Dark Fires

by Brenda Joyce

  “I don’t believe it,” Lindley breathed.

  “He must know,” Jane said, her heart wrenching with the memory of how she had denied him Nicole. “I must tell him. I will write him a letter.”

  “No! He’ll come after you!”

  Jane looked at him sadly. “I won’t write him today, Jon. In a few months, when he no longer wants me, then I will send him a note.”

  Lindley opened his mouth, then closed it. He touched her shoulder, rubbing it. “What can I do?”

  “Nothing.” Her smile was small, rueful.

  “Do you want to cancel supper tonight?”

  Jane regarded him, her heart twisting with worry. They were to dine tonight at Rathe Bragg’s. Rathe was Nicholas’s brother. He was, of course, friendly with Lindley, having met him numerous times when he was in London visiting his brother. Lindley and Rathe had bumped into each other one day at lunch at a men’s club, and Rathe had invited Lindley to have dinner with him and his new wife, Grace. Jane had not wanted to go. Of course, Rathe did not know she had been his brother’s mistress and was the mother of his child. Still, Jane wanted to stay away from him, sensing danger in the relationship, even if it was only a casual acquaintance. But Lindley talked her into it. Just one evening with nice people, Jane, he had said, you deserve it, and she had gone. Unfortunately, or fortunately, she and Grace had instantly become fast friends. Now, two weeks later, Grace knew everything there was to know about Jane, as Jane did about Grace, so rapidly had their friendship grown. Except Grace only knew that there had been a big love in London—not that it was her brother-in-law. Jane had not told her anything about her relationship with Nicholas, carefully avoiding that period of her life. Jane knew that both Rathe and Grace thought her to be Lindley’s mistress—and they were both utterly charming about it.

  Jane suddenly wanted to go to dinner. She wanted to confide in her friend—everything. Of course, she could not, she would not. But she could at least discuss some of her predicament, and cry on her best friend’s shoulder. “No, I want to go, I want to see Grace.”

  But Lindley wasn’t listening. He was staring at her intently. “Jane,” he said, “there is a solution.” Jane blinked.

  “Marry me.”

  “I can’t!”

  “Of course you can! Shelton is married to Patricia. Face it, Jane, face it! Damn, I hate seeing you like this! Patricia is his wife. Now you’re pregnant and alone. And we are friends. Most important, I love you and will gladly care for you—and be the father to your child. Do you want this child born a bastard?”

  Jane flinched. “I don’t know, I must think.”

  “Think.” He leaned close, touched her cheek. “I am here for you. I think I’ve proved it many times. You know you can count on me and trust me.”

  He got up and departed to his own rooms. Jane watched him leave. Then she bit her trembling lower lip, her cheek dropping to the sofa back, hugging the big throw pillows. Should she marry Lindley?

  Oh, God! What else could Fate possibly have in store for her?

  “Oh, Nicholas,” she whispered. “Did I do the right thing?”

  52

  “Darling,” Grace Bragg said, her smile semisweet and semiwicked, “why don’t you take John into the den and do whatever it is you men like so much to do when you’re ensconced in your all-male citadels that prohibit the fairer, more enlightened sex? Smoke and drink and all that interesting, intellectual—it must be intellectual— male conversation?”

  The tall, voluptuous redhead was bending over her husband, a smile on her beautiful face. He was still seated, quite indolently, at the dining-room table, as were Jane and Lindley. Rathe, a big, muscular, devastatingly handsome man, was visibly surprised, his blue eyes wide, his expression startled. Grace nuzzled her cheek to his. “Darling, you could even gamble a bit.”

  With one strong arm, he suddenly caught her around the waist, imprisoning her in an intimate position. “Is my wife trying to get rid of me?” he asked, low, laughter sparking his eyes, his mouth near her ear. “Is my impossibly liberated wife trying to encourage my antiquated, chauvinistic stereotypically male pursuits?”

  Grace had the grace to blush. During their stormy courtship down south in Natchez, she had, on one or two occasions (or more!), accused him of male arrogance and other philistine attributes. Now she smiled even more sweetly and more wickedly. “Darling, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth!”

  “Is this the wild, rabble-rousing suffragist I married?” he teased. “Or are you someone else, a look-alike? Has there been a stranger in my bed recently?”

  She smacked him playfully, drawing free of him, winking at Jane, who was regarding their close, uninhibited relationship wistfully. There was so much love and affection and respect between them. But then again, Grace was such an admirable woman, so strong in her convictions, and so well educated and intelligent. While Rathe appeared to be the ideal husband. Not only was he handsome, virile, and magnetic, he was a very successful businessman and he clearly worshiped her.

  “All right, I take the hint,” Rathe announced, rising. He winked as well. Big dimples accompanied his smile, causing a pang in Jane’s heart at the resemblance between the brothers. Yet this was the only resemblance. Rathe was a golden-haired, blue-eyed man, always smiling, teasing, in love with the world and himself and his family. Jane’s anguish increased; how could one brother be so sunny and carefree and the other so dark and tormented? Yet with her, Nicholas had begun to change, to smile and laugh and even to tease. God, she missed him.

  “C’mon, Lindley, let’s pursue some antiquated, male-oriented pastimes,” Rathe was saying.

  “Sounds good to me.” Lindley grinned, squeezing Jane’s shoulder as he passed. Rathe had the aplomb and insouciance to swat Grace’s behind rather forcefully as he went out, causing her to gasp, jump, and blush a fierce red, in that order. Her gaze met Jane’s sheepishly, then she laughed. “He is impossible, that man!”

  “You are so very lucky,” Jane said huskily.

  “Very lucky,” Grace agreed softly, her palm touching her abdomen. She was just starting to show the signs of her pregnancy. Her expression grew serious. She closed the dining-room doors, then returned to the table and sat in Lindley’s place, next to Jane. “But you have a good man too.”

  Jane just looked at Grace.

  Grace smiled. “Tea or coffee? How about some more of this sinful chocolate cake?”

  Jane accepted both and had just taken a bit of the cake, which was sheer heaven, when Grace abruptly said, “What’s wrong, Jane? You look as if your best friend died.”

  Jane laid down her fork. “I’m pregnant.”

  “Oh,” Grace said. “Oh.”

  Jane pushed the cake away. Grace knew about Nicole—adored her, in fact—and Jane knew she suspected Lindley wasn’t the father, because of the baby’s coloring, but she had been too polite to even ask. In fact, it was amazing that the Braggs had accepted her into their home knowing she had a fatherless baby, as if she were Lindley’s wife, not, as they thought, his paramour. But they were real people, without a single snobbish thought between the two of them. Besides, after they’d become friends, Grace had confessed she’d been Rathe’s mistress for a while—although not exactly willingly. Jane had been shocked. “He forced you?”

  Grace had grinned. “Well, coerce is a better word. Actually, he took advantage of my dire circumstances.” Then she’d amended herself. “Really, I’m making Rathe sound like such a cad. He was sort of a cad, I admit. However, he did want to marry me. I refused.”

  Jane had been shocked. Grace had laughed. “I was in love with him but stubbornly refusing to admit it,” she’d confessed. “Can you believe I told him I’d rather be his mistress, that way I wouldn’t be stuck with him forever?”

  Jane could barely believe it, her eyes popping at Grace’s daring insolence. “You should have seen his reaction.” Grace had laughed.

  Now Grace covered Jane’s hand with her own. “Does Jon know?”
She meant about the pregnancy.

  Jane looked up at her. Obviously Grace thought she was carrying Lindley’s child. “It’s not his,” she said tersely.

  Grace’s eyes went wide.

  Jane’s filled with tears.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, that was so thoughtless of me,” Grace cried, squeezing her hand. “Jane, I am not judging you!”

  Jane shook her head unable to speak, and wiped her eyes with the napkin. “No, you see, Grace, what you’ve thought all along isn’t true. I am not Lindley’s mistress.” Grace stared again— they had never discussed this openly. “I am only his friend,” Jane confessed. “He does love me, and he does want me. Today he even asked me to marry him. But, you see, I love someone else.”

  “I see,” Grace said.

  Jane fought the sob choking her. “I love Nicole’s father,” she said softly. “He is in London. He is married,” she added.

  “I’m so sorry,” Grace cried. “That bastard! That typical, rotten, selfish, philandering, rutting bastard! That—”

  “Grace!” Jane cried. “He is Rathe’s brother, Lord Shelton, the Earl of Dragmore!”

  Grace gasped.

  The two women stared at each other, Grace’s flush of fury fading to sheer white, Jane’s nose red, eyes shiny. “We thought his wife was dead,” Jane said miserably. “And he married me. But not out of love, but because he found out about Nicole. Yet I love him so. When his first wife reappeared, I couldn’t take it, I couldn’t. He wanted me to be his mistress, but after being his wife … I ran away!” Jane began to cry. She tried not to, but it was impossible.

  Grace got up and swiftly hugged her. “Sometimes men are such insensitive boors,” she said. “Get it out, Jane, all of it,” she said, recovering her calm. “You will feel much better, and you can trust me.”

  Jane regarded her. “I was only seventeen when we met,” she said unsteadily. “And I fell in love with him that very first moment. He was so big and dark, so powerful, even menacing. And his eyes, they were silver, so cold—yet so hot.” She paused, lost in remembrance of that time in the dusty parlor at Dragmore. She decided to tell it all. “They called him the Lord of Darkness …”

  53

  Rathe Bragg sat on the edge of the big, four-postered bed in his and Grace’s silk-walled bedroom, shirtless. His thickly muscled torso gleamed in the gentle gas lighting from the chandelier. Now his expression was amazed, even stunned. “Nick’s mistress! Grace! Nicole is my niece!”

  Grace was pacing in a filmy nightgown and robe, one of the many intimate gifts her husband constantly bought her, her long, magnificent red hair loose and cascading to her hips. “Poor Jane!” she cried. “Do you think your brother really asked her to be his mistress when Patricia came back?”

  Rathe grimaced. “It’s certainly possible. And knowing Nick, with Nicole involved it’s even likely. He would want to see mother and daughter frequently, I think. I can’t believe this!”

  Grace sat down hard next to him. “What are we going to do?”

  Normally, Rathe firmly opposed his wife’s schemes, for she was, he had to admit (fondly), a fervent busybody once aroused to a cause. This occasion seemed to warrant some interference, however. “So she’s carrying Nick’s child,” he mused, “and she loves him.”

  “I didn’t tell her he is on his way here,” Grace said intensely. “Should we tell her that Nick is coming?”

  “I wonder if he’s bringing Patricia,” Rathe responded obliquely. “He didn’t say in the telegram —but we’ll find out soon enough. I imagine he should be here any day.”

  Grace abruptly rose to pace again, like a restless tigress. “Rathe! I feel guilty knowing Nick is on his way and not telling Jane! She has already suffered so!”

  Rathe got up and went to her, clasping her shoulders and pulling her back against his chest. He held her there, kissing her neck. “Darling, if she knows he’s coming she’ll run away. Let’s let nature take its course. They need to resolve their affair one way or another. Jane’s running away left it open. Maybe she even wants Nick to chase after her. And Nick certainly has the right to know about the child.”

  “What if she decides to marry Lindley?” Grace asked, twisting to face him.

  “That’s her right,” Rathe said simply. “After all, Nick is married.” He grimaced and cursed graphically. “God, I can’t believe that bitch is alive! Too bad!”

  “Rathe!”

  “She made my brother miserable and you know it,” Rathe said vehemently. “She nearly destroyed him! What if he’d been convicted of her murder?” Then he looked intently at his wife. “I don’t think this is a coincidence, Grace, do you?”

  She regarded him levelly. “I was wondering the same thing. Jane appears here, and Nick is on his way—when he’s never been back to America since he took up his inheritance at Dragmore.”

  “He’s coming after her,” Rathe said firmly, and their gazes locked in understanding.

  Grace wrapped her arms around her husband’s waist. “Maybe he loves her,” she said softly. “Maybe you’re right. He is chasing her—and she wants him to, even if she doesn’t know it consciously.”

  “Maybe he does,” Rathe returned. “If he didn’t, would he run after her like this?”

  Suddenly they smiled at each other, understanding exactly what the other was thinking— that they were doing the right thing in not telling Jane that Nick was coming and in bringing the two together. “Oh, we’re terrible!” Grace said.

  “We?” Rathe protested, but his dimples were deep. “This is your scheme, I’m just an innocent accomplice.”

  “Darling, the terms are a contradiction.”

  “You are a contradiction,” he murmured, kissing her. “So smart, and so beautiful.”

  “And you,” she said throatily, kissing him back, “are unrepentant. Haven’t I reformed you yet?”

  “Keep trying,” he managed to gasp.

  The divorce would be final when he returned.

  It was a happy thought in an otherwise grim day. The Earl of Dragmore stared out the window of the rented hansom at First Avenue

  . It was a rough ride, due to the cobbled street. He barely noted how New York had grown in the ten years since he’d left the States, he was too preoccupied. He and Chad had just arrived on a passenger ship and were on their way directly to his brother’s home on Riverside Drive

  .

  He intended to scour every hotel until he found them.

  He still could not believe she had left with his best friend—he still prayed, desperately, for a reasonable explanation.

  He knew, or he thought he did, that Jane cared about him. No woman could be such a superb actress, could she? He winced at his thought, because Jane was an actress, and he had forced her into marriage with him. What they had shared was good sex, nothing more. Instantly he corrected himself. They had shared a grand passion, one he certainly had never experienced with any other woman before.

  And then he remembered her reading to Chad and Nicole in her sitting room, their outing in Hyde Park, boating on the lake. He remembered their breakfasts, Nicole dominating with her outlandish temper, and he remembered dancing until dawn. They had shared more than even a grand passion.

  And even though she had left him, again, lied to him and left him, run away with his best friend, stolen his daughter—he still wanted her.

  He still loved her.

  Of course, if she was Lindley’s mistress he would kill him, and he hoped then he would be so disgusted he would no longer want Jane. Anger vied with need, and the result was a coiled, confused desperation.

  As soon as he had discovered that Jane had fled, he had hastened to Robert Gordon’s, expecting to find her there. Gordon had informed him that Jane had left for America. The earl had been shocked.

  “She loves you very much,” Gordon had said bluntly. “And Patricia’s return has killed her.”

  Was it true? Did she really love him?

  His plans to follow her were delaye
d because he decided to take Chad for that long-overdue visit to meet his grandparents. Soon he found out that Lindley had also gone to America, on business. The coincidence was impossible, and he was enraged. Gordon confirmed that they had gone together.

  “Is she fucking him?” the earl had shouted, at that moment wanting to kill them both.

  “I told you, she loves you!” Gordon was hot to defend Jane. “Lindley has always been her friend, even if he is in love with her himself. But Jane is not that type of woman, and if you don’t know it, you should!”

  He did know it, didn’t he? She had given herself to him when she was seventeen and had not given herself to another man in the years since. Until perhaps now, in anger and in hurt …

  He could not bear the thought. And as much as he felt he could kill if this was the case, another side of him, the dark desperate side, would forgive her anything if only she would return to him.

  His brother’s home was a red brick mansion set high on a hill, surrounded by brick walls topped with a wrought-iron curtain. Nick smiled wryly as the cab turned through the open gates. Rathe had certainly done well for himself, he mused, not just a little bit surprised. His brother had always said he was doing rather well in his business affairs, which consisted of many diverse investments across America, but Nick had had no idea that he had done this well. Tall, stately pines from upstate, undoubtedly, graced the long sweeping drive. Beside him, Chad was bouncing in his seat with uncontained excitement.

  Nick reached out to touch him, his own heart starting to thud.

  It had been just a couple of years since he’d seen Rathe, but even that was too long. This thought led to another. If two years was too long to be apart from his brother, how about the more than ten that had passed since he’d seen his parents? He felt a surge of old anguish, but it was duller now, the old hurt and betrayal having recently faded. Because of Jane. He knew he was doing the right thing in returning to America. First he would find Jane and settle matters between them. He was not going to Texas without her. And then he would take Chad west, to the ranch that was just as much his heritage as Drag-more. To see his grandparents, his grandfather.