by The Rogue
Jane opened the door to the second parlor with a polite smile pasted on her face. Simms had told her that a gentleman caller awaited her there. It was probably just Billingsly—not worth disturbing her aunt for chaperon-age. She’d simply pop in and tell the fellow that she was terribly busy doing . . . something.
There was no one to be seen, only a gaily colored hatbox on the table. She stepped closer to look for a delivery tag.
“For Lady Jane Pennington. In apology for a regrettable misunderstanding.”
Oh, no. It couldn’t be. Jane lifted the lid of the hatbox.
It was. The garish bonnet lay tenderly wrapped in tissue, in all its awful glory. “Oh, dear,” Jane murmured as she lifted it out. “It’s even uglier than I remembered.”
“Thank heaven,” drawled a deep voice behind her. “I thought it was just me.”
Jane whirled to see Mr. Damont lurking behind the parlor door. “What are you doing here?”
He bowed. “It is lovely to see you again as well, my lady.”
Jane blushed angrily, then pushed the bonnet back into its box and thrust it out to him. “Take your gift. I want nothing to do with it.”
He peered down at the crushed straw. “You broke it!” he accused.
Jane looked down. She had indeed. Now doubly embarrassed, she glared up at Mr. Damont. “Look what you made me do!”
He scoffed at her. “I did not!”
“Oh!” A gentleman would never refute a lady! “Yes you did!”
He folded his arms. “Did not.”
She plunked the box back onto the table and planted her fists on her hips. “Did too!”
He grinned. “Did not.” His tone was high and childish.
She snickered, then bit her lip. “Did too!”
He stamped his foot. “Did not.”
She laughed out loud, then clapped a hand over her mouth. “I hate you,” she mumbled.
He tilted his head. “Do not.”
She took a deep breath, then gave it up. Throwing her arms out, she shook her head with a smile. “You’re right. I don’t hate you.”
He smiled rather sweetly. It left deep creases in his cheeks. Her breath left her at the sight. She sometimes forgot how very handsome he was. Recovering, she blinked. “So that was a misunderstanding this afternoon?”
He held up one hand in a vow. “Absolutely. I wished to solicit a female perspective on something I have at home, that is all.”
The blush returned. Jane pressed both hands to her cheeks. “I thought—”
He nodded. “I know, but I promise, I have no etchings.”
Chuckling, Jane shook her head. “You can always make me laugh, even when I really don’t want to.”
“Am I forgiven, then? You don’t think I’m a cad who would proposition a respectable woman?”
She looked up at him teasingly. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far . . .”
Something crossed his expression and he made a small movement, almost a flinch. Jane hesitated. He really meant it—he really cared what she thought. She shook her head quickly. “I don’t think that at all,” she said honestly. “I was mostly embarrassed at—” At being caught staring at your trousers. Well, perhaps honesty had its limits.
She clasped her hands before her. “I don’t think ill of you at all. You’ve been very kind to me, and Serena. I think you are a very nice man.”
He blinked. “That is going a bit far.”
She nodded. “I agree. I take it back.”
This time he was the one to laugh involuntarily. He shook his head. “Who are you, Lady Jane? Where in the world did you come from and are there more of you there?”
Jane paused. Mother had told her not to reveal too much about herself. “I have been living in Northumbria for several years. And no, I don’t believe there are many girls there like me.”
She hadn’t meant to let that tiny stream of loneliness leak into her voice. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed. She looked into his eyes and saw that he had. Moreover, he’d understood. Jane looked away.
This was more than she was prepared for. She suddenly wasn’t sure how she felt about being alone in here with this man—who had already kissed her once, and now showed an unfortunate ability to sympathize with her. Of all the men in London, why a lowborn gambler?
It must end now, before this attraction—or affinity, or whatever it was—became something more. That would not be beneficial, for either of them. “Mr. Damont, I think you should go now.”
He drew back. “What? I thought—”
Jane took a deep breath. “Whatever you thought, you were mistaken. I don’t wish to continue this conversation. Please leave.”
He gaped, then threw out his hands. “You run hot, then you run cold. You are the most confusing, mystifying, bloody-minded female I have ever met!”
Irked, she folded her arms beneath her breasts. “I’m sure you mean to be insulting, so I shall find great pleasure in taking your comments as complimentary.”
He threw up his hands and swung away from her. “Why me? I’ve lived a good life! I don’t kick dogs and small children! I’ve never taken a penny from someone who didn’t deserve it!”
“Do be careful not to exaggerate, there,” she drawled.
“I’m not exaggerating,” he protested. “I only play blokes who don’t deserve their own good fortune!”
“And what do you think constitutes ‘not deserving’—inheritance?”
He huffed. “I have nothing against those who inherit. It’s those who use what they were given to do harm or to take advantage of those who have less.”
She dropped her arms. “Is that true?”
He shook his head and flopped into a chair. “Of course it’s not true,” he said. “Why would anything that comes out of my mouth be true?”
“I’m sorry,” she said, her tone gentle. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”
“Well, you did.” He scowled for a moment, then turned a sunny smile on her. “Lucky for you I don’t hold a grudge.”
She laughed and shook her head. “Then you are, indeed, a better person than I, for I hold them long and well.”
“Who do you have a grudge against? Is it someone evil? Shall I cheat him for you?” he asked eagerly.
She pressed her lips together but it didn’t hide the smile. Ethan sat back again, basking in the fact that he could make Lady Jane Pennington smile against her will.
“You really are a good sort, Janet. I do hope we can be friends.”
“I’m not sure that’s possible,” she said slowly. “I’ve never heard of a friendship between—”
This time he definitely flinched. “Between a lady and a merchant’s son?”
She frowned slightly. “Between a man and a woman.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” he said airily. “I’ve scads of women friends.”
She was silent for a moment. “I’m sure you do.”
She rose and clasped her hands before her. “It grows late, sir. I think I must say good-bye now.”
“Here now, Janet!” Bloody smooth, old man. What a thing to say! Ethan rose and crossed to her. “I didn’t mean—I wasn’t talking about those sort of—”
A heavy step sounded in the hall outside the parlor. Although she had nothing truly to hide, Jane shot Mr. Damont a panicked look. “My uncle!”
In one lithe movement, Mr. Damont slipped back behind the door just as it opened.
“Jane?” Uncle Harold pushed the door open wide. A bit too wide. Jane winced and hoped Mr. Damont hadn’t taken the impact of the doorknob anywhere too important. Uncle Harold glanced around the room. “What are you doing in here? I thought I heard voices. Is someone in here with you?”
Jane gestured to the hatbox. “Simms told me I had a caller, but when I came in, all I saw was this gift.”
Uncle Harold peered at the crushed bonnet without much interest. “Didn’t like it much, did you?”
“Not at all,” Jane said quite truthfully.
&nbs
p; Uncle Harold was examining the tag. “What’s this misunderstanding about?”
“I cannot be sure,” Jane said vaguely. “I believe I took offense to something a gentleman said.”
Uncle Harold scowled. “Who?”
Blast, she was afraid he was going to ask that. “One of the gentlemen who was here last evening, I think. I don’t recall all of them very well.” All too true. Beside the shining sharpness of Mr. Damont in her memory, the other fellows faded into an insignificant blur.
“Humph.” Uncle Harold seemed to lose interest. Jane couldn’t imagine why he’d expressed any in the first place. Why, after all these months, was he finally exhibiting curiosity into her affairs?
Then again, thinking of the way Mr. Damont’s very presence made her palms damp, perhaps the word “affairs” was ill-chosen.
“Carry on, then,” Uncle Harold said, his tone already bored. “See you at supper, my dear.”
“Yes, Uncle Harold.” Jane remained where she was, standing in the middle of the parlor with a vapid smile on her face, until her uncle’s heavy footsteps faded down the hall. Then she let out a breath and dashed to shut the parlor door once more.
Mr. Damont was plastered to the wall, his eyes clenched shut and his hands crossed protectively in front of him. Jane pursed her lips and looked away. “He is gone, sir.”
Opening his eyes, Ethan stared at Lady Jane Pennington, paragon of aristocratic . . . well, pretty much everything, and accomplished bald-faced liar. “You hoodwinked him.”
“I did not,” she objected serenely.
“You did so. You hoodwinked him like a professional.”
She sat elegantly on the sofa, not looking at him. “I did no such thing. Everything I said was the absolute literal truth.”
“I know,” he said with a sigh of ecstasy. “That’s what made it so beautiful.” He moved to stand before her, bouncing on his heels. “Let’s do it again!”
Her calm finally faltered. She stared up at him. “What?”
“Let’s do it again! Let’s go find someone else to lie the absolute literal truth to. I want to see it one more time.”
A reluctant laugh broke from her lips. “No, thank you. One black mark against my soul in one day is enough.”
“Oh, come on. I know! Let’s go find a vicar! Or a bishop!”
Her jaw dropped. “You are incorrigible.”
He grinned down at her conspiratorially. “So are you, Lady Proper Pennington. You enjoyed that and you know it.”
She looked away, but the corner of her lips quirked. “I did not.”
He leaned close, a good bit closer than was proper. “Yes you did,” he said, his voice a caress. “You’re very good at being bad, Lady Jane.”
She gave him a push, and rose from the sofa to pace the parlor. “And you’re insufferable.”
He laughed and fell into step beside her. “Thank you. I do try.”
She rolled her eyes as she walked on. “Years of diligent practice, yes?”
Ethan only grinned down at her. She was such an odd mix. Half proper lady, half clever minx. Add a good dollop of sarcasm and he was captivated. If she wasn’t careful, he was likely to find himself proposing something wicked after all, something most improper and vastly enjoyable to them both.
He sighed. No virgins. It was a bloody good rule and he was going to stick to it.
He only wished he could remember why.
“Mr. Damont,” she said quietly. “Have you ever considered being more than that?”
“More than what?”
She turned to gaze up at him. “More than a gambler and a place card?”
Place card. The description struck home. He turned away.
She moved to follow him. “You could do it. You’re clever—and you already know so many influential people!”
He moved away, but she persisted. “You could take up the law—or the Church!”
That was too much. He turned on her. “Good God, Janet, what do you expect of me!”
“I expect more, that is all!” She did not back down before his frustration. “I expect that you would use your intellect and talent for something other than your own enrichment!”
“Why should I?” He felt compelled to defend his position, even though the battle was one he’d never truly won, even within himself, and even though he’d taken steps today to become much more. “Why must I exert myself so? What has the world done for me that I must do for it in return? For that matter, what of you? What do you use your mind and talents for but to decorate the world by being in it?”
“I am not decorative!”
“Bloody hell you’re not!” Ethan frankly yelled. “You’re a confounded beauty and you know it!”
She froze, her mouth already open again to protest. She looked completely gobsmacked, staring at him as if he’d just grown green fur. Ethan was seized with a wild desire to kiss those parted lips.
She shook off the surprise. “Why do you not simply stop? Do something else?”
God, she was like a bull terrier! “I say, you’re right! I’ll do it!” Ethan opened his arms and turned a circle. “I’ll simply quit cards entirely and become a ship captain . . . or Prime Minister . . . or . . . I hear the job of King is open!”
The glint of approval that had begun to appear in her eyes dissolved as she realized he was mocking her. She folded her arms and glared, her gray eyes flashing. “Sod.”
Ethan bowed formally. “At your service, my lady.”
“There’s nothing wrong with honest work, Mr. Damont.”
He threw himself back into his chair. “You’d know all about that, I suppose,” he muttered around the cheroot he was lighting. He drew the smoke in deeply. “Being Lady Jane and all.”
She stayed where she was, standing rigid and disapproving with her arms folded. “Yes, being Lady Jane and all, I do know all about that.”
He snorted, watching the ribbon of smoke rise. “Janet, you don’t even button your own clothing.”
“Mr. Damont, you know nothing about me.”
He glanced at her. “Then tell me. Tell me how you carry your own bathwater and sew your own gowns and cook your own supper, Lady Jane.” He didn’t bother to stem the sarcasm dripping from every word.
She tilted her head. “I don’t have to prove any such thing to you. I know what I have done and I know what I am. Until my Uncle Christoph passed away last year, I lived like a pauper. All this,” she waved a hand to indicate her fine gown. “All this came to me quite lately, I fear.”
Ethan’s brows came together. “You’re telling me the truth, aren’t you?”
She smiled. “Absolutely.”
Ethan smiled back, catching on. “But you’re not telling me all of it, are you?”
She blinked at him, clearly irritated. “Why, Mr. Damont, would you accuse a lady of lying?”
“Yes,” he said. “I would. But not you. You, I would accuse of telling the absolute literal truth, Janet.”
“Don’t call me that!”
He frowned up at her. “Call you what?”
“You may address me as Lady Jane, or ‘my lady.’ ”
Now she truly was angry. Pink spots had appeared in her pale cheeks and her eyes flashed like lightning behind a storm cloud. Damn if she didn’t look fine like that. Intriguing. He stood, stubbing out the cheroot he hadn’t smoked, and approached her slowly until he stood an arm’s length away.
“Janet,” he called in a low voice. Her eyes narrowed dangerously. Ethan loved living dangerously. He took another step. “Janet,” he murmured.
She twitched, her hands itching to slap him, he knew. Still, she only glared at him, as if trying to prove that she was above reacting to anything done by a low creature such as him. He couldn’t resist the challenge.
He took another step and stopped so close before her that if she inhaled too deeply, her bodice would touch his waistcoat.
She took a deep breath, proving him right. Her eyes flickered. She took another. And
another. Ethan could feel her nipples hardening against him. Without taking his gaze from hers, he smiled wickedly. “Don’t wear two little holes through the silk, Janet. This is my favorite weskit.”
Her hand did fly then. Ethan took the first slap willingly, because he definitely deserved it, but when she drew her hand back again, Ethan was faster. He caught her hand, curling his fingers around her wrist in a gentle but implacable cuff. “My turn,” he said softly.
Her eyes widened and she drew back. He raised his other hand—
—and gently cupped her cheek in his palm. She froze but he could feel a trembling begin deep within her. His fingertips slid into her silky hair and suddenly Ethan passionately wanted to see it down around her shoulders, streaming over her bare breasts, splaying over his pillow—
He stroked his thumb down her cheek to her top lip. So pink, although he was positive she wore no lip rouge. “You’re all milk and satin and strawberries, do you know that, Janet?” His thumb caught her full bottom lip down and her lips parted.
Jane could not move. Never, never in her life—oh, dear God, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think—
His palm was hot on her cheek, his thumb leaving prints of fire on her lips. Without will of her own, her tongue flicked out to taste the salt on his skin. He was brandy and fire and male . . . and had she really done that?
His eyes went hot at her tiny permission. She couldn’t take her gaze away. Oh, God, she’d done it now—
His hand slid to the back of her neck and his mouth came down on hers.
Chapter Thirteen
She melted in his hands. Virtuous, wholesome Lady Jane Pennington turned to hot wax at his touch. She flowed against him, surrendering to his kiss as if his mouth on hers were all she’d ever wanted in her entire life. It was bloody intoxicating, that’s what it was.
Victory and arousal pumped through Ethan’s veins, roared in his ears, drowned out his reason. He let go of her wrist and wrapped his arm hard about her waist, pulling her to him, needing to feel her body against his. She was lithe and liquid and willing, oh, so willing—
She kissed him back, awkwardly and fervently. Her hands came up to dive into his hair, clinging to him, pulling him closer. He groaned into her mouth, her hot, sweet, untutored mouth—thank God, she was a quick study. Her kiss deepened, her lips plumping and her tongue venturing to mesh with his—closer, he had to get closer.
