“Punch or wine?” Lord Keegain asked.
“Wine please,” she answered after a brief hesitation. Was she fortifying herself, he wondered?
“Wait but a moment,” he said, but he did not want to leave her alone, even for that brief instant.
“Have you seen my sisters?” he asked. “Charlotte?”
“I do not know,” Jane answered, and so with a nod Lord Keegain stepped away to secure two glasses. A footman carrying a tray was only a few paces away. If Miss Bellevue had seen or heard something that had set off this mood, he needed to know. He returned to her side, only a few minor drops falling from the cups. “Here we are.”
He handed her the glass and took out his handkerchief to assure no drops of wine fell on her dress. Again he felt the thrill of her touch as she took the cup and beamed up at him.
With his handkerchief he gently wiped the droplets of wine from the edge before it might stain her gloves. He wanted to bring those fingers to his mouth and kiss them, to suck away the taste of wine from her skin. Her eyes darkened under her mask, and they were already impossibly deep. He knew she was remembering the same moment as he, when he had brought her bare hand to his lips outside of her bedchamber and stole a sweet taste of her.
The music started again, lively and quick and featuring a flute. While the group was highly skilled, the high-pitched instrument did hinder conversation.
Lord Keegain leaned in to speak to her, his lips nearly at her ear. He could kiss her behind the ear, he thought. They were masked. No one would know. He would know and he could not. He spoke.
“Could I prevail upon you to move to the far end of the ballroom?” He said into her ear. Miss Bellevue whirled on him and he could see the whiteness of her eyes behind her mask. “No need to panic,” he assured her. “We will be quite visible.” Had he so upset her by coming to her bedchamber door? He had not meant to do so.
“You are the host. It would do to not have you disappear. I would not harm your reputation,” the girl said under her breath.
Yes, he thought, he had come to her room and now she was nervous around him. He did not wish her to feel so. “Nor would I endanger yours. You have my word. Come,” he said taking her lovely slim gloved hand within his own.
She nodded and let him hold her hand. The heat of it moved him in ways that Lady Margret’s touch never did. Silently, they picked their way through the crowd until they were at the far end of the hall, further away from the music, but still able to be seen by many of the ballroom guests.
“Thank you.” Keegain was relieved that they were more easily heard. “I simply wondered, Miss Bellevue, if there was something that had upset you?”
She blinked and looked away and seemed about to say something when she shook her head and smiled instead. “No, my lord, no I was just a little… flushed from the excitement, I fear. Please forgive me that weakness.”
“I would forgive you anything,” he said honestly.
Lord Keegain thought he should have been relieved that nothing was amiss, but all he could consider at that perfect moment was her person. Even from behind the mask he was only too aware of how Jane looked up at him. Her eyes were truly so large and bright and liquid that they seemed to hold the secret to the mysteries of the world. He had not remembered them so bright; yet they seemed now to shine. Perhaps it was the rich purple of her dress and the peacock feathers that accented her dark features. Her breath raised her bosom, and the jewels resting there rose and fell, sparkling in the light.
For a moment, the sound of the dancers and the music and revelers all seemed to fade and only Jane and her lips existed; reddened with the wine. Lord Keegain imagined how it would taste on her lips. Her scent was heightened with the heat of the room, and he wanted to breathe her in, to taste the skin of her bare neck and shoulders. He wished to see her dressed in only jewels, and to remove even that from her and muss her hair. He shifted nearer. It was as though he was drawn to her by some ancient and undeniable force. He brushed a thumb under her chin, tilting her face to his. She seemed so…
“My lord,” she said quietly and put her hand on the middle of his chest. Her hand was small and warm. She surely could feel his heart beating in her palm. She must, for the organ pounded within his chest. He wanted to kiss her. But she deserved better than stolen kisses.
Jane deserved everything. Still, he caught her other hand and shifted further into the alcove beyond. The hallway led to the gardens. It did not matter that the corridor was cool, in fact, it was preferable. Heat was coursing through him as he pulled her close, and she came; without protest. She came to his arms.
His lips brushed hers at first, a chaste touch, as if he could just touch her and be done, but a fire took hold of him and pulsed through him as he tasted her. She was so sweet and when she innocently parted her lips to allow him entrance, he was undone. He crushed her to him and plunged his tongue into the warmth of her. He wanted all of her.
His body sang with her touch. Her fingers reached past the mask to his hair. She touched him; clung to him. Sweet heavens, he had never felt such bliss. It took him a moment to realize that her hand had left his hair. It was back on his chest. There was a hesitation in her, a trembling motionlessness he did not want to feel.
She startled as if she only just realized what they had done. Her hand was still on his chest and she snatched it back. It was colder over his heart now, colder and emptier.
Jane stepped back slowly.
The corridor was still as stone.
The music and the dancers and the noise of the ball flooded back, so loud for a moment, Keegain would have run mad from the overwhelming sound of it.
“I cannot… I think,” She stammered. Her lower lip trembled, bruised by his kiss. She drew a shuddering breath. “I should return. I thank you for the dance.” She curtseyed.
She curtseyed as if they had not just kissed, as if his world had not been upended.
“It was just what I needed to… to clear my head.”
“And is it clear, then?” He spoke through a dry throat. His certainly was not. His head was filled with her. Only Jane, and he had never been more confused.
“It is, my lord.”
So blasted formal, he thought.
“I cannot…and I would not…” Her voice broke and she cleared her throat again. “I would not keep you from Lady Margret. I would not wish to create any undo….” She faltered again, and then gained control of herself. This time her voice was sure. “Thank you for the dance.” She curtsied once again, and shot him a pleading glance. He did not know what it was for which she pleaded, only that he felt the same inexpressible need.
Lady Margret indeed. The name gave Keegain a moment’s pause and cooled his desires. He took his own deep breath, wishing he had delivered Jane back to his mother or the Lady Battonsbury, but the girl had turned and fled so quickly, he was still held within a daze.
Feathers flying, he watched Jane’s bright dress disappear into the milling crowd and vanish from sight. He should not have let her go. He fought the desire to chase after her, to pull her back into his arms and kiss her again in the very center of the ballroom for all to see, propriety be damned. He hoped she found her way back to his sisters or her other friends.
Keegain stood alone as the party continued around him, a solitary figure in a little pocket of stillness, as his guests laughed and danced around him.
“Yes.” He said to the place where Jane once stood. “Lady Margret.” He nodded again and snatched a drink from a passing footman. He downed it in one swallow. “Her.”
He turned and scanned the crowd. Not for Margret nor Jane, although he struggled with the latter. He had once again overstepped the bounds of propriety. Overstepped hell. He had dived happily over the cliff side, he found himself fallen and did not know what there was to do about it now. He only knew his lips still burned for want of her touch, and he would never taste wine again without also tasting her lips. Never had his vow to Margret been so repugnant. B
last it all. He needed male company.
He sought out another solitary figure, Fitzwilliam. The gentleman was already well smitten to his own lady fair. Perhaps Fitz knew something of this feeling, some way to navigate the quagmire, because Keegain felt, his path was now most precarious.
30
Why? Jane thought. Why after telling herself so many times that the earl was not the right man for her, did her heart have to insist otherwise? He had kissed her, and she had not protested. Oh no. She had felt transported. Bliss exploded across her tongue and filled her to bursting. She had clung to him feeling the strength of him corded beneath her hands. She had melted into his arms and wanted it to last forever, but of course, it could not.
It seemed to not matter what she told herself anymore, or even what her own eyes told her. Her traitorous heart insisted on a strange stutter when he was near. She lost the ability to think coherently, or even to breathe properly. And invariably here she stood again, running away from what she knew she must. Tears began to collect in her eyes, and although she knew her mask would hide them she blinked them back and sought a quiet corner.
Jane was so absurdly grateful that the house party would end on the morrow. She could return home, and forget Lord Keegain and the heated emotions he raised in her. The thought brought a sharp pain to her breast. Her fingers rose to her lips. They still tingled with the earl’s kiss. She could never forget him. She did not wish to. She would cherish the sensation of his lips on hers for as long as she lived.
Jane slipped to the back of the room, winding up in a small alcove, tucked away behind the drapes. She had found the spot quite by accident and disappeared into it now, looking for respite, for a chance to dry her tears and regain mastery of her emotions. Without the lights of the ballroom behind her, she could see outside if she pressed her forehead to the glass, she did so now, thankful for the icy chill that crept through her.
It was snowing outside, the wind not having abated in the least. Tiny icy flecks rattled against the glass, sounding for all the world like a patter of pebbles. The snow was not soft flakes then, but freezing rain.
A part of her longed to escape out into the storm, that she might lose herself forever in the swirl of ice and snow. Not that she wished for disaster to fall upon her. Rather she was tired of the constant conflict, the way Lord Keegain had come into her life and somehow spoiled every other man just by his being in the world. Although not in her world, Jane reminded herself.
It was a foolish statement and made her smile. Maybe she did read too many romance novels. He was an earl; she was only plain Jane Bellevue. Somehow she had gotten caught up in the idea of a love match and convinced herself that there could be some future for the pair of them. Jane needed to be much more practical than that. She needed someone kind and solid. The earl was kind, her heart argued. Had not he seen her distress and come to collect her? He was certainly solid, she thought remembering the feel of his arms beneath his coat when he wrapped her in his embrace.
Her heart still raced. He kissed her, she realized, but so had she kissed him. She certainly had not moved away or struck his face for such an offense. No, she had opened to him like a flower to the sun and for one wonderful, breathless moment, there was only the two of them caught in heat of passion. The thought startled Jane for she had not thought herself one to be controlled by her desires in such a way.
A dance, a small amount of conversation, a single heated kiss, and she was lost. She realized that if Lord Keegain came to her chamber tonight, she would find it much harder to close the door than she had previously. It was as if the passion was much stronger than she. Did he feel the same?
“My lady,” said one of the under footmen who was offering an assortment of drinks on a tray. She chose a glass of wine. White.
“Thank you, Mr. Hernon,” she said.
He shot her a grin, recognizing her when she spoke. “You are most welcome, Miss Bellevue.”
He moved on serving other guests.
She sipped the wine and tried to calm her nerves. Her gaze returned to the window and the world outside. The storm had worsened. Ice clung to the trees making them look like they were encased in glass. She wondered if there were guests who had come expecting to drive home later tonight. Surely not. They would have to stay as well. Possibly for more than one day. The land was a glittering expanse of ice. It looked quite beautiful, and dangerous.
Jane might have to stay as well, no matter that it was clear now that she must leave. She could no longer stay in his house. There might be more days in his company, more days to suffer seeing him and Lady Margret together. More days, and nights, where he might come to call upon her at her chamber door. Or days he would not.
Still, Jane stifled a sob. It was all so confusing. She could not stand anymore. She did not wish to meet other gentlemen. Had not that been clear when she had turned down the knight, and even more so when she had danced with the pirate? Her heart refused all but Lord Keegain.
She had even invented in her mind strange tensions and worked herself up to the point of a fright, all to find an excuse to leave, to not have to dance, only to find herself in the arms of the very man that had left her so overwrought in the first place.
She had no idea what to do. To return to the ball now seemed impossible. She untied her mask and wiped her tears before replacing it. She was sure her face was blotchy, but the mask would cover it. Still, she could not bear to return. Much as her father expected her to marry well, and her sister counted on her to do so, she would rather remain a spinster forever than to unite herself with someone, anyone who was not Lord Keegain.
Well, I cannot stay here, Jane thought. It was cold in the nook by the window and sooner or later she would be discovered. What then? Am I a literal wallflower, perched here?
Jane thought a moment. She could not return to her room, not without drawing attention to herself. Midnight would be the unmasking. I will endure then, for a time longer. But I cannot…I absolutely cannot stay in this press of people until then.
There had to be some small parlor or room nearby that would be less crowded, where she would be less likely to see him again. Jane remembered Lady Charlotte’s tour. She would find a place where the conversation was quieter, where the expectations were less. No one could fault her for that.
Not the ladies sitting room though. Her friends would only express concern, or press her to find a new dance partner. They would never understand. Not with the dowagers either. She noted the Dowager Lady Keegain had brought the older ladies all into her fold. There was nowhere to go to find privacy.
Thus decided, Jane slipped from her alcove and found a tray upon which to leave her glass. Then making a wide circle around the edges of the room, she found a back corridor and a series of doors that she had hitherto not explored. Frowning a little, she chose one at random, one that seemed tucked away, a little less unobtrusive than the rest.
Jane discovered her mistake almost immediately. The room was as chill as the alcove near the window. A cautious look inside showed furniture draped with sheets, towering forms, indistinct in the dim light from the hall. She was about to turn to go when she heard a voice behind her. Lord Keegain talking with another man.
She could not endure another conversation with him. Not now. With a hasty glance behind her, she saw the earl, just outside the ballroom. That she had heard him above the noise from within was a miracle. That he had not seen her there, in the shadows of the open door a godsend.
Desperate to escape him, wondering why he seemed to be at every turn when there were so many other places he could be, Jane slipped into the empty room and shut the door behind her as quietly as she could. He would be gone in but a minute. She could escape then and find some other place to settle.
Oddly enough, the light did not fade once the door was closed. It took her a moment to realize that the flickering glow came from a candle somewhere on the other side of the furniture. Appalled that someone might have left an untended flame in what
was clearly and unused room, Jane stepped further into the chamber, intent upon rescuing the flame before a fire started. Her thought went to that night in the library when Keegain had rescued her candle. The burn was long healed. It was such a small thing, but the night had seared her heart. He had touched her that night, and kissed her hand. Now, he had held her in his arms and kissed her lips. She could not undo what was done. Worse, she did not wish to do so.
She was stopped a moment later by an unfamiliar voice, deep and masculine, from somewhere just to her left.
“You have chosen then?”
The voice was one not known to her. Jane turned to go. Whatever conversation they were having was none of her concern. That someone else had thought to escape the ball for a moment of privacy was of no consequence to her.
“It was easy enough. In a ball of this nature it is a simple matter to determine quality. I am sure she is the one. I recognized the sapphires at once. The father dotes upon the girl. He will pay.”
What?
Jane had turned to go but was stopped by the response from the first man.
“Good, then there should be no problem obtaining the gold. Not like last time.”
Gold? Last time? The conversation had taken a sinister turn. Jane paused, reversing direction and creeping closer that she might hear more clearly.
“It was hardly my fault they had no means to pay. They hid it from society well enough. That the father had gambled away the bulk of the estate was not on me. Trust me on this one. There is no doubt as to her quality. In fact, someone so brazen deserves what she gets. She wears at her throat jewels enough to feed a country, and I have never seen a lady festooned with quite so many peacock feathers.”
Feathers? Jane’s hand went to her mask and then to Lady Amelia’s jewels at her neck.
“When shall we take her?”
“Soon as the carriage is brought around.”
Winning Lady Jane: A Christmas Regency Romance (Ladies of Bath Book 0) Page 18
