by Brenda Joyce
“This can easily be arranged,” Lindley said eagerly, catching her hand and pulling her to him. “Shall I take you dancing, Jane? And to supper?”
Jane looked at him flirtatiously, her mood too impossibly good, her elation making her float like the angels in the clouds above. She opened her mouth to reply, knowing she was flirting and knowing she should stop, when from outside the door came the sound of thunder.
And then again thunder boomed, as someone banged once, furiously, and the door shook.
Everyone inside the room froze, then Gordon started forward, frowning angrily. Jane reacted with instinct—and intuition. “No!” she shrieked. “Don’t open it!”
“Who is it?” Gordon called rigidly. “No need to break the door down, man!”
“It’s the Earl of Dragmore” was the frozen reply.
Jane went white.
Seeing this, Lindley’s hands went to her shoulders. “It’s all right.”
“No! It’s not,” Jane cried frantically, clinging to Lindley. Then, to Robert: “Don’t open it! Don’t let him in!” She had one coherent thought among the knifing panic, and that was to escape.
“Jane.” Gordon frowned. “We must be civil—”
But Jane was already across the room, her fear giving her wings, and at the back door. “Delay him,” she cried to the two men in a whisper. “Delay him, tell him I just stepped out and I’ll be back —please!” Neither man could deny her appealing look. And then she rushed out, the door drifting shut behind her.
The thunder came again. “Open the goddamn door, Gordon,” the earl demanded. “Now—before I break it down!”
Gordon and Lindley exchanged glances. “Maybe you’d best do as he suggests,” Lindley said, shooting a glance at the door Jane had escaped through. He didn’t like her reaction to the earl, not at all.
“Let’s give her another minute,” Gordon said, low. “Although why she—”
Thunder boomed, wood cracked, and the door flew in off its hinges, the earl’s shoulder behind it. He righted himself, his face a grim mask of determination—and then he saw Lindley. Anger blazed. His gaze swept the room, seeking Jane. “Where is she? I know she was here—I heard her.”
“She’ll be right back,” Gordon said calmly. “Damn it, Shelton, there was no need to break down the door!”
But Nick wasn’t listening. He was staring furiously at Lindley. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Lindley smiled easily. “The same thing as you— I came to see Jane.”
They stared at each other.
The earl looked around again, taking in the soft Aubusson carpet, the plush settee, the rosewood butler’s table, the dressing table and gilt mirror. He eyed the many vases of flowers, and the Chinese dressing screen—black with inlaid gold and opal dragons. His gaze lingered on a wispy blue satin robe hanging upon it. Then he saw the other door, near the dressing table, and in a stride he reached it and flung it open. He stared down the black hallway. Then turned.
“She left,” he said, his tone low and barely controlled.
Neither Lindley nor Gordon responded.
With a violent cry, the earl’s arm swept out, and he savagely cleared the table of its contents, sending a vase of roses and all Jane’s toiletries smashing to the floor.
A shocked silence followed.
The earl broke it. “Where is she?”
Lindley didn’t move a muscle, but Gordon grimaced.
“Where is she?” When Gordon didn’t respond, the earl leapt. He threw him against the wall, pinning him there. Gordon cried out. “Tell me, damn it, before I break your neck,” the earl shouted.
Lindley hauled on the earl from behind, trying to drag him off Gordon. “Stop it, Nick, damn it, stop it!”
The earl froze, Lindley’s assault no more bothersome than an attack of gnats, and then he slumped, freeing Gordon. He leaned against the wall, forehead pressed there, shoulders slumped. Gordon skittered away. “I’m sorry,” the earl said heavily. “I’m sorry.”
28
Jane was not able to sleep all night. Her thoughts were filled with him.
She lay awake staring at the ceiling, waiting, listening, for the sound of a carriage or a horse. Her chest was so tight it hurt. She was so stiff she hurt. She was sure he would come after her.
But he didn’t.
Just as he hadn’t come after her two years ago.
At first, panicked in the darkness, she was sure the only reason he could have had in coming to see her after all this time was Nicole.
But how had he found out? No one knew about their daughter, no one except herself and Molly and Gordon, and Jane trusted the other two with all her heart. Yet she did not underestimate the earl, not for a second. He was shrewd. He certainly wasn’t coming to say hello—or take up where they had left off. She refused to acknowledge the bitterness that rose. Only one thing became clear: He could not know. She grew calmer as dawn approached. No, he could not know. But he had been so angry. She had heard it in his voice. Yet she recalled only too well that the earl was an angry man. It took so little to light the fires that burned within him. Such dark fires.
She would not feel compassion.
Today she did not play outside in the yard or sit on the pink swing with her daughter. They stayed inside, just in case he did come. Hiding. Despite the voice of logic, she was afraid.
Holding Nicole after breakfast, Jane debated what to do as her daughter explored the ribbons in Jane’s hair. If she were a true mother, she would quit the Criterion and take Nicole away and just disappear. But Jane didn’t think she could do this, not yet, not unless there was absolutely no other choice. Maybe she should send Nicole and Molly to Brighton for a short vacation, just until things died down. She could confront the earl, demand what he wanted, surmise if he knew about Nicole—yes! This was what she would do.
Leaving Nicole playing in the parlor for a moment, Jane hurried into the kitchen, just next door. “Molly, pack up a few things. I want you to take Nicole to Brighton for a week.”
Molly’s eyes widened, then she squealed with delight, having developed a fondness for travel once she’d discovered it. Jane explained why, and the two women walked out of the kitchen together, making plans.
A man filled the doorway of the parlor, his back to them. He was rigid.
Jane froze, hands clutched to her breast. “Jon! How did you get in!”
He whirled, eyes wide, stunned. “The door was open, wide open.”
Jane hurried past him to her daughter, who was sitting and playing with a silver box she must have somehow knocked down. She knelt, sweeping Nicole into her arms.
“My God,” Lindley said.
Rising, holding her daughter fiercely, Jane said with outward calm, “Molly, please close and lock the front door.”
Molly was red. “I’m sorry, mum. When the milkman come, I must have left it ajar.”
“It’s all right,” Jane said, her gaze bonded with Lindley’s.
Lindley stared at Nicole. Jane kissed her hair, rubbing her cheek there. “I think you should go, Jon,” she managed. She felt it, her world beginning to cave in. She was trembling.
“I had to see you today,” Lindley said stiffly. “I had to see you. I couldn’t sleep all last night, thinking about what happened at the Criterion yesterday. Thinking about how afraid you were to see him. Do you know he broke the door down?”
Jane said nothing. Tears slipped down her cheeks, and she closed her lids tightly.
“Now I know why. It’s his, isn’t it?”
Jane held the toddler closer. “No.”
“She has black hair, almost as black as his. Her skin isn’t dark, but it’s not as fair as yours. And her eyes are not blue and not gray, but somewhere in between. But you know what the giveaway is? Her cheekbones. High, wide—like his. How old is she? Let me think—thirteen months?” Suddenly his face went hard. “That bastard!”
Jane felt the panic. “Please! Please, Jon, if you care at all—
you mustn’t tell him!”
Lindley stared. “He doesn’t know.”
“If he finds out he’ll take her away from me, I know he will!”
Lindley said nothing, not moving a muscle.
Jane put Nicole down, wiping her eyes, but the tears kept coming. “Please, Jon, he has Chad, and —I love Nicole. Please don’t tell him. I’m so afraid. I won’t have a chance if he knows, even if I run away to India. Please.” She sobbed, her control breaking.
Lindley went to her and swept her into his arms. She wept upon his shirt front, and he held her, stroking the hair at the nape of her neck. “Don’t cry, Jane, please. I won’t say a word. Shh.”
Jane clung to him, shaking. She lifted her tear-stained face. “Promise me?”
Lindley felt the swift stabbing of doubt, and Jane saw it. Her face crumbled. Lindley groaned, hugging her harder, burying his face on the top of her hair. “I promise,” he said harshly, knowing he would regret it.
And then he forgot about regrets. Jane was soft in his arms. Her breasts were crushed against his chest. She smelled of lilies. Her hair was silk. Not for the first time, he was assailed with desire, the heat building rapidly in his loins. “Jane,” he said harshly. He should move away, yet he could not.
“You are so good.” She sniffed, her face buried in his shirt. “So good, so kind.”
“Damn kindness,” Lindley said. He tipped her chin up and kissed her, hard.
Jane froze. Lindley’s mouth moved voraciously over hers, testing, tasting, demanding. When he prodded her lips with his tongue, she opened slightly, enough for him to thrust in. He realized through a hot-red fog that she was not responding, just allowing him to kiss her. He was so thick against her belly he wanted to explode. Somehow he pushed himself away from her. He gave her his back to regain control.
When he turned again Jane was watching him, a squirming Nicole protectively cradled in her arms.
“I’m sorry,” Lindley said. “But you know I want you, Jane.”
“I thought we were friends,” Jane said softly.
“We’re friends, but I want more.”
“I can’t give you more.”
“Because of him?”
Jane shook her head. “No. Because I don’t love you.”
“Do you love him?”
She didn’t hesitate. “No.”
Lindley shoved his hands in his pockets. “I suppose that makes me feel a bit better.”
“Jon.” She came to him and touched his cheek. “I need your friendship. I’ve come to count on it. Don’t—don’t walk away, please, not now.” Her voice was tight and high.
“God, Jane, I wouldn’t!” He touched her hair, and felt his need again. “But I’m a man, Jane, and I won’t lie to you anymore. Do I have a chance?”
“What do you want?” she asked sadly. “A tumble? A mistress? I know you don’t want me as your wife.”
He felt ashamed, and reddened.
“I thought so,” she said softly. “Once I thought I loved someone and I gave myself to him freely. If I ever love again, I will do the same, but not until then—not for sport and not for gain.”
His shame increased, and maybe it was then that he started to fall in love with her. “I will always be here for you,” he said. And he knew, as he said it, that it was the truth.
29
Now that he had glimpsed her once, he had to see her.
He dared not question why. And the old burning rage was back.
He had stayed abed late, unusual for him, because he had not even entered it until dawn. He had a headache from the whiskey he’d consumed, and he blamed it on the blue-eyed blond witch they called Angel. How appropriate, he thought with a grimace as he buttoned up his shirt, the Lord of Darkness and the Little Angel.
“What time is it, darling?” Amelia asked, sitting up and baring her large breasts. She yawned, knowing he was watching her in the mirror, posturing for him.
He grimaced again. He had fucked her savagely last night, with no consideration for her feelings. Of course, he did not give a damn about her feelings, and she liked rough sex. He turned, leaning against the bureau, openly studying her. Amelia smiled with lazy invitation, stretched again, and let the sheets fall to her plump thighs. She spread them slightly.
She was getting fat, he thought with disgust. Or had she always been overripe? She reminded him of a cow in that moment, and he could not dispel a mental image of Jane. He had only seen her from afar, but she had been slender and impossibly sensual, a siren beckoning all from the stage. He tried to remember why, after breaking it off with Amelia two years ago, he had ever bothered to renew their relationship. She had run after him the next time he had been in London, that fall, and he hadn’t much cared who was warming his bed that night. Convenience, he supposed, summed it up then, and summed it up now.
“Come here,” Amelia purred, stroking the bed by her thigh.
He turned and left abruptly, not bothering to close the door.
“You are a boor,” she shouted after him, frustration in her voice. “More boorish than ever!”
He ignored her. If she didn’t like it she could leave; in fact, he hoped she would leave. He ordered his carriage brought around as he sipped strong, hot coffee, suddenly too tense to eat anything. He was going to see Jane. But first he would have to find her.
He was regretting the decision he had made almost two years ago when he had undertaken to support her financially, through Robert Gordon. Then he had made it clear he did not want to do more than provide the monthly allowance, that under no circumstances did he want to be bothered with any details about Jane at all So during the past two years he had written the checks and had not heard a single word from Gordon. The bottom line was that he did not even know where she lived. And now he would have to waste time finding out.
The earl’s first stop was Mayfair. Thinking about Lindley in her dressing room brought back the anger he had felt when he had found him there. He intended to confront Lindley, but he had already left for the day and was not expected back until after tea. Nick wasn’t sure Lindley knew where Jane could be found anyway. It depended on the question that was arousing his ire: Just how well did they know each other? Were they lovers?
He would kill Lindley if they were.
He calmed himself as he trotted down the steps of the big brick town house Lindley had recently built for himself. He told himself he would not kill Lindley for being seduced by that little hussy. She had probably climbed into his bed when he was asleep and drunk, as she had done to him. No man could resist in such circumstances. Besides, it was not his affair. She was his ward, yes, but only technically. She had chosen her life—one without him. So be it. He provided money and she could damn well fuck whomever she pleased, Lindley included.
He was not calm.
He knew where Gordon lived, but he was also not at home and not expected back until after the theater that night. The earl did not leave a message.
No one at the Criterion knew where she lived, and the earl was sure they were all telling the truth. He realized that she hid the location of her residence. It seemed a bit odd, but recalling all her fervent admirers the night before, he decided it was reasonable.
The trail was dead, for now. He debated hiring a detective who could, within a few days, find out all the details he wanted to know. This was a waste, and he dismissed the notion immediately. He would return to Lindley’s at five to see what he knew. If this proved fruitless, he would catch Jane before her evening performance.
She would not escape him again.
The two men stared at each other.
Tension filled the room.
Finally Lindley spoke. He looked Nick in the eye. “I don’t know where she is.”
The earl stared back. “Are you seeing her?”
Lindley hesitated. “She is just a friend.”
The earl was angry. “Then you must know where she lives.”
“I do not,” Lindley said firmly, too firml
y.
“You’re lying.” Nick was incredulous. “You’re lying to me.”
Lindley didn’t answer, grimmer now.
“Damn her!” Nick exploded. “Will she come between us again, destroy the one friendship important to me?”
“I’m sorry,” Lindley said. “Damn it! She made me promise not to tell! How can I break my promise?” His gaze was imploring.
The earl paced. He turned. “I will find out. Keep your promise. Are you fucking her?”
“No.”
The earl knew his friend well enough to know when he was telling the truth. He felt it then, the relief.
“Why do you care?” Lindley asked softly. “Not because she is technically your ward.”
“I don’t care,” the earl stated flatly. “I only wanted to know the facts.”
“Well, I do care,” Lindley said. “I care about Jane. She is warm and special and she deserves to be happy. Leave her alone, Shelton. For some damn reason she doesn’t want to see you. Just leave her alone.”
The earl turned his back on Lindley, his strides hard and long, exiting the room, the house.
“I wish I could come with you to Charing Cross, darling, but I can’t,” Jane crooned, hugging Nicole. Anxiously she looked at Molly. “You have everything? Money, the extra blanket, sweaters?”
“I have everything, mum, don’t worry,” Molly said, reaching for Nicole. They stood outside on the front stoop of Jane’s house. A hired hansom waited in the street to take them to the depot at Charing Cross. To avoid the scrutiny of her neighbors, an elaborate hat and veil hid Jane’s face and hair.
Jane hugged Nicole again. “Good-bye, darling, it’s only for a week.” She gave her daughter to Molly, kissing the woman’s plump cheek. “Send me a telegram when you arrive, and every day as well. Just don’t mention Nicole, only that everything is fine.”
“Yes’m. Don’t worry, mum, everyone goes to Brighton.”
“Yes, yes,” Jane said nervously. She kissed them each again, then watched Molly and Nicole, small valise in hand, heading through the gate to the cab. She felt a sense of loss, her anxiety acute, but knew she was only being a foolish mother parting with her baby for the first time.
