Dark Fires

by Brenda Joyce

  Determined, then, and angry with herself, Jane sailed forward, toward Nicole. She cried out at the sight of her mother approaching, finally causing the earl to glance indifferently her way. Nicole waved the spoon happily, banged it once, then began to gnaw it.

  “No, sweetheart,” the earl said, taking the spoon from her despite her vocal protests. “‘Tis unseemly to chew the silverware.”

  Nicole began to cry.

  Nick stroked her hair and placed the croissant in her chubby hand, but she ignored him, dropping it. Jane paused, waiting to be summoned to the rescue, yet feeling no satisfaction—just a wrenching in her heart at the sight of father and daughter together.

  “Sweetheart, the croissant was baked today,” Nick cajoled with a smile. His voice was low and melodious, and Nicole suddenly stopped shrieking to stare at him as he smiled and bit off a third, chewing gustily. “Want to share Papa’s?” he asked.

  “Papa,” Nicole cried, chubby hands flailing. Nick handed her the croissant, which she now claimed greedily. “Mama!” she shrieked triumphantly, waving the pastry at Jane.

  The earl returned to his journal, apparently immersed in the news. Jane came forward to greet her daughter with a hug and a kiss. She sat on Nicole’s right, her gaze flitting toward her absorbed husband. He had treated her abominably last night, not to mention humiliating her in public with his fat floozy; and now he was apparently ignoring her. She decided to ignore him as well.

  Tossing the Times aside, he called to Thomas and ordered the carriage brought round, then summoned Molly, now officially Nicole’s nurse. “Have Nicole dressed for a ride in the park,” he said, standing.

  He finally looked at Jane. He nodded curtly.

  “You’re taking Nicole to the park?” Jane managed, flustered by both his intention and his nearness. Standing he towered over her, his legs braced, and there was no denying the strength of his thighs so obviously delineated in the snug breeches.

  “I assume you have no objections?”

  “Of course not,” Jane said, suddenly wistful. She imagined them all together in the open carriage on this beautiful morning, her, Nicole, the earl. She wanted to join them. She waited for an invitation—but it did not come. The earl, instead, nodded again and left.

  Jane had lost her appetite, if indeed she had ever had one that day. Molly had taken Nicole to dress her more warmly, as it was cool this morning, and she was left alone in the vast dining room. Should she ask if she could accompany them? Suddenly it seemed like the most marvelous idea, an outing in the park, and they could even take Chad away from his studies. Her heart was pounding, yet she did not have the courage to move from her chair.

  Ten minutes later she heard the coach leaving, and she bit her lip, foolishly feeling like crying.

  What was wrong with her?

  The earl might be a bastard as a man, but as a father he was superb—yet this knowledge wasn’t new. So why should she be so distraught now, just because he’d taken his daughter for a ride in the park? Why should she be so touched? Because it was not the thing—no other peer would dream of doing something so inelegant, so unsophisticated, as to take his tiny child for a drive. It was touching. And she was his wife, the mother of his child, yet she wasn’t welcome to join them.

  And she felt the guilt then too for having denied him his daughter in the first place.

  “My lady,” Thomas intoned from the doorway, “you have a caller.”

  Jane rose, brow lifted.

  “It’s the Earl of Raversford,” Thomas said, a touch disapprovingly.

  “Have you told him he just missed the earl?”

  “Yes. It’s you he’s come to see. I showed him to the morning room.”

  Jane instructed Thomas to bring tea and cakes, and hurried forward, surprised and both worried and glad that Lindley had decided to visit her. She hadn’t seen him privately since the earl had decreed that they would be married, and not being a fool, she knew he had been told as promptly as she of the intended marriage and had thus stayed away. Yet why would he come to her now?

  Lindley stood gazing out the windows at the lawns and flower beds. He turned at her footstep, and his eyes lit up at the sight of her. Jane found herself glad to see him, and she smiled eagerly. “Jon, I’m so glad you’ve come!”

  He came forward and took both her hands, his regard warm and penetrating. “You are, aren’t you? How are you, Jane?”

  She motioned for them to sit. “Well, I suppose,” she said, avoiding his gaze.

  Lindley lifted her chin. “You look tired, as if you haven’t slept,” he said softly. He didn’t remove his fingertips from her face.

  Jane blushed. She wanted to confide in him, but she would not. She could not betray her husband by sharing the problems in their life, no matter how much she needed a friend. “I had a bad dream.”

  Thomas entered, looking dour as he rolled in the silver butler’s table with refreshments. Lindley dropped his hand, Jane sat up straighter. She was pink now, and wondering exactly what Thomas thought.

  “Can I bring you anything else, my lady?” Thomas asked, his eyes having lost their customary blandness.

  “No, that is all for now,” Jane said, feeling guilty. But for what? She hadn’t done anything except greet an old friend. The problem was, she could tell that Lindley still harbored affection for her.

  It was going to come out sooner or later, the earl supposed. So it might as well be now.

  They had passed many carriages and riders since entering the park, all of whom turned to stare at the Dragmore carriage with its bold black-and-gold crests. Nick sat in the backseat of the open curricle with Nicole on a baby chair beside him, Molly on the opposite seat facing them. Nicole played with a rattle and laughed and shrieked happily. Those who passed them all did double takes at the sight of the baby in the Earl of Dragmore’s carriage, their curious stares turning to open gawking. The earl ignored everyone, and when he grew tired of the seating arangements, he did not hesitate to put Nicole upon his knee. She was thrilled with this, and quite outspoken in her pleasure.

  A carriage finally, purposefully, pulled alongside them. The earl was not surprised; to the contrary, he had expected someone to be brave enough to come up to him for the past half hour. This gig bore the Hadderly colors, and Nick found himself facing the young countess, a newlywed, and two of her friends, a baron and another young lady. “Good morning, my lord,” Countess Hadderly hailed brightly, her eyes wide at the sight of Nick and Nicole.

  “Good morning,” the earl replied politely. He ignored the trio’s rude gaping.

  “It’s quite the day for a drive,” she continued gaily.

  “Quite.”

  “I do say, is that a baby upon your lap?”

  The earl refrained from making a sarcastic comment and decided to let her off the hook. “This is my daughter, Nicole.”

  “Daughter!” It was gasped in unison by both women.

  “B-but—” The lovely countess was flustered. “I had no idea you had a daughter, sir.”

  The earl felt like saying “Neither did I,” but wisely did not. Suddenly the countess made the connection, and her eyes widened like saucers. “Her mother is your wife?”

  “That is the usual, is it not?” the earl said calmly.

  The countess looked as if she would choke upon the news.

  “Good day,” the earl said with a polite smile. He rapped his crop upon the door for the driver to increase his speed, and they left the other party behind.

  Well, it was done. Nicole could not be kept a secret. She was his daughter, and one day would come into Society as was her right. He was glad she was too young to be aware of the scandal that was forming even now. When she was old enough to understand, it would be long since past. He lifted his gaze to find Molly watching him reprovingly.

  He almost explained himself to the maid, but instead gave her a sharp stare, causing her to blush and drop her gaze. The earl then ordered the driver to return to Tavistock Square
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  38

  The first thing the earl saw upon his return was the Raversford carriage outside his home in the driveway, the coachmen chatting as they waited for Lindley. Every fiber in his being went tight at the sight. He handed Nicole to Molly and stepped down, then dismissed his driver, following the maid and his daughter inside.

  Molly took Nicole upstairs while the earl stood frozen in the foyer. He could hear the tinkle of Jane’s laughter drifting through the hallway. Happy laughter. The kind of laughter he did not hear in his own presence. He turned grimly to Thomas. “How long has Lindley been here?”

  “Since just after you left, my lord,” Thomas said with a sniff of obvious disapproval.

  He felt the surging anger. “You told him I had just left and would not return for an hour?”

  “He wanted to see the lady Jane, my lord,” Thomas said.

  The anger increased. And with it, jealousy and suspicion. So Lindley had come to see Jane, had he? It was damn convenient that Raversford had shown up while he was out. Had Lindley waited to see that he had left before coming? He pushed the rude thought away, telling himself to get a grip on his wayward suspicions. But damn if he’d be cuckolded in his own home by his own best friend!

  He strode into the morning room.

  They were seated on the same sofa, of course, about a foot apart. Lindley was telling a merry tale and Jane was all smiles. It was quite cozy, quite familiar. At his entrance, Lindley froze in midsentence, and Jane’s smiles abruptly ceased. Glad to see him, were they? The earl bared his teeth. “Hello, Lindley.”

  Raversford stood. “Hullo, Shelton.” He didn’t smile either.

  “This is a surprise,” the earl drawled sarcastically, his glance sweeping from Lindley to Jane. She was impossibly fetching in a pale-pink morning gown with her hair delicately put up, loose strands floating around her face. She was flushed too. From his kisses?

  “Would you like some tea?” Jane asked politely.

  “I’m afraid to interrupt,” he said bitingly, pinning Lindley now with his regard. “I am interrupting, aren’t I?”

  Lindley shoved his hands in his pockets. “You’re not interrupting, Nick,” he said quietly.

  “No? Funny, but this tête-à-tête seemed just that, made for two.” His eyes flashed silver.

  “Don’t be a fool,” Jane flared, standing. “Your best friend came to pay his respects. I am your wife, and you were out. Should I have turned him away?”

  “Should you have, Jane?” the earl demanded.

  Lindley looked uncomfortable. “I think I’d best be going.”

  Good idea, the earl wanted to shout furiously, but he did not. His gaze skewered him. “Suddenly in a rush? Please, stay. My wife seems to enjoy your company.” He mocked.

  “I have several appointments,” Lindley said. He bowed over Jane’s hand. Fortunately, for his sake, he did not kiss it. He nodded uncertainly—guiltily?—at Nick, then left.

  Jane clenched her fists, cheeks pinker now. “You were unbearably rude!”

  “Rude? I invited him to stay longer.”

  “You chased him away!”

  “Did I upset your plans?” he asked dangerously.

  “Plans? I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  “No? Why are you so angry—because Lindley left? Or because I returned?”

  “You boor! I am angry because you’ve treated your good friend despicably. Because your behavior was unspeakably rude!” Jane cried.

  “And why do you care how I behave?” He wanted her to reply that she did care about his behavior—because he was her husband. But he was disappointed.

  “Why do I care? Because Lindley is our friend —and a guest in our home!”

  “So Lindley is your friend too, Jane? Ah, how could I forget, he was dancing attendance on you before we wed. How could I forget? He knew where you were, and would not tell me. Knew of Nicole, and kept it from me. So intimate, weren’t we? Or is it aren’t we? And for how long has he been your friend?”

  She gasped, recoiling. “You are disgusting!”

  He clenched his fists to keep from grabbing her. “How long has he been your friend, Jane?”

  She clamped her mouth hard together, eyes blazing, chin high, and stared him down.

  “I will not be cuckolded in my own home,” he said through gritted teeth, gripping her by the shoulders.

  She wrenched free, panting. “Don’t touch me!”

  “But he can touch you? You let him touch you! And what else have you allowed?”

  She slapped him, a whiplash across his face.

  He was shocked, motionless, as stunned as she was. An absolute silence knifed between them.

  Then Jane gasped, her lips trembling, and she backed away. “I-I’m sorry.”

  He smiled, a menacing curve of his lips. “Too late,” he said, and he grabbed her.

  Her cry of protest was cut off by his mouth. He anchored her in an ungiving embrace of steel, jamming one rock-hard thigh between hers, his mouth forcing hers open, his teeth cutting hers, his tongue raping her. She could not even whimper beneath his onslaught. He clasped one buttock and hauled her even harder against the steel ridge of his erection. He heard her choke in protest even as his grip loosened and one hand slid down her back, stroking. His mouth softened. She softened. He felt her lips open, felt her tongue touch his tentatively. With a groan he pulled her into his mouth, sucking her, devouring her. She pressed fiercely against him, her lips locked to his. His palm, rubbing her buttock, eased beneath it, caressing her and urging her to ride his muscular thigh.

  He had no thoughts, no coherent ones, that is. His mouth still merged with Jane’s, he dropped to his knees, bringing her down with him onto the floor. She went unresisting, her small hands clutching his broad shoulders. And when he pushed her onto her back, her thighs opened wide, letting him settle himself against her as he pleased. It was unbearable. He was going to explode now, soon.

  “Jane!” he cried, burying his face in her taut neck and reaching, trembling, for her skirts. Her panting was harsh and arrhythmic in his ear. When his hand touched her bare knee she gasped. When he slid his palm up her thigh on the inside she whimpered, thrashing, spreading her legs more and arching her pelvis wildly. He cupped the mound of her femininity boldly and found her drawers soaked. Soaked for him. It was his undoing.

  “Jane, Jane,” he heard himself chanting, slipping his fingers beneath the silk, touching her.

  She cried out, clinging to him, arching convulsively, shaking with need.

  He could not wait. He reached for his breeches, yanking them open, and heard her, clearly. “Nicholas! Nicholas!” It was sobbed, a plea.

  He found her mouth as he freed his rigid organ, and then he was thrusting home. It was excruciating, unbearable, hot, tight, as tight as the first time, and he knew he was lost.

  “No,” he cried, plunging into her. “No, no, I don’t want to come, not yet …” And then he came, spewing into her, pumping, pumping endlessly. And through the haze of his ecstasy he heard her cry his name and felt her contract violently around him, again and again.

  39

  Jane became aware of the floor, hard and hurtful beneath her.

  And the earl, who was hard and warm on top of her. His face was still buried in her neck, his breath hot and wispy on her skin. She could feel his lips against her throat, damp, and the thudding of his racing heart on her breast. He had her arms gripped firmly in his powerful hands, and she could still feel him inside her.

  Oh, God!

  She felt it then, the rushing tidal wave of tears behind her lids, hot, threatening—imminent. The urge to weep was overwhelming. Jane struggled as she’d never struggled before—she could not cry in front of him. Not now.

  The earl abruptly rolled off her, onto his back, and was momentarily still. Jane had not known that so much pain remained in her heart. If she didn’t control herself, she would soon be sobbing hysterically in a flood of grief. And why?
Because she loved this beautiful, angry man? Because he had married her for their daughter’s sake, not out of love for herself? Because he had hurt her once, two years ago, so devastatingly? Because now he had taken her in anger and jealousy and lust? She did not know. She was confused and distressed, in an emotional quagmire.

  And she sniffed, daring to wipe away more tears before he should see them.

  The earl suddenly lunged to his feet. Jane heard him cross the room and close the door. She was too upset to care that it had been open. She turned her head away, and more tears crawled down her cheeks. She felt his gaze upon her.

  “God,” he said, the sound choked. “Jane? Did— did I hurt you?”

  She was afraid to even try and speak; she shook her head no. She did not dare turn to look at him, not with her wet face.

  “I’m sorry,” he said harshly.

  It was the agonized tone of his voice that brought her to her elbows to stare. He had now turned his gaze aside. His profile was etched in rigid lines of tension, haggard, pain-filled. He was rubbing his chest as if his heart hurt him. “I’m sorry,” he said again, and in his voice she heard it all—the cruel self-flagellation.

  She started to protest, unable to bear the sight and sound of him like his.

  He looked at her and his gaze widened. “Why are you crying? Shit!”

  He gave her his back, leaning on a chair, the muscles in his back and arms straining rigidly. “How can I ask such a stupid question!” Still, he would not turn to face her. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again—I promise.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Jane told him, getting to her feet. He would not face her. She hesitated, wanting to comfort him. “Both of us are responsible adults. I did not deny you.”

  He didn’t move. She heard him curse. She could see the tendons straining in the back of his neck. Hesitantly Jane approached and laid a palm on his waist. He flinched as if struck. “Don’t touch me!”

  Jane withdrew, hurt.

  “I promise you,” the earl said harshly, turning to look at her. His eyes were silver with pain and some form of deep, internal punishment. “I’ll send Molly to you.”