, with no clouds or drizzle. After voicing his approval for work well done, he turned his bay away. He decided to go to the north field to check the state of the stone wall begun earlier that week. He would ignore the fact that the stone wall was progressing just fine—he had seen it yesterday. He also ignored the fact that he would have to ride from one end of Drag-more to the other—in all likelihood passing Lindley and Jane on their morning ride.
