The Passionate Love of a Rake

Jane Lark

A division of HarperCollinsPublishers

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Contents

Jane Lark

Praise for Jane Lark

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Epilogue

Love Romance?

About HarperImpulse

Copyright

About the Publisher

Jane Lark

I love writing authentic, passionate and emotional love stories.

I began my first novel, a historical, when I was sixteen, but life derailed me a bit when I started suffering with Ankylosing Spondylitis, so I didn’t complete a novel until after I was thirty when I put it on my to do before I’m forty list.

Now I love getting caught up in the lives and traumas of my characters, and I’m so thrilled to be giving my characters life in others’ imaginations, especially when readers tell me they’ve read the characters just as I’ve tried to portray them.

“Jane Lark has an incredible talent to draw the reader in from the first page onwards.”

Cosmo Chick Litan Book Reviews

"Any description that I give you would not only spoil the story but could not give this book a tenth of the justice that it deserves. Wonderful!"

Candy Coated Book Blog

"This book held me captive after the first 2 pages. If I could crawl inside and live in there with the characters I would."

A Reading Nurse Blogspot

“The book swings from truly swoon-worthy, tense and heart wrenching, highly erotic and everything else in between.”

Best Chick Lit.com

“I love Ms. Lark's style—beautifully descriptive, emotional and can I say, just plain delicious reading? This is the kind of mixer upper I've been looking for in romance lately.”

Devastating Reads BlogSpot

Chapter One

“If you think I shall allow you to rob me of my inheritance, then you may think again!” Hector had given his fortune to her freely. Had she not been through enough? She’d earned every penny of it, spending her life closeted away, body and soul, trapped in her dead husband’s private form of hell. She had earned her independence, and Hector had given it to her. She would not let his son take it away again!

Jane Grey, the young Dowager Duchess of Sutton, leaned backward, inwardly cursing herself for even this outward sign that her stepson’s intimidation was succeeding. The tenth Duke of Sutton, a man over twenty years her senior, loomed over her, applying the threat of his greater height and physical strength.

His eyes fixed on hers with a clear intent to intimidate and his hands gripped the arms of the delicate Chesterfield chair in which she sat. A chair in which she had been sitting, taking her afternoon tea in peace and solitude until his rude and uninvited intrusion.

“I am not afraid of you, Your Grace,” she hissed into his face, which was barely two inches from her own, lying through her teeth. Of course, she was, she was terrified, but she refused to let him have the upper hand. In answer, he merely growled, making her flinch and proving how fraudulent her brave words were.

He’d never actually raised a hand to her yet. However, that he was capable of it and willing to be physically violent she did not doubt. Until now, Hector had always been there. Hector had liked to play his little mind games and cared not a jot for her happiness or well-being, but out of sheer spite, he would not have let Joshua harm her. Now, there was no Hector, and no one to protect her from his arrogant, evil son.

“No, Jane?” Joshua mocked, laughing at her as he suddenly pulled away to stand before her, his hands sweeping back and opening his blue, superfine redingote to display the robin-redbreast colour of his waistcoat beneath. He rested his hands on his waist. She wished to stand, but his legs were still on either side of one of her knees; it would bring her body up against his, and he hardly needed that incitement. Instead, she was forced to tilt her head back to hold his gaze.

“Your father left me his fortune by choice. You have all that is entailed. If you had shown Hector this much interest during his life, I am sure he would have left it all to you. But as it is, Your Grace, he did not.”

Joshua stepped back, his hands falling to his sides and curling into fists.

Instantly, she stood, glad to be in a position to escape, if she had to. But whatever he did, she had no intention of bowing to his demands.

Tipping her chin up another notch, she glared at the man, her fingers curling into fists, too. “I will not give you what has been legally left to me.” She could not fight him physically but she would fight him in court, if she must, and with every ounce of blood flowing in her veins. It was not her fault his father had lusted after a young bride, and it was not her fault Hector had chosen to leave her the vast majority of his unentailed wealth. But now, she was not about to let his bully boy of a son take it away.

“Your Grace, did you call?”

Jane swiftly turned her gaze to her butler, knowing her discomfort must be visible. She was surely flushed, and a thundercloud probably flashed in her eyes. Undoubtedly, Garnett had heard their raised voices from the hall and had come to her rescue. Thank God.

“The Duke is just leaving, Garnett. Perhaps you could show him out.”

She met Joshua’s gaze again. His eyes were as Hector’s would have been in his youth, clear and dark brown. His tall stature was magnificent, imposing, and although she hated to admit it, he was handsome in his way. But there was nothing handsome in his character.

For nine years, she had suffered life as Hector’s wife and this man had helped make those years miserable. So while part of her could not blame Joshua for his anger over the money, another part could. It was not her fault, so why should she be the one to pay?

He did not move, didn’t budge an inch except for a muscle twitching at the edge of his mouth. His eyes told her he was assessing the situation and deciding his next move. After all, he could not force her to comply unless he was also prepared to force all of her staff, who would undoubtedly testify on her behalf that she had been coerced.

He must have drawn the same conclusion, for his brow furrowed, and he virtually spat his final words on the subject in her direction. “Very well, Jane, I shall leave, but I warn you, this is not the end. I shall have my father’s fortune.”

It was not even a statement; it was a decree.

Watching, she waited, still stiff with fear and irritation.

He spun about and strode from the room, the tension of his anger visible in every taut, muscular line of his body.

She held her erect stance, not even daring to breathe, while Garnett followed in Joshua’s wake; her fists were curled so tight against her sides, her fingernails pressed into her palms.

When she heard the front door open and close, she crumpled, dropping back into the chair.

Her shoulders were shaking in response to her retreating fear, and she covered her face with her hands. A sob escaped her throat before she could control it, even though her eyes were dry.

“Your Grace?”

Garnett.

She sensed him moving closer and drew in a deep breath, fighting for composure as she let her hands fall to her lap and straightened up.

“Madam, is there anything I may fetch you?”

The young butler bowed to her as she looked up. It was not his place to ask if she was well or needed help, but his expression admitted his concern.

Her life was unravelling at the seams. Unfortunately, she did not think a cup of tea would fix it. A raucous, disturbing laugh rang in her thoughts, a sound she knew bordered on insanity.

It was ridiculous.

She was now completely alone, apart from her servants.

There was no way out. No going back. She could only seek a path forward, and she could not do that if she became a simpering wreck or lost her marbles. No, she had to think, and get away from Joshua. She needed somewhere else to go.

She sucked all her courage back into her lungs on a long, deep breath. “No, thank you, Garnett.” Her eyes looked past the butler, her mind reaching for ideas. Then she remembered Garnett’s timely interruption. “Thank you for your intervention. I am grateful.”

“Your Grace,” he accepted, his voice full of compassion. “If you have need of anything, you will ring?” Then he bowed once more and left.

Jane stood. Her body was tense and her thoughts raced. She began pacing the hearth rug, crossing back and forth, her hands clasped at her waist. The sound of Joshua’s carriage pulling away permeated the windows.

She had thought this property secure, a place which would be a home at last. She had rented it only last week and moved in but two days ago, and Number Three, The Circle, Bath, was the answer to her prayers, the supposed beginning of a new and independent life. Joshua had proved her wrong. No doubt Messrs Brampton and Bailey, Hector’s solicitors, who had arranged her tenancy, had passed on her forwarding address. It had never occurred to her Joshua would follow.

She’d vacated the entailed property, which had become Joshua’s, within a week, allowing the new Duke, his wife, and eight children to take up residence. But it seemed having his father’s sprawling country estate and his town mansion, as well as a number of other smaller holdings and all the tenancies and income which went with them, was not enough.

Of course, a man in his father’s mould completely, Joshua wanted it all, and he wanted her to have nothing. But let him bully her as much as he wished. “I will not give in.”

Stopping before the mirror over the mantelpiece, she looked at her sad, pathetic reflection. She was gaunt, her skin sallow and grey, large dark circles rimmed her eyes, but then she had slept very little since Hector’s sudden death four weeks ago. She had arranged the funeral and played sorrowful widow at his wake, while neither Joshua nor his wife had made any effort to attend.

Joshua had severed all ties with his father the day the old Duke had married Jane. Since then, her stepson had taken the greatest pleasure in victimising her, including making several indecent propositions.

Yet when Hector was alive, Joshua had never entered their home.

Her eyes faced her reflection, Jane Grey, the Dowager Duchess of Sutton. A dowager at the ripe old age of six and twenty. It was ludicrous. It had always been ludicrous marrying a man more than four times her age with a son over twenty years her senior. But her parents had thought only of the title and their financial security. They hadn’t given a fig for her happiness. She had been bartered off for profit.

Finally, happiness was in reach. But Joshua was snatching it from her grasp once more. She was in equal measure angry and afraid.

He had the estates. They would make another fortune in time and plenty to live on. Why could he not leave her alone?

Oh, she wished her parents were alive. She would have run to them and let them share the hell they’d crafted.

Pressing her fingers to her forehead, she caught her sharp emerald gaze reflected in the mirror. Her almond-shaped eyes shone. She frowned in self-deprecation. Despite her current worn and sickly look, she was still beautiful. She did not feel in the least vain to recognise it. To her, it had been a simple and sorrowful fact for years, no blessing. Her unusual colouring, her jet-black, spiralling hair, her honeyed skin tone and, most of all, her vivid green eyes, were all at fault.

As Sutton’s wife, her beauty had drawn constant attention. It was a gift from her ancestors – so her mother had once told Jane, glowing with pride. She came from a distant line of Spanish nobility.

Jane saw little to be proud of today. Beauty was a curse. It attracted men like Hector. Men who wanted to acquire it.

He’d sought eternal youth through an innocent, young woman in her sixteenth year and he’d drained Jane’s life from her. She was an empty shell now. That blind, ignorant girl died the night her seventeenth year commenced. The woman who faced her now was born when she’d stood before an altar and promised herself to a man four times her age.

But it was useless thinking of the past; she could not change it. The only thing she was certain of was her future would not be under her stepson’s rule.

Jane turned and paced back across the rug. She thought of Lady Rimes, Violet. The woman Jane had lovingly named the wicked widow. Last winter in Bath, when Hector had visited the spa to take the waters, Jane had snatched moments to escape and formed an unlikely and rare friendship with Violet. Violet was everything Jane was not, and the reason Jane had come to Bath. She’d hoped Violet would be here. It had taken one look in the register book at the pump room to realise her hopes were naïve.

This was not winter. The month of May meant the ton, England’s elite society, were in London; of course Violet was there.

But Jane knew Violet would help her. They’d sought each other out numerous times last winter. Violet had made Jane laugh for the first time in years, and when Jane had left Bath, her friend had begged Jane to visit whenever she wished.

Then this is my answer.

If she lived with Violet, surely Joshua would not dare barge into the house. Every insult he’d thrown had been out of the earshot of society. He picked his moments carefully. Violet’s presence would hold him at bay until Jane could find a pathway forward.

Impatient suddenly, she strode to the door, the black muslin skirt of her high-waist gown with its fashionable empire line, slashing against her legs, restricting her hurried and determined steps. When she reached the door, she looked out into the hall.

Garnett stood beside the front door. “Garnett, would you have Meg fetch my pelisse and bonnet? I am going out, and while I am out, please hire a post-chaise and team to transport me to London, and have Meg pack. I will be leaving tomorrow.”

The Pump Room’s director would know Violet’s address.

The butler bowed stiffly.

Chapter Two

Jane’s gaze swept the spectacle of the Duchess of Weldon’s spring Ball. The room was flooded with shimmering, spinning colours as she watched the dancers, the debutantes in white muslins, and their mamas and chaperones wearing every shade of the rainbow and beyond. Gentlemen punctuated the spectacle in formal black, crisply starched white cravats and silk stockings; their only show of frivolity, the glinting embroidery on their waistcoats.

It was a beautiful sight, and all the glamour was reflected in shards of light, spinning and flickering from the crystal prisms of glass dangling from the chandeliers above, and from mirrors which lined the ballroom above head height. The orchestra played a merry country tune, and the dancers bounced and stepped in time, skirts swaying. Laughter, chatter, and the sound of their footsteps filled the stifling air.

Jane had never been to a ball in London until recently. Access to the splendour of this society ritual should have been hers by right as a duchess, but Hector had preferred small, crude affairs for entertainment. He had not held balls, nor attended them, and so, nor had she.

It all appeared surreal to her now, a place of dreams. Yet she’d existed in this world of illusion for over two weeks. It was Violet’s everyday life. Jane was still overawed by it. She wished for her friend’s air of confidence.

For the past two weeks, Jane had studied Violet’s every movement, longing to gain both town polish and society’s approval. To date, they had eluded her. Of course, wearing black did not help. She should not even be on the social round. She ought to be at home, tucked up in bed and reading a book, acting out the role of deepest mourning. But if she obeyed that unwritten law, then she would be at the mercy of Joshua.

Besides, Violet, the model on whom Jane was moulding her own image, did not give a whit for society’s conventions, and no one seemed to pay any attention to Violet’s blatant misdemeanours. Violet’s favourite saying was, “Society’s rules are only there to be broken.” She put no store at all by them and persistently urged Jane to just put off her blacks and face the indignation, weighting her argument by pointing out Jane was now a wealthy widow and she need not pander to the ton’s condescension. Violet also said it was only the women who’d care. The men would not give a damn. They would be too busy being intrigued by another merry widow entering the fray.

Jane was not that brave. Yet she did not doubt Violet’s perception. Everywhere they went, men glanced sideways, implying their interest.

Jane had not come to town to become embroiled with another man though. She had come to town to escape one. At least that, to date, had been successful.

“Jane, dear, I know you do not wish to dance while in mourning; would you care for cards?”

Violet’s words stirred Jane from her reverie. She turned to her friend and smiled. “Truly, Violet, I do not mind at all if you wish to dance. I am quite happy to sit it out alone.”

Violet’s sole purpose in life was bringing men to her heel; she kept them on an invisible leash. She’d had numerous affairs, and made no secret of them. Jane thought such things too risqué.

Yet observing Violet’s intrigues had stirred new emotions in Jane. She noticed the muscular turn of a man’s calf and his broad shoulders and slender hips far more than she had before.

“Lady Rimes, you will, of course, allow me to take your hand for the waltz.” Lord Sparks, a third son, a very attractive man, a little older than Jane, bowed over Violet’s hand.

Jane turned to gaze at the gathering dancers, ignoring the caressing forefinger she had seen him slip inside her friend’s glove beneath her wrist. Jane knew Lord Sparks. He was one of Violet’s long-standing flirts and a man of excessive qualities according to her friend’s indiscreet descriptions.

His attention turned to Jane.

He had an unabashed beauty and an impressive figure. The dancing glimmer in his eyes made Jane blush. She dropped a slight curtsy. He took her hand, but his grip was formal, not testing any of convention’s boundaries. “Your Grace, it is a pleasure to see you again. I hope you do not mind if I steal your friend away for a while?”

Matching his broad smile, Jane answered, “How could I possibly deny either of you? Of course I do not mind.”

“You are very kind, Your Grace.” He bowed, then turned to Violet and extended his hand. “Lady Rimes?”

Violet took it and let him draw her away, sending Jane a jovial smile over her shoulder, as if to say she would not be long.

To give her fingers something to do, Jane applied her black lace fan in a swift sweep beneath her chin and looked up at the call of a new arrival. The footman positioned at the head of the stairs, rapped his staff on the wooden floor and announced the guest whose name was swept away by the tune of the Venetian waltz flooding the room. Yet when the imposing male stepped forward, Jane’s heart stopped, as did the movement of her fan.

Lord Robert Marlow, the eleventh Earl of Barrington, was the last person on earth she wished to meet. Or perhaps – her heart set up a wild and anxious rhythm – he was the person she most wished to. But not like this, not in her blacks, when she did not look her best.

Blushing and lifting her fan a little, hiding the lower half of her face, Jane set it back into motion, cooling her hot skin and peering over its top, unable to tear her eyes away from him. She had not seen him for years, not since they had both been young, innocent and naïve. He looked different, more confident, stronger, more handsome too, and taller, and broader.

He surveyed the gathering from his vantage point at the top of the stairs as though he assessed and judged everyone.

She’d considered this meeting thousands of times in the years since their last and she’d pictured herself armoured in sophistication, someone he would respect and admire. Yet, now, she felt completely the opposite: unworthy and unsure.

The gulf he’d left in her life ripped open wider. He was magnificent – she insignificant. If he’d been attractive as a nineteen-year-old youth, he was a demigod as a man in his late twenties. His physique was muscular, yet lean and athletic.

His hand rose and swept long fingers through his chestnut-coloured hair, swiping a loose lock from his brow. A gesture she had seen him do a hundred times as a child.

Still, he did not move, just looked, watching, appearing self-absorbed.

His confidence had not been there in the zealous youth, full of adventure and expectation.

She felt tears in her eyes and an ache in her chest, inspired by the could-have-beens and if-onlys which had haunted her throughout her married life.

It was a long time since Robert Marlow held her dear. In the intervening years, he’d toured the continent, establishing a reputation in the vices of a gentleman. His prowess in the sexual arts was renowned. He was no longer the young man she’d adored. He was a very different beast, one whom she’d no experience or knowledge to understand.

When he’d returned to claim his father’s estate a few years ago, his reputation had endured. He was one of, if not the most, profligate rakes in the ton.

She’d never been able to stop herself seeking his name in the gossip columns of the papers Hector left lying on the breakfast table.

Robert’s gaze passed across the dancers and reached towardss her. Jane turned, covering her face with the fan, hiding. She needed to regain command of her wits.

Her feet led to the refreshment room, where groups and couples stood with glasses in their hands, and servants hovered around the tables bearing the giant bowls of punch and orgeat. The sweet scent of almond and orange blossom permeated her senses as a footman held out a silver tray and offered her a glass. She refused, waving a hand and walking on towardss a door in the far wall.

She knew it opened into the hall. She would go to the ladies’ retiring room. She was in no state to face the ghost of her past when she had yet to master the demon of her present.

“Oh!”

As if summoned, when she stepped through into the hall, the very man she had come to the capital to escape was there, blocking her path.

“Jane, are you going somewhere? Perhaps I could accompany you?” He posed it as a question, but she knew he meant to give her no choice, as the oppressive size of the current Duke of Sutton, Joshua Grey, her stepson, presented a solid barrier.

She stepped back so she could look him in the eye, rather than face his cravat, and used the moment to assess her situation. Two footmen stood by the front door, and the hall was a thoroughfare for a number of gossiping women, passing to and from the retiring room.

She met the silent, venomous anger in Joshua’s eyes and swallowed her inner panic. “I do not recall giving you permission to use my given name, Your Grace.”

“I did not ask your permission, Jane.” His fingers gripped her elbow, and although she discreetly tried to pull away, his strength was beyond hers. There was nothing she could do but follow his lead, unless she kicked and screamed, and she did not wish to make a fuss; it was better for appearance’s sake that her fear went unnoticed. Joshua would not attempt violence in a public place.

Would he?

He drew her through an open door beside them, into the shadows of the Duke of Weldon’s library. Then he shut the door and pressed her back against it, his hands gripping her shoulders, his thumbs and fingers incredibly close to her neck.

“Did you think you’d escaped me, Jane?”

No, she’d known it was only a reprieve. “I have no need to escape you, Your Grace. I am merely visiting a friend.” The defiance in her voice was entirely at odds with her racing heartbeat, and he knew it; the pad of his thumb caressed the pulsing vein in her neck. But she refused to let fear paralyse her. She had endured enough years of this. She would not suffer any more. She would not give in.

His gaze dropped, descending to her cleavage.

She felt her breasts press against the low neckline of her gown as she snatched a sharp, deep breath. But before he had the opportunity to react, she stole the chance of his distraction and twisted free, slipping beneath his arm.

She could not escape the room; he stood before the door. Instead, she backed away, watching him all the time, setting about ten feet between them.

“Jane.” His voice was conciliatory and coaxing. “When will you accept you shall never win, and give me my inheritance?”

“Never. And you must accept that, and leave me alone!” she hissed.

“No, Jane?” His white smile breached the low light of the dark room. “Perhaps there are ways I could persuade you.”

Her heart stopped and her mouth dried.

“I have always found you attractive, you know. I understand a little of my father’s obsession. Perhaps I will let you keep some of his fortune if you are good to me. Would you be good to me, Jane?”

No. Bile rose in her throat. She swallowed it back as cold sweat dampened her palms. “I would die before I let you touch me.”

“Do not give me ideas, Jane.”

A shiver ran up her spine. “I would rather sleep with a hundred men than you!”

She had gone too far. Like a whiplash, he moved forward, snatching for her as she tried to dodge his grasp and run about him. She failed. He caught her upper arm in a vice-like grip and drew her body hard against his chest. His arm was like an iron bar as it wrapped about her waist, and his other hand grasped her jaw, anchoring it, forcing her face to turn to him. His teeth nipped her lower lip, then her neck.

“If I want you, you will not deny me,” he whispered in a threat by her ear.

She tried to hide the shiver which ran across her skin, but she knew she failed, and fear constricted her chest, trapping the air so her breaths were shallow.

He pulled away a little, the white of his eyes glimmering in the darkness as his glare reiterated the threat. “And even if I do not want you, I’ll not let another have you. So, if you have come to London to seek a protector, you’ll find none. I will make that certain.”

He thrust her away, his grip releasing her so fiercely she fell to the floor, landing on her derriere with her hands at her sides. She looked up, hating to be so disadvantaged. He leaned over her. “Do you understand me, Jane?”

Oh yes, she understood. She understood she had never wanted anything more than to take every man in town to her bed except for him. Impotent and unable to find a single word in retort, she was left to watch as he turned away and strode out the door without looking back.

Her limbs trembled, and her heart still thumped a tattoo in her chest as she stood up. She brushed the creases from her skirt and fought for calm, then touched her hair, checking for loose pins. It did not feel too disturbed; she could fix it upstairs. At the door, she held still a moment, regaining her poise and catching her breath before she left the library. When she stepped out, she let herself show nothing but fashionable disinterest, denying that anything had occurred.

She crossed the hall and climbed the stairs, refusing to look for any reaction in the faces of the footmen who must have speculated on what had gone on in their lordship’s library.

In the haven of the ladies’ retiring room, Jane took a deep breath. Luck was still not on her side. She had prayed it would be empty; it was not. Three women sat under the attendance of their maids, and Jane needed to maintain the illusion of self-control.

“Your Grace?” Violet’s ever attentive and highly skilled lady’s maid stepped forward.

“Gail, please check my hair. I lost a pin or two I think.”

“Sit here, Your Grace. No need to worry, it is easily fixed.”

No need to worry? Jane had not hidden her distress as well as she’d thought then. In the mirror, she saw her skin was excessively pale, and her eyes were bright and still dilated with shock. The maid unwound the curls then reset and re-pinned them.

“Did you see the Earl of Barrington?” the woman next to Jane whispered to her friend. “He’s such a stallion. I heard Verity took him to her bed. I wish he would ask me.”

The woman’s friend laughed and her fair skin coloured. She flicked open her fan and wafted air across her face. “Last summer, he made me an offer at Vauxhall. Unfortunately, before I could agree, my Charles arrived to drag me away. Even I would consider adultery for a man like that.”

“He has every woman dangling from his hook,” the third woman chimed up across the room, “with his insufferable refusal to let any affair stretch beyond a single night. He is playing with us. It is his little game. He knows he entices us all to win him for more. He sets us one against another, challenging us to break his nomadic ways. Barrington is a wicked taunt, and yet, such a handsome and skilled one none of us can refuse.”

Another round of laughter, then the women began to rise, preparing to return to the ball.

“That will do, Gail,” Jane dismissed the maid, rising too, eager to accompany the women rather than walk alone. “Thank you,” she said in apology for her haste to the maid’s lowered head as the woman bobbed a curtsy. Then Jane turned and followed the other women from the room, two steps behind.

“I know if I had captured his attention, I would not have lost it for the world, and your Charles would do nothing even if you succumbed to Lord Barrington’s attentions. All the men are afraid of him. Rumour has it he killed someone,” the first woman confided to her friend, with a tap of her fan on her companion’s arm.

The third woman leaned closer, whispering conspiratorially, “I heard he currently favours Lady Baxter. He has been following her for nights.”

At the foot of the stairs, Jane left their trail to re-enter the ballroom via the route she’d used to leave it. A few moments later, she was weaving through the crush and glancing about, looking for Violet. When Jane reached the front of the crowd, her eyes scanned the dancers and the people at the edge watching. She did not spot Violet. Instead, her gaze struck the tall man who she’d sought to avoid before confronting Joshua. He leaned forward to speak into the ear of his partner, and his hair fell across his brow. The action was so familiar.

Robert.

Yet the hungry look he bestowed on the slim blonde as his head rose was foreign. His hand slipped from her waist to discreetly brush the curve of her breast.

He was so familiar, and yet, in other ways, it was like looking at a stranger.

“You set your mark high, Jane, if you aim for the Earl of Barrington as your first conquest.”

Jane’s cheeks heated with embarrassment as she spun about and faced Violet.

“I was not … ” Jane began then realised her denial probably made her appear guilty and halted. “I was looking for you.”

“While enjoying the view?” Violet’s eyebrows lifted as she laughed.

Despite their friendship, Jane had not shared her current, or former, woes. She did not wish to burden Violet with her problems. No one in the ton was aware of the history between the Dowager Duchess of Sutton and the Earl of Barrington, and it was far better left that way. What little had passed between them had been long ago, and only Robert’s younger brother was left to comment on their friendship. Their parents were long deceased, and Edward, Robert’s brother, had known nothing of their short affair.

“Jane, I have never seen you look so intently at a man before,” Violet said, her eyes turning to Robert. “But heavens, do not look now, for I think the feeling is mutual.”

Instinctively, Jane’s gaze swung back and met his. It was locked on her, reaching through the scores of dancers, capturing her in a steady observation which seemed to question her existence.

“I said, do not look,” Violet whispered in Jane’s ear as Jane found herself transfixed.

He was so astonishingly handsome. It was in the strong line of his jaw, the curve of his brow and his nose. He made her knees feel weak just as he’d done when she was younger. At fifteen, she’d followed him as though he was the sun to her flowering womanhood, but she had not realised his full potential then. Now, it was blatant.

She could not tell what he thought of her. There was no hint of emotion in the dark eyes holding hers. His face was blank and unsmiling, yet his gaze did not leave hers as he followed the steps of the dance, crossing with his partner.

“My, my,” Violet whispered. “There is quite a spark between the two of you, isn’t there?”

Jane tore her gaze away and looked at Violet. “Do not be ridiculous. He is merely staring because I am the only woman in the room wearing black. He probably thinks me improper.”

“The Earl of Barrington?” A short bark of laughter left Violet’s throat. “He is not shockable. He is scandalous. A titled gentleman can get away with murder, and he often does.” Violet’s brows lifted again, and Jane understood the implication. After all, she had read the frequent rumours of illicit affairs and forbidden duels which constantly surrounded him.

Remembering Joshua’s earlier threat though, the thought of a gentleman being beyond the law was no comfort.

With his usual skill for timely appearance, she saw Joshua in the crowd behind Violet. He stood in the corner, arms folded over his chest, observing Jane with a scowl.

Wicked, indecent ideas began forming in Jane’s head. Joshua would hate it if she took a rake like Robert to her bed, and she would so love to rub it in Joshua’s face and prove his threats could not restrain her.

“Please, tell me you are not contemplating it?” Violet whispered, her voice dropping to a shocked tone. “I know he is rumoured to be quite brilliant in bed, but he is not a man to toy with. He has a reputation for being callous. I prefer a man who will at least pretend to pamper me a little, like Sparks. Your Earl goes out with an aim for seduction, takes what he wishes and walks away.”

“He is hardly my Earl, Violet. All I have done is look at him, and all he has done is look at me.”

Jane glanced back at the dancers and found the man in question still looking.

He was watching her intently with complete disregard for his dancing partner who, a moment before, had held all his attention. His actions certainly bore out Violet’s words.

Yet the Robert of old had been a kind and tender-hearted youth. Surely he could not be so changed? If she were to take up with anyone, Robert would be her obvious choice. Despite Violet’s warning, Jane still felt she could trust him. But his fixed stare was predatory. It stole her breath away and sent her heart kicking into a sharp beat.

“I think he is more than looking, Jane. He is busy eyeing up his next course. And you, my dear, should armour yourself, for if I am not mistaken, that man shall soon be on the prowl and at your door.”

Violet’s words should have scared Jane, but instead, she felt an unfamiliar stir of excitement and expectation.

“Come, I am of a mind to save you. Let us seek a glass of punch.”

Jane complied with Violet’s proposal, but as Jane turned away, she took one last look across her shoulder and faced that powerful gaze again. His eyes followed her movement like a hunting wolf.

She turned away, a shiver of anticipation running down her spine.

Robert’s gaze tracked Her Grace, Jane Grey, as she disappeared amongst the crowd. The only woman who had the power to disturb his equilibrium had just appeared from nowhere and was now walking away from him, again. He’d been on the path of Lady Baxter for days, and he’d been winning, but now, he’d probably need to regroup and start again, having ignored her for nearly the entire dance. Yet he simply could not draw his attention back to the luscious blonde with whom he danced. His thoughts had been captured by the singular, familiar beauty of the brunette across the room. Jane.

Lady Baxter had given him a rare opportunity for diversion by persistently refusing his attempts to persuade her. He’d been enjoying the chase. Yet now he’d seen Jane, it was like holding up a rock to a diamond. Jane’s superior beauty had always outshone every other woman in his head, and now he’d seen the reality again, he doubted any woman could ever appease the constant need in him for her, for Jane.

The melody of the dance ceased. Robert turned to Lady Baxter and bowed over her hand. “Forgive me.” He suddenly felt angry and frustrated. With no further explanation, he let her hand fall, then walked past her in the direction Jane had gone. If he was being obvious, he did not care.

He’d heard Sutton had died and realised the implication – Jane was free. Yet he’d not expected to see her in town so soon, not mere weeks after the man was buried, and he’d had no intention of denting his pride by seeking her out.

In fact, when he’d thought of her, and he would not even admit to himself how many times he had, he had always imagined his desire would be for revenge, not her. Yet here he was, acting like a dog, chasing after her bloody bones.

His superior height gave him an advantage when he reached the open double doors of the refreshment room. He spotted Jane easily. She stood at the edge of a table, holding a glass which she sipped from in between speaking. While he watched, Lord Sparks approached and bowed to Jane, but his attention seemed focused on the woman Jane was with, Lady Violet Rimes.

Violet was not to Robert’s taste, nor did he think he was hers. They had rarely shared more than two words. Yet a renowned flirt was not the sort of woman he’d expected to see the Jane he’d once thought he’d known and loved, with. Yet that Jane was not the Jane who’d married Sutton. That Jane had merely been his fiction.

Did I ever know her? He would not have thought for one moment the woman … Woman? In honesty, now, when he looked back, she’d been little more than a girl. But still, that girl had callously tossed him aside for a man more than four times her age. How she'd lived her life since, Robert had no idea. For all he knew, she’d slept with every man in Suffolk.

What would he make of that? So many emotions seemed to be vying for control within him, he could not say whether the idea was gratifying, arousing, or disgusting.

Jane’s eyes turned towards him as her companion engaged Sparks in conversation.

He had forgotten how the ground could shift beneath his feet at just a simple look from Jane. He’d always thought her exceptionally pretty, even outstanding, with her unfashionably dark and sensual look. Yet now, she seemed to have truly grown into her beauty, her features were more mature, defined. The aura of it hung about her.

Holding her gaze, he gave her a lilting smile, not moving from his position at the open door. Would she come to him, or would she wait to see if he would go to her? He was an expert at this game of cat and mouse with women.

Unmoving, he waited for the next steps to play out as they would. It was her turn. He’d followed, and now she had to decide how she would react. His gaze lowered, following the line of her dress. She was slimmer than he remembered. The high bodice tucked beneath her breasts presented a clear definition of her smallish but beautifully lush bosom. There was ample to cup in his palm with little unneeded excess. A memory of his hands at her waist, her lips meeting his, sent a shaft of painful arousal to his groin. He had been almost as innocent as her in those days, even though he was the elder by three years.

His eyes met hers again. They were distinctly green, the colour of emeralds. He’d particularly revered their unusual shade in his youth as something individual to Jane. He’d seen no one else with eyes like hers then. Though now he’d travelled widely, he’d seen the same a few times in other women, but even so, when visions of Jane disturbed his sleep or threatened his waking thoughts, it was always those green, almond-shaped eyes which haunted him. Her broad, genuine smile had charmed him as a boy, too, and brought him to his knees at her feet when he was a youth. Well, he had learned his lesson there. He’d never made the same mistake again, never trusted another woman so openly.

She’d made no move towards him, and suddenly, he was in a mood to drag this out and not bend. He did not doubt for a moment that eventually she would be too intrigued not to seek him out. Disengaging his gaze, he turned away. He had lived without her for years; what did he care if she chose not to rush?

His feet carried him back into the ballroom, and his gaze searched for Lady Baxter.

“Robert.” Light fingers caught the sleeve of his black evening coat.

So she did intend to rush after all.

He turned back with a lazy smile, feeling incredibly smug to realise his skills had even worked on the ice maiden. When they’d parted, she’d held all the aces. Well now, the whole pack of cards was in his hands.

“Jane?”

When Robert turned to face her, Jane felt the floor drop away beneath her. If she had found his looks imposing from a distance, close to him, with that rakish smile lifting his lips, his handsomeness was devastating. It took her breath away. She sought to speak, but no sound came out. In his shadow, she was gauche.

“You had something to say to me, I presume?”

“Yes, I … ” Words erupted and then dried up. She shut her mouth and drew herself together. What had she come to say to him? She had just seen him turn away and knew she could not let him go without speaking. Say something. “I – I … ” She stopped again, then suddenly grasped control of her stray wits. “Could we go somewhere to talk?”

“Because you do have something to say to me?” His languid voice, his falling smile, and the suddenly intent look in his eyes implied she could have nothing to say he wished to hear.

She would not apologise to him. What had happened had not been her choice. She’d longed for him to save her even as she had said the words that turned him away. He had not come to her defence, and she’d hoped beyond reason he would come back, right up to the moment when she’d stood before the altar in Sutton’s small church, feeling bewildered and betrayed, and said, "I will."

Common sense returning, she dropped a slight curtsy in parting. “No, of course not. I was wrong to think we have anything to speak of. Forgive me for interrupting you, my Lord.” She turned away.

He caught her elbow and stopped her, his grip gentle. “You confound me, Jane. There was something you wished to say.”

The truth struck her. It was in his expectant tone. He knew of the magnetic tug which had drawn her across the room. “No, I’m sorry. There is nothing we can have to say.” She stepped back as he let go of her arm, and then saw Joshua across Robert’s shoulder, observing everything.

“Nothing?” Robert prompted in a deep burr.

If she left Robert now, she would face Joshua’s recrimination. The threat was written on Joshua’s face. She needed to get out of the ballroom, out of the house, and away from the reach of her stepson. Her eyes met Robert’s dark-brown intense gaze, the central onyx pools glinted in the candlelight and offered more than conversation. Spiralling warmth stirred in Jane’s stomach. “But perhaps we could find somewhere private.” There, the hint was laid down, and in her mind, Jane thought of Violet at her most flirtatious and tried to act the same. She lowered her eyelids a little, veiling her eyes.

God, that coquettish look heated his blood. Well, the mystery of her intervening years was answered; she knew how to play the game, and she played it fast. Yet there was still a question in his thoughts, a nagging doubt about her. She’d seemed almost as shy as a virgin, at first. But he supposed the cause of that lay at the door of their previous acquaintance, probably guilt or embarrassment, which he’d mistaken for innocence in his pathetic need to see and know his fictional Jane again. But even if he could never have his fictional Jane, it was still satisfying to know he could have her. He could take her for one night and finally free his blood of the poison her desertion had injected into his veins years before.

Oh yes, he would enjoy seeing her face in the morning when he was the one to say it has been nice, but goodbye. Was he heartless enough to want vengeance? Hell, yes! Too right, I am. He would dine on it for weeks. He could make the woman a laughing stock, if he chose, her husband but weeks dead, and yet, perhaps he was not cruel enough to go that far. He surprised himself. He had thought not an ounce of conscience left in his beleaguered honour.

“Very well, then.” His words were blunt, but he smiled, speculating on the pleasure for them both. Bending to her ear, he whispered, “To your house, or mine, sweetheart?” Touching her elbow as he spoke, to add pressure and steer her from the room, he felt her jump and saw pink flood her cheeks.

“I am staying with Lady Rimes … ” she faltered, her voice implying an intention to offer an excuse.

He was not about to let her articulate it. He’d set his mind on this now. He was not going to let her balk.

“Then it is mine. We’ll take my carriage.” He refused to let her deny him.

She shook her head. “I must tell Violet. She will wonder—”

“Leave a message with a footman. He’ll pass it on.”

He let go of her elbow and splayed his hand on the small of her back, applying an encouraging pressure to move her forward. She shifted and pulled away from his touch, walking a little ahead and separating them in the crowd.

He assumed she did it to conceal their joint exit, which meant she was ashamed to be seen with him. The thought made him irritable again.

Reaching the hall, he drew closer, his wicked and vengeful demons wanting to disconcert her – the part of him that was still hurt and angry at the way she had discarded him so easily years before. He settled his fingers on the curve of her waist in a possessive fashion. Her muscles jumped. Ignoring it, he walked on with his arm about her.

They passed four women returning from the retiring room. She kept her gaze fixed towards the door.

“The Dowager Duchess of Sutton’s cloak.” His voice echoed in the space about them. One footman disappeared. “And send for my carriage. Oh, and once we have left, please tell Lady Rimes the Duchess has gone.” Robert smiled, telling the man their reason for leaving.

When the footman returned, he held up her cloak, but Robert claimed it and put it on for her, stealing the opportunity to brush the skin at her nape and across her neckline from the back of her gown over her shoulders.

She shivered, and he saw her fingers tremble as she tied it.

It was pleasing to know he could discompose her. In fact, the thought sent his blood thrumming in his veins and a weight into his groin.

How would it feel if she shivered from his touch and his kiss when they lay naked?

The muffled sound of his carriage drawing up outside penetrated the door and his thoughts. A footman opened it and stepped back. Robert splayed his hand across her back again and felt her muscles tighten further. Her head was high and her back straight, apparently ignoring the footman’s speculation.

James, Robert’s groom, stood before them, holding the carriage door open. The step was already lowered.

Robert nodded up at his driver, Parkin, before taking Jane’s hand and helping her ascend. Once she was inside, Robert turned and whispered instructions to James, then followed her in, climbing the step and ducking inside.

He neither lit the internal lamp nor drew the blinds. Instead, he let the gas lamps in the street give them a little light, but there were not many, and the carriage was frequently thrown from light into shadow as it rolled forward.

She’d taken a seat in the opposite corner, her back still stiff, her fingers clasped on her lap, and her eyes turning to the view from the far window.

He did not break the silence, but leaned against the window beside him, propping his shoulder against the pane of glass, his elbow resting on the narrow sill and his chin on his fist. He lifted one foot to the seat on the far side, leaving his knee bent. But he did not look out the window; he looked at Jane.

Lord, she was beautiful. At times, he’d thought her beauty embroidered from his patchy memories, as much of a fiction as her personality had been. Yet she was sitting before him now – it had never been a fabrication.

He’d spent his entire life since Jane honouring the beauty of women, learning to appreciate their every form, and Jane was the pattern card he judged them all by. But when he’d appreciated a woman’s body and compared it to Jane’s, it had only ever been an imagined view. He’d never seen her naked, never touched her beyond a superficial fondle. She’d been innocent, so had he, and he’d treasured it then, and treasured her.

Now, though? Now, they were experienced, mature players of the game. Now, he would know if she was all he’d dreamt.

The thought was disarming. In a way, he almost did not wish to know. He did not want his blissful illusion shattered. No, he’d loved a fictional Jane, and perhaps he had idolised a fictional Jane all through these empty years, too. Did he really want to know the truth?

She neither moved nor spoke, her eyes on the street, but he was certain she was not looking at anything in particular, just away from him.

He remained silent, too. He was in no mood to be conciliatory or ease her path.

If she’d been his intended companion, Lady Baxter, he would have had the woman pressed down upon the seat by now and his hands up her skirt.

A smile pulled at his lips. Sometimes he did not even get a woman as far as Bloomsbury Square before he had taken what he wished and set her down.

But with Jane, he required more than that. He intended to savour each moment, to learn every inch of her body and consign it to memory. It would take hours of slow appreciation to satisfy the thirst which had been in his blood for years.

His mind began crafting images, the ideas, the method of her seduction, and the achievement of their completion. Oh yes, he intended to enjoy this, and he intended to enjoy it in the comfort of a bed, unrestrained by time or space. The weight in his groin grew denser merely at the thought of touching her.

His impatience beginning to build, he reached up and tapped the carriage roof twice, ordering Parkin to stir up the horses.

Chapter Three

The carriage lurched forward a moment after he’d tapped the roof.

Jane grasped the strap.

He watched her with such brooding intensity, she felt as though she’d leapt from the frying pan into the fire. Of course, she’d realised abruptly when he began leading her from the ballroom, he was not the man she’d known before. Yet since they’d sat in the carriage, numerous memories of him sulking as a youth had spun through her head.

In childhood, his temper had always shown in this moody disengagement, when he’d not gotten what he wished, or hadn’t won, or been unable to have the final say.

But surely, he was getting his way now, wasn’t he? Or did he expect her to do more? How on earth would Violet behave in this situation? Should Jane speak? Should she move closer? She had no idea what to do or say. She had never been party to anything more than the light flirtation they’d shared before.

The silence stretched between them. She looked out the window and listened to the low rumble of the iron-wrapped carriage wheels striking the cobble, the horses’ hooves hitting the stone, the creak of the wooden shafts beneath the carriage, the encouraging call of their driver, and the crack of his whip.

She couldn’t stand it any longer.

Her head spinning to face him, she said, “A penny for them?”

His slouching silhouette was etched against the passing gaslight and silver moonlight that reached into the carriage as bars of light ran across him then disappeared. He was the epitome of all she’d heard and seen of a town rake.

“I’m sure if I spoke them, you’d blush.”

“As it is too dark for you to see, why would I care?” Her words were braver than she felt, yet if his thoughts were of her, she wanted to know them.

“I am thinking of how I shall make love to you. What do you like, Jane? What makes you sigh with pleasure? What brings you to conclusion?”

His tall, lean frame unfolded from his slumped contemplative pose, and his foot fell back to the floor. Then he slid closer and leaned forward, taking her hands in his while his elbows rested on his knees. His thumbs began gently stroking across her palms. She felt it all the way to her stomach, and a deep longing, a thirst or hunger, settled in the back of her throat.

“I shall begin by touching you, everywhere.” The movement of his thumbs slowed and became more sensual. “Then I wondered how you’ll taste.”

Her heart hammered, and the ache in her throat descended to her stomach. She wanted all of that. Did it make her wicked? She wanted to share it with him.

“Jane.” He brought her to her senses. “What do you want?”

She wanted to reach her hands to his face and draw his mouth to hers, to kiss away all that had happened before, to go back to him and the hopes they’d once shared. To be in his arms forever. For the rest of the world and her past to simply melt away and become a forgotten history. Could he give her that? Perhaps for an hour or two, if she accepted what he was offering, but not forever. She’d lost forever with him. Yet she could take what he was willing to give. She could have now.

What would Violet say? She wondered. How would Violet respond to this?

Violet would not merely sit here waiting to be done to. Violet would take the lead. Jane leaned forward, too, and pressed her lips to his. She felt his lift into a smile.

She pulled away, but he whispered, “Show me then, if you wish. Do not stop.” His grip on her hands pulled her back.

Her heart raced like a hammer ringing on an anvil as she freed her hands and curved one about his nape while the other rested against his cheek before sliding into his hair. She licked her lips as she leaned forward to kiss him again, and her tongue touched his mouth. He groaned, and the sound emboldened her. She touched the tip of her tongue against his lips as she kissed him, and, as if he could not resist it, his mouth opened, and his tongue touched hers, sweeping into her mouth as his hands rested on her back. Then his mouth pressed more firmly against hers, their lips open and their tongues fencing as he tasted her, just as he’d promised.

She had not known people kissed like this. He’d never kissed her like this before.

She felt the magnetic tug which had pulled her from the moment she had seen him standing at the head of the stairs in the ballroom, and moved to cross the carriage, her body arching towards him, but he gripped her arms and held her back.

“Not so fast, Jane, I don’t want to rush this. We have all night, as long as you like.”

A long breath slipped from her lungs, and her heart beat erratically as she dropped back into her seat. Had she made a mistake? She thanked God it was too dark for him to see her embarrassment.

“We’ve waited long enough for this. I’d rather savour it.” His harsh whisper filled the small space of the carriage.

He sounded frustrated with her, angry.

I did do something wrong.

Robert’s body strained against the confines of his breeches. He wanted her now, to strip her clothes away, taste and touch her, feel himself inside her, and know her body surrendered to his. He looked out the window and fought his impatience. They’d be home in fifteen minutes. She was silent again, too.

Did she want him as much as he wanted her?

Was she hungry for him, or was he just another man to her, a sexual acquaintance?

Was she just pleasure seeking, or was this about them, as it was for him?

She’d cast him aside before, stung his pride, more, given it a permanent dent. God, this was folly, tearing open this old wound, which had taken years to heal and left a scar running deep into his head and heart.

If … if? No, he’d not face the thought of a second rejection. What did he care now? He had four dozen other women who wanted him if she did not.

But here was the hub of it. Here was why he’d never truly dispelled her from his blood, because Jane was the one woman who’d turned him away. He’d spent his life since, proving no other woman could. His whole life was testament to the fact that the error had not been his. The fault lay with her.

He would make sure she did not reject him. His charm was an art form women could not refuse, wasn’t it? He’d spent bloody long enough making it so, making himself a master at this, so Jane would not refuse him again. If she did, he dare not contemplate the pain.

The carriage rolled to a halt before his home, and in a moment, James opened the door and set down the steps. Robert climbed down first and lifted his hand to take hers. Her fingers were delicate and slender. They stirred something deep inside him. He did not wish to explore the feeling. No other woman had stirred it.

He retained her fingers and led her up the steps. His butler, Jenkins, opened the door before them. Robert encouraged her to enter first and let go of her hand. She stopped, her eyes following the square rise of the staircase about the edge of the hall. It was one of those which seemed to hang in the air, without a single pillar to support it.

He pulled the bow of her cloak loose, slid the garment from her shoulders, and passed it to Jenkins. “Thank you. That will be all.”

Jenkins did not speak. He knew the protocol, as did all Robert’s household. They were to ensure his women felt secure in their discretion.

Robert bent and whispered to Jane as Jenkins walked away, “Shall we go upstairs, or would you rather seek refreshment in the drawing room first?”

Her perfume filled his nostrils, vanilla.

Robert touched her waist, felt her shiver, remembered his earlier expectation, and made the choice for her as she’d voiced no opinion. “Champagne in my chamber it is then, Jenkins.”

The butler merely nodded from across the room.

Feeling satisfied, Robert smiled and drew her towards the oak staircase.

Her eyes lifted again, apparently exploring the vast entrance hall as if awed. But he knew it could not be awe. Sutton’s must have been grander.

“Come, Jane,” he urged her on, catching up her hand.

When they reached the first floor, she was breathless.

He slowed his pace a little and squeezed the fingers gripped in his. The action stirred up a memory of being with her in the woods, where the border of his lands had joined her father’s, the two of them eagerly running through the trees, heading for their secret meeting place, then falling onto a pile of straw in a stable by the woodman’s hut. She’d been laughing.

The youth who’d been with her was not a person he knew any more, but what of that girl? She seemed different, too.

He opened the door to his chamber and let her enter first. His usual frippery greeted him, laid out just as he’d ordered. He’d forgotten all of that, all the ceremony he enlisted to aid a woman’s seduction.

Vases of white roses were spread about the room, filling the air with a heady floral perfume, and the fire had been lit to ward off a chill. It now glowed in the hearth, nearly burned out.

He smiled as he watched her absorb the scene. Her eyes were wide as they passed over the pale cream and light gold colours, the satinwood dresser and chest, the two soft leather armchairs before the hearth, the three burning candelabras on the mantel, and the fourth by his bed. Her perusal stopped as her gaze rested on the tall, wide, four-poster bed. The rich orange walnut wood shone, polished like glass. The cream covers and sheets were turned back a little.

It was the temple he worshipped at – the bliss that could be found in a bed with a woman.

He sensed she was about to turn and flee, and rested his hands on her narrow waist. He looked towards her lips, deliberately denying her the opportunity to offer any excuse to leave by not meeting her gaze, and lowered his head, whispering, “Where were we?”

His lips touched hers, and he felt them stir into movement as her hands slipped to his back then up across his shoulders and into his hair.

Her mouth was soft against his. She kissed with uncertainty and hesitation.

Because it was him, he supposed. Because it was them. But even so, she set his blood on fire, as she had done in the carriage.

He broke the kiss and left some space between them to watch his gloved hand slide up across her stomach, over her ribs and her bosom, to her neck, and then he touched her mouth. She sighed. He stripped off his gloves and threw them aside, knowing an expectant smile played on his lips.

Her gaze dropped as his hand touched her shoulder, his thumb resting on the bare flesh covering her collarbone, and he felt her shiver again when his fingers moved swiftly to release the four little buttons on her bodice.

Her breath pulled into her lungs, lifting her breasts a little.

Beneath her bodice, he tugged loose the ribbon securing the neck of her chemise, then slid his fingers inside, touching flesh. The circle of black at the centre of her eyes was a deep, inky pool, narrowing the emerald to only a slender rim.

Her eyelids fell, and a fan of long dark lashes rested on her cheek.

Her flesh was warm, and the sharp peak of her nipple pressed into his palm.

Her eyebrows had been plucked and were narrow and shapely, defining her forehead and the elegant bridge of her slim nose. Her cheekbones were high and her jawline beautifully crafted. Her appearance tilted an axis deep within him, flooding him with warmth, like hot glowing coals in his stomach. Jane. God. This was Jane.

He kissed her again, the delicate weight of her breast burning into his palm, its soft texture fluid in his fingers.

Another sigh escaped her lips, passing through their kiss.

He rained kisses along her jaw and down her neck. Then, as her head tilted sideward, he captured her nipple between finger and thumb and pinched it gently. She jumped and gasped, but it was not a displeased sound.

With his other palm at the small of her back, he bent and claimed her nipple with his mouth.

In his youth, he’d longed to do this, but then his sense of honour and his respect for her innocence had been too great. Now he would do as he wished and take whatever she gave.

A false cough echoed in the silence about them, then Jenkins said, “My Lord?”

Jane pulled away sharply and turned her back.

Robert smiled. So, the Dowager Duchess of Sutton was shy, though, as he looked at his butler, he could toss a coin for who was more embarrassed.

Robert supposed he should have shut the door, but at least Jenkins had the sense to keep his gaze lowered.

“Bring it in,” Robert stated, “and set it down beside the bed.”

The man nodded, doing Robert’s bidding with his eyes still to the floor. When he withdrew, he backed out without ever looking up.

“Will there be anything else, my Lord?” he asked from the door.

“No, Jenkins, that will be all for tonight. You may retire.”

Jenkins pointedly shut the door, and, internally, Robert laughed as he turned back to Jane.

She’d pulled her bodice back over her breast, but it still hung open, and it drew his eyes to the colour and texture of her skin. There had always been something exotic about Jane. Her skin was more ivory than cream, her hair so dark. Perhaps he’d stayed abroad because somehow being nearer to Spain, where her ancestors had come from, made him feel closer to her. He’d found many women of her ilk on the continent, but here in London, she was still rare.

He turned away and crossed the room to collect their champagne, and poured them both a drink.

When he returned, holding out a glass, she said, “Thank you,” her voice shaky and her eyes on his cravat.

She did not look at all coquettish now. She looked like the bashful, blushing fifteen-year-old bewildered by his first kiss.

He sipped his champagne and watched her do the same. Champagne was not his preference, but it was what women liked, and as what he liked was women, he drank champagne to please them.

She coughed, clearly choking on the bubbles, and set the glass down. When she straightened, her eyes finally met his again.

He discarded his glass, too, and felt her magnetism draw him closer. His fingers surrounded her chin and tilted her mouth to his.

“Should we not talk first?”

“I didn’t invite you here to talk. Your chance to talk was at the ball. You didn’t take it,” he whispered harshly against her mouth before claiming another kiss. His fingers slid her gown from her shoulders. With her arms hanging limp at her sides, it kept on going and dropped into a pool at her feet.

She wore no corset. But then he’d realised that before, when his hand had touched her back and he’d felt the slight, feminine muscle play about her spine. He would lay his hands beneath her while they made love to feel the curve and flex of her slender form as he drove himself inside her. Lord, she aroused him.

He felt her fingers pull the buttons of his evening coat, shaking.

He smiled against her lips, and, stepping back, took over the task, undoing his coat and shrugging it off before tossing it over the arm of the closest chair. When his fingers moved to the buttons of his waistcoat, her gaze lifted and met his once more, pupils wide and glimmering with desire. Once he was stripped of his waistcoat, too, she stepped forward and touched his arms, her fingers running across his shirt.

Of course, in his youth, his muscles had not been so defined.

She began untying his cravat.

Yet again, she was too slow for his liking, and he took over the task, itching to be free of his clothes and have her delicate skin against his.

She did not appear skilled in undressing men, but then she was nervous, and that probably explained it.

When his neckcloth was loose, that was thrown to the chair, too. He gripped her waist and pulled her hips to his, kissing her as he pressed against her stomach. Her lips trembled a little beneath his, but her fingers began pulling his shirt from his waistband, brushing his skin beneath it.

God he could lay her down now and take her through the slit of her drawers. But he would not. He wanted this to last. He wanted the contact of flesh against flesh.

“Jane,” he said on a sigh into her mouth as her fingers lifted his shirt. He took it off while her eyes and her fingertips skimmed over his skin, exploring every contour of his midriff and his chest, pausing to brush over his nipples before sliding to his shoulders.

“You’re magnificent,” she whispered as he tossed his shirt aside, her eyes shining.

She kissed him.

Robert laughed into her mouth, and Jane slid her fingers from his cheek into his hair. She was being naïve again. But she didn’t care. Everything he did was turning her bones to liquid.

His fingers gripped her ribs below her breasts.

She was intensely aware of every move he made. He kissed like a master. It bore no resemblance to the stumbling kisses they’d shared in their youth.

This was her beloved Robert, but Robert was a changed man.

Drugged by his kisses, she didn’t care.

Her mouth open wide beneath his; she let him plunder.

The warmth of his palms heated her breasts again, and she ached for him to take her in his mouth as he’d done before. He did not. Instead, his fingers drifted downward, caught the fabric of her chemise, then drew it up.

She lifted her arms and let him strip it off.

He threw it aside.

A sharp rush of desire spun from her stomach and pooled between her legs as his head lowered and his hands lifted her breasts.

When he dropped to his knees, she felt something inside her drop with him, a sharp, sudden spasm of beautiful pain. She felt like a goddess with Robert on his knees before her, savouring her, while her fingers sifted through his dark brown hair.

An ache burned like fire beneath her skin. She had never imagined it would be like this.

“Jane,” he whispered as he glanced up and met her gaze, his voice reverential. But then he was kissing her again, his lips pressing against her stomach as his fingertips tugged loose the ribbon of her drawers. The garment fell away. It left her naked, bar her stockings and shoes.

She shivered as his lips drifted lower, pressing against the curve of her pelvic bone while his fingers slid up the sensitive skin of her inner thigh above her garter.

Her leg muscles jolted, surprised by the progression.

But then his touch was within her. “Oh.” Her exclamation was half shock, half bliss. She clutched his hair, holding on against the sensual storm he invoked.

She felt so gauche and inept. This was Robert’s art – love play, sex – and she hadn’t a clue how to take part. He was a master. She was a novice. Yet she was learning, oh how she was learning.

His mouth touched her there, too, and her whole body jolted at the shock of his intimacy. She felt herself redden with embarrassment. This was what he’d meant in the carriage. He’d not spoken of the taste of her mouth. He’d spoken of her taste there.

She shut her eyes and just felt, letting him touch and taste.

The ache inside was growing, rising in intensity. It was too excruciating to bear this slow caress.

“This is torment,” she whispered.

He looked up.

Her fingers gripped his scalp, her fingernails sinking into his skin.

“Give it up, then,” he drawled in a deep heavy burr, his dark eyes sparkling. “Let it happen, Jane.”

Let it happen? Let what happen?

Oh, Robert, what are you doing? she wanted to scream as she felt heat race across her skin.

He was laughing internally. She could see it in his eyes as they twinkled up at her, laughing at her naïvety. God knows what expression was on her face.

Then his hand took one of hers from his hair, and he pressed a kiss into her palm before letting it go. It was the sweetest gesture, but only a pause in the momentum of his onslaught, though the heat of his kiss continued to burn in her hand.

The crescendo was rising again. She gripped his hair.

Let it happen? What!

“Oh! Robert!” Her voice broke on a sharp, desperate cry, and her nails dug into his scalp. She felt as though she shattered, reeling into a wave of what could only be described as ecstasy. It tore through her senses, swirling into her limbs like a high tide in between the rocks. The muscles in her legs quaked, and she felt weak when it passed. But this must have been what he’d spoken of, because he seemed to know she could no longer stand. He laid her down, the rug beneath her.

“Robert? I … ” She could find no words.

It didn’t matter. He hadn’t brought her here to talk.

His fingers were working a charm over her again, and his kiss did the same to her mouth.

It was coming again.

Her hips pressed upward with an instinct of their own.

She lost her breath as the fire broke out on her skin. Her hands gripped his shoulders and merely held on. He had complete control. She had no power at all.

“Oh, Robert.” She slipped into a deep pool of pleasure once more. She wanted to feel their joining, to be complete. Her fingers searched for the buttons of his flap.

“Wait. Let’s get into bed,” he whispered, giving her a lazy, heated smile.

Into bed. Anticipation ripped through her as he took her hand and helped her rise. Walking backward, he pulled her towards the bed. She recalled holding his hand when they were younger, running or walking through the woods.

He bent to lift the covers and threw them back. The sheet beneath was dotted with heads of dried lavender, and the scent lifted into the air.

She suddenly felt intensely cold, and her arm covered her breasts as she pulled her hand free of his. How could she have been such a fool? This was not about her – the flowers, the candles, the bed. He’d planned to seduce Lady Baxter tonight. All this was for Lady Baxter.

Reality came crashing back in. All she was to him was another female body. Of course he knew how to make her feel good. He’d done this hundreds of times before, with numerous women. She could not do it, do this, and know it meant nothing to him.

How could she have thought she could?

She met his gaze and stepped back. “I cannot.” Then she turned away to collect her clothes, shaking. She felt so foolish.

“Jane? What the hell is this?” His voice was irate and impatient.

Oh yes, she remembered his anger, his instinct to judge and blame, and the cruel accusations he could cast. He’d yelled and railed at her when she’d told him she was promised to the Duke of Sutton. That was the last time she’d seen Robert.

Her clothes clutched against her chest, she held a hand out to ward him off as he stepped forward. “Robert, I, I’m sorry. I thought I could, but I cannot.”

He stilled, staring at her, and she could see he was seething. God knew what he thought of her after this.

She moved to touch his arm. “Robert, I just—”

He knocked her hand aside. “Do not bother, Jane. I have no desire to hear more of your excuses. I heard enough years ago. You obviously take great pleasure in turning me down. What was this, a game? No, do not answer that. I don’t care.”

With that, he spun away and strode towards the door, growling as he went.

His anger was in every taut muscle as he moved.

“I’ll stir Jenkins from his bed and have him call for the carriage. If you are lucky, he may have not yet retired.”

“Robert! Wait! I can walk.”

He stopped dead and laughed. It was a horrible, heartless, mocking sound. Then he looked back, and his glare hit her like a blow. It was callous and accusing. He turned, then, and crossed the room with long strides, advancing so fast, she instinctually backed away.

“Jane,” he barked to stop her as he neared. Then his eyes dropped to look at her left hand a moment before his fingers gripped it.

It was then before her face, with his finger pressing beneath hers, which still bore Hector’s obscenely large, emerald betrothal ring.

“You think you would make it home safely with this on your finger? No, Jane. I will get you a carriage. No one has ever accused me of being inconsiderate. Perhaps that is why you think you can be so cruel to me? Perhaps you believe the rest of us are as heartless as you?” As he glared at her, one eyebrow tilted as though waiting for some response, and his lips twisted in a sneer.

What could she say? This was beyond an apology. It was not about what had happened just now. It was about what had happened between them years before, and she wouldn’t apologise for what had not been her fault.

She lifted her chin and held his gaze, unflinching, just as she had faced Joshua earlier, determined not to bow or bend. She had done enough of that in her life.

He turned away, growling again, then launched into a stream of what she knew must be obscenities, but not in English. He grabbed his shirt before storming from the room.

Her heart hammered as she rushed to dress. Why had she thought she could do this? It did not take her much to find the answer. It was because Joshua had made her angry. That was a part of it. She’d wanted to spite him, yes, but mostly because it was Robert. She would not have even considered it with any other man. But he wasn’t her Robert. She didn’t know this man. He was a stranger in so many ways. Not the youth who’d loved her, but a man who’d mastered seduction and sex, and played with sensual feeling solely to use and discard women.

Tears in her eyes, her fingers shaking, she struggled to secure the buttons of her dress. She’d made a mess of things again. She’d never be like Violet. Perhaps she ought to just stop trying to emulate her friend.

“Let me do it,” he barked from across the room, his sudden reappearance making her jump, but his temper seemed to have cooled a little, at least.

Her hands dropped as he crossed the space between them, and her eyes lifted to his face.

His hair fell forward on his brow as his head bent, and he looked at her buttons. They were secure in a moment.

He’d roughly tucked his shirt into his breeches while he’d been away, and now, his back to her, he picked up his evening coat. He did not put on his neckcloth or his waistcoat and left his evening coat undone. He looked back at her.

“Are you ready?”

She nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat.

His arm lifted as if to encourage her forward, and it somewhat surrounded her as she passed him, but he did not touch her. They left the room in silence, and when they reached the hall, she saw the butler below. He also looked as though he’d dressed quickly, and he frowned when he passed her cloak to Robert.

She stood still as Robert slipped it on her shoulders, but she could not stop herself from shaking. She made no comment, knowing if she did, the only thing that would erupt would be tears.

Robert did not speak, either, but once her cloak was on, his hand touched her back and slipped to her waist. It only made her wish to cry more.

They left the house and faced his groom, who held the carriage door open, struggling to hide a yawn.

Robert gripped her elbow when she climbed the step, then followed her in.

They sat on opposite sides in the furthest corners as they’d done before.

Once the door had slammed shut, Robert knocked on the roof, and the carriage stirred sharply forward.

She stared out the window again as they raced across town through the dark streets, never looking at Robert.

When they reached Violet’s a short time later, Robert shifted quickly, rising, opening the door, and kicking the step down himself before the groom was even on the pavement.

She accepted Robert’s hand to descend. There was nothing intimate in his touch now. It seemed cold, and she felt bereft of him.

He let go the moment her feet touched the pavement.

She wished she could thank him for sharing with her the things he’d done. It had felt good in the moment. He’d been gentle and kind, despite her desertion. But, instead, she fought against the lump in her throat, held back her tears and ran up the steps to Violet’s front door, expecting him to go.

He did not. He followed her up and stood beside her again.

“Do you have a key?”

She shook her head.

He sighed before lifting the knocker with a resigned air.

It seemed ages before there was any sound. Then, finally, she heard footsteps.

A sigh escaped her throat, but on her inward breath, it became a slight sob as pain welled in her chest, and she bit her lip.

Then, as they heard a bolt draw back with a sharp, metallic scrape, his fingers touched her shoulder, turning her to him, while his other hand tucked beneath her chin and lifted her face. Then his lips touched hers briefly.

“I am sorry I shouted at you,” he whispered when he pulled away.

He must think it was that which had upset her.

The door opened.

“Your Grace?” the young night footman questioned.

“Forgive me.” It was all she could get out as she stepped inside without a word to Robert. She could not even look at him.

Immediately, once she was in, she swept across the hall and up the stairs in as close to a run as she could discreetly manage. When she reached her bedchamber, she shut the door behind her, and, leaning against it, slid to the floor and wept.

Chapter Four

The next morning, Jane walked into the day room where Violet took breakfast, knowing she did not look her best.

Meg, Jane’s maid, had tried to hide the ravages of a late, tearful night, but with little success.

Jane was tired, and her thoughts were a tangled muddle as images of Joshua and Robert tormented her.

Her body was still alive with the sensations Robert had taught her last night, and her heart ached for impossibilities.

She felt exhausted and fragile.

The wonderful aroma of freshly ground coffee and chocolate instantly restored her appetite, though, and a blue sky beyond the windows mocked the unsettling regrets in her thoughts.

Jane liked this bright room. The morning sun always reached in through the bank of windows facing the garden, and its cream and yellow decoration was a cheery choice, distinctly Violet. The mahogany table was laid for breakfast, covered in a starched, cream cloth and laden with coffee, tea, chocolate, hams, cheeses and sweet cinnamon rolls.

“Ah, my dear.” Violet smiled and beckoned Jane forward. “You must be starving.”

Jane smiled and took the seat that a footman withdrew, facing Violet.

“Coffee, please,” Jane ordered. She needed something to get her thoughts in order. The footman poured it.

“And now, Daniels, disappear. I am sure Jane will be happy to serve herself.” Violet waved him off with a flick of her hand.

Jane’s fingers trembled as she reached for her cup and, yet again, she remembered the things Robert had done last night.

He’d dislodged her sanity. Her tingling senses just kept stirring memories in her head, of his kisses and his touch. The image of his predatory stare in the ballroom hung in her mind, too, and the conversation she’d overheard.

He knew how to capture a woman’s interest. He knew how to speak his intention without words. He knew how to make a woman feel special. No wonder he was infamous.

She thought of his room, of the props set out for Lady Baxter, not her. Yet, as she pictured it, she heard the apology he’d given as he’d left.

The door clicked shut behind the footman. Jane looked up and met Violet’s gaze.

“Well, well, Jane,” Violet whispered, her eyes dancing with silent laughter. “And there was I thinking you the shy and retiring type. How wrong I was!”

Jane opened her mouth to answer, but Violet lifted her hand.

“No need for explanations. I am not shocked in the least. But surprised, yes! Your husband is but weeks in the grave and you allow Barrington to take you home. I am sorry, Jane, but you are fooling no one now. You must take off those blacks.” Violet laughed.

Jane opened her mouth again, but Violet’s butter knife lifted and bobbed up and down, pointing in Jane’s direction.

“Do not try to deny it, my dear, you cannot. I saw you return in his carriage in the early hours, with Barrington in dishabille.”

“But I did not—”

“Oh Jane, there is no need to explain. I really do not care what you do. You know I am partial to the company of men. But you have outdone me by a mile. It was at least a year after my dear Frederick passed before I took another man.

“However I suppose the former Duke of Sutton can be no comparison to a buck like Barrington. Yet, you strike me as a woman with a tender heart, Jane, and Barrington is likely to break it. As I said last night, he is not known for his constancy. The man is fickle. He’s littered Europe with broken hearts.”

Jane interrupted then, her coffee cup clicking back down on its saucer. She could not let Violet think Robert was any man. “Violet, you misunderstood. He and I are old friends. Last night was not our first meeting, and—”

Violet’s knife bobbed again. “Jane, have you been keeping secrets? Friends with Barrington, indeed? Why did you not mention it?”

“Because I had no idea he was in London, and it is a lifetime since I last saw him.” To Violet’s knowing look, Jane added, “It is not what you think, Violet. My father’s estate and his bordered one another. We knew each other as children. We were catching up, that is all.”

Violet laughed. “And does catching up remove a gentleman’s cravat?”

Jane felt a blush rise in her cheeks.

“Well, it is of no concern to me if you were catching up or not, just guard your heart, Jane. Your friend or not, he is not reliable.”

That hardly mattered. Jane knew she had no heart to break. He’d shattered it years ago. Then why was there a deep ache lodged in her chest this morning?

“See.” Violet pointed her knife again, and her voice rose in pitch, but she smiled. “You are already affected. You cannot take your mind from him. Beware.”

Jane smiled too, and wondered where she would be without Violet. But she still denied the truth with a blatant lie. “I am not affected. He has simply reminded me of the past, that is all.”

Violet’s eyebrows lifted.

Jane blushed, but she did not let Violet speak. “We were very young, nothing happened, and please, do not say anything to anyone else, or to him. It would mortify me if it became common knowledge, especially with his reputation as it stands. I would rather keep our former friendship between ourselves.”

Violet’s colour suddenly heightened, too.

Jane assumed she had caused offence.

“I am not a gossip, Jane. You are my friend. But if you wish to keep it secret, then disappearing with him from an event the size of the Duchess of Weldon’s was not the way to do it.”

“I know, it was foolish.” Jane felt a blush again. “I was just surprised to see him, and when he suggested it, I did not think.”

“A symptom which is common for women in Barrington’s company, I believe.”

“You do not like him?” A memory of the scene in his bedchamber spun through Jane’s head. Had Violet?

“I only know him by reputation. But he is not for me, and I have not, Jane, if that is what you are asking.” Jane felt her skin turn crimson as Violet continued. “He is polite and indecently good-looking. But just keep your head over the man, Jane. I do not wish to see you hurt.”

The thought gave Jane pause. The man who’d apologised before he’d left had been the Robert she remembered and had loved, and the one who’d kissed her palm … But Violet implied he treated women callously and last night, it had seemed he could. The room had been dressed so carefully, and they’d shared such intimacies, yet he’d shared the same with numerous women. It appeared it was the act of sex he was attracted to, not the woman, if he could swap his attentions from Lady Baxter to her so easily.

She’d known he’d changed though. It was no surprise. “I did not have to come to London to hear his reputation. The gossip sheets have been full of tales about him for years, Violet. I know what he’s become. You do not need to warn me. But he was like a brother to me as a child.” She could not think him callous.

“A brother?” Violet challenged with another laugh.

“And later, a good friend,” Jane redefined at Violet’s dismissive hand gesture.

“A good friend who is a good kisser, no? You did not look at all like brother and sister from my bedroom window last night. You looked thoroughly kissed, and he looked—”

“I—” Jane again sought to deny it, but Violet stopped her, lifting her hand.

“Never mind, Jane. I am only teasing you. You do not need to justify yourself to me.” Then with a smile she asked, “Well, then, what shall we do today? Lord Sparks has invited us to the horse races, if you would like to go?”

Jane smiled and nodded. Most of their days had been spent visiting or shopping. Watching the races would be a novelty. It might even stimulate her mind to think of something other than Robert.

~

Jane wished she’d found an excuse to cry off and stay at Violet’s as she walked beside her friend and Lord Sparks. Lord Sparks was naming the horses as they passed them, while Jane’s eyes were drawn forward for the umpteenth time to the couple strolling some distance ahead. The Earl of Barrington’s broad, muscular back dominated her view, and his arm embraced Lady Baxter, his fingers gripping the woman’s waist.

It was torture, watching them. Jane felt a fool.

Robert had not once turned back as they progressed, but Jane would swear he knew she was there.

He leaned and whispered something to his companion.

Jane felt herself blush and looked at Lord Sparks, trying to focus on his explanation. She felt as if she was intruding on Violet and her lover, though. Violet’s hands were wrapped about Lord Sparks's forearm as they walked, and her attention was all for her beau.

Jane tipped her head back to see beyond the rim of her black bonnet, and looked up at the blue sky.

A single, wispy, white cloud hung above her. The rest of the sky was clear.

She really did not wish to watch Robert pawing the blonde woman in front of her.

Taking a deep breath, she shut her eyes for a moment, begging for patience and sanity, or, at least, a little common sense. She could not allow Robert to unsettle her. She had enough things to worry about without adding to her woes.

So, last night, he had chosen her over Lady Baxter, and now, he was merely gathering up loose ends. No doubt he was angry because Jane had walked away. Well, she had not come to town for an affair. She’d come to escape Joshua, and certainly not to find Robert.

Her heart clenched. She’d thought she’d conquered this pain long ago. She stubbornly thrust it aside and opened her eyes.

She was a long way behind Violet and Lord Sparks. Instead of following, she turned towards the horses. If she must feel alone in a crowded place, she may as well be alone.

A black mare whinnied in Jane’s direction, pitching up her muzzle for attention. A young groom stood beside the horse. Jane walked over, answering the mare’s call, and touched its muzzle.

It was a beautiful animal. She kissed its velvet cheek, and the mare’s nostrils flared. “You’re a beauty, aren’t you?” she whispered.

The horse whickered, pushing its head gently against Jane. She gripped the loop of the bit at the edge of the horse’s mouth and looked into the animal’s large, dark eye. “Now, what did Lord Sparks say they called you?”

“Her name is Minstrel, Ma’am,” the young groom acknowledged, bowing briefly. Then he smiled. “I helped to train her.”

“And is she a good runner?” Jane’s hand fell on the animal’s flank.

“Oh aye, Ma’am, she’s a real fine, fast runner.”

“Then you would recommend I put my stake on her?”

“My Lord said she’ll win us a fortune, Ma’am.”

Jane smiled, but the boy’s gaze had passed across her shoulder.

“Billy, get Minstrel walking.”

Jane’s hands fell, and she turned to face Robert. He looked surprised at first, but then there was pleasure on his face. His hand lifted and removed his hat, and he bowed. Jane looked beyond him for Lady Baxter. She was nowhere near.

“Your Grace,” Robert said, straightening up again. “Are you interested in my horse?”

“Your horse?” Jane felt the rush of gaucheness, again.

She was no Lady Baxter. Jane was unpolished in comparison and drab in her blacks, like a sparrow to a peacock, and yet, last night, he had chosen to take her home.

“Yes.” He reached across her and stroked the mare. “Minstrel. We’ve high hopes for her. Have we not, Billy?”

“Oh aye, my Lord.” The young groom glowed, clearly thrilled by Robert’s attention. “Her Grace was going to put down a stake. I said Minstrel’s a safe bet.”

“As safe as ever a bet can be,” Robert expanded with a smile, but his brow furrowed then. “How did you get here?”

He had not known she was here then. She was unsure if it made observing his flirtation better or worse. If he had not been lavishing his attention on Lady Baxter to rile Jane, then his attentions had been genuinely bestowed. Which was worse?

“Lord Sparks invited Lady Rimes. I came with them.” Her heart raced. “I should go back. They’ll be looking for me.”

“I’ll walk with you.” His words were a statement, not an offer. He held out his arm. She did not take it. She was too out of charity with him today.

“I can manage alone.”

“But you need not.” He blocked her path as she moved. “You do not have to take my arm if you don’t wish to, but allow me to escort you, Jane.”

His behaviour angered her. He acted as though nothing had occurred last night, and as though nothing had occurred today, as though Lady Baxter had not recently been acting brazen beside him. Jane brushed past him and strode away, but her pace was hindered by the dense, spongy grass.

“Jane!” He was at her side and speaking in a fast, sharp whisper as he bent towards her. “I am sorry for what happened last night. I realise it was wrong of me to assume … ” He stopped speaking as they passed two men, and she glanced up at him, only to feel the full force of his charm as he smiled. “I should not have expected it of you so soon.”

She was astonished. Did he think if he’d taken longer, she would have let him progress? Of course, it was nothing to do with her feelings and all to do with his mastery. “Women are not mares to be coaxed across the last fence, my Lord, which is what you seem to think. And may I ask; where is your companion, Lady Baxter?”

He looked dumbstruck for a moment, but only a moment. Almost immediately, he was back in control, and a bark of laughter escaped his throat. “So, that is it, is it, Jane? You’re jealous.”

She realised, from the sudden bright knowing look in his eyes, he was not just speaking of today. He understood her words too well. He was thinking of last night.

“Well, sorry, Jane. I apologise for having a life after you. What did you expect? That, while you made merry with Sutton’s wealth and status, I would twiddle my thumbs and wait for you, counting the days until the old man croaked? No, Jane. I moved on.”

She opened her mouth, but had nothing to say. She could not explain to him in a single sentence how she had felt forced to take Sutton. Or how she had stood and watched him, Robert, the man she loved, ride away, and felt her heart leave with him, nor how she had cried herself to sleep for years, longing for him. And anyway, that Robert was in the past. This one would not even wish to know.

“I have nothing to say to you,” she snapped and turned away. She walked hastily, but her foot caught on an uneven bulge of grass, and her ankle twisted. He caught her arm and stopped her fall.

His touch engendered a memory of the night before. She did not welcome it.

He bent to her ear, just as she had seen him do to Lady Baxter, and whispered, “Then what was last night about?”

“Last night was nothing but nostalgia and an appalling mistake.” She pulled her arm free then hurried away, gratefully hearing him delayed by an acquaintance while she was absorbed in the jostling crowd as people moved forward to watch the race.

Jane looked up and saw Violet with Lord Sparks in his box and hoped the crush would deter Robert. But glancing back, she saw him a few feet behind her, still following. She strode the last few yards with unladylike haste and quickly climbed the steps of the box, hoping Robert would give up the chase.

“I was about to send Lord Sparks to look for you,” Violet chimed as the footman opened the gate. “Where on earth did you get to? Oh … ” She stopped.

“Her Grace was admiring the form of my mare.” Robert’s slow drawling tone rose from behind Jane. “Did you wish to lay a bet, Your Grace? I would be happy to take it for you before you miss your chance.”

Jane turned and gave him a false smile. “I believe Lady Baxter is waving to you, my Lord. Perhaps you ought to return to your companion?”

He looked amused, while Jane wished for a hole to jump into.

“Lady Baxter is quite able to cope without me for a little while longer. She is with friends. Would you like me to take your bet or not, Your Grace?” She wanted to say not, but before Violet and Lord Sparks it would seem churlish.

Her fingers shaking, blushing again, she lifted the reticule which hung from her wrist, but Robert’s hand lay over hers then. “Simply tell me how much. We may settle up later.”

“Five pounds, that’s all,” she acknowledged.

His hand lifted, but as it did, he leaned forward and whispered, “I asked Lady Baxter a week ago. It would have been cruel to withdraw the invitation now. I may have the right to be angry at you, but still, I find I would not wish to see you upset for the world. Enjoy the race, Your Grace. Minstrel shall not let you down.” The last words were voiced loudly as he stepped back. Then he turned and walked away.

Disgusted with herself, Jane took her seat on the other side of Lord Sparks to Violet and accepted the opera glasses the footman passed her to enable her to see the horses in more detail as they raced. The animals were already being led into the traces. She looked through the glasses and watched for a moment, but could not resist the urge to turn them on the other boxes. She spotted Lady Baxter, then followed the direction of her gaze to see Robert transferring the bet.

His expression was stiff, masked. He turned back towards the boxes and began walking. He smiled, Jane presumed, at Lady Baxter, and lifted a hand.

Jane turned the glasses onto the group within his box. They were mostly men, but there were three women. They all seemed in high spirits.

What Robert had said was true, of course. He hadn’t even known Jane was in London when he’d courted Lady Baxter. Yet the thought of him with another woman made Jane’s skin crawl. She hated Lady Baxter for no good reason at all. Well, that, Jane had best get used to. If his reputation was true, there were hundreds of other women, and there would be hundreds more. Perhaps coming to London had been a mistake.

“Forgive me for intruding, Your Grace, but you are being a little obvious.” Lord Sparks’s whispered baritone made her jump, and her hand dropped to her lap, the weight of the glasses resting on her thigh. His eyes were laughing. “If you will permit me?” He pointed towards the course. “The horses are in that direction. But, of course, if you are weighing up the potential of another type of stallion … ”

Again, Jane blushed. She had done nothing but blush today, and she was unable to offer any response. Her eyes involuntarily lifted to the box across the green, from which she heard a burst of raucous laughter as the Earl of Barrington climbed up.

Blushing more strongly, she turned her eyes to the race and sought to hide behind the rim of her bonnet. Another laugh rang out. She could not help it, she turned back. She could see enough without the glasses to know Robert was looking in her direction, along with half the men in his group.

A slight, deep laugh erupted beside her. Lord Sparks had followed the direction of her gaze once more. She felt his gloved hand cover hers, which over-tightly gripped the glasses in her lap.

“Barrington is not the sort to kiss and tell, if that is what you are worrying over.”

Her gaze spun to Lord Sparks. She surely could not be any redder. “You know?” Her whisper was half question, half accusation, at the thought that Robert had told him.

He let go of her hand. “I was with Violet when you returned.”

Jane was mortified, if only the ground would swallow her whole. To think Violet had been – while Jane had refused. “We did not—”

“It is none of my business, if you did. Really, Your Grace, I do not care. I only meant to reassure.”

“I have warned her,” Violet piped up, leaning across Lord Sparks. “I told you Barrington is an out and out bounder, Jane. He is playing you off against that woman.”

“He is not so bad, Vi. If the Dowager Duchess likes him—”

Violet visibly bristled. “I know he is your friend, and I know your sister’s silly theory about his broken heart, but that man has no heart.”

“As you may tell,” Lord Sparks laughed, glancing back at Jane, “Violet is very opinionated on the subject of Lord Barrington. She disapproves of our friendship.”

“You may have whom you like as your friend. It is what he does to mine I care about. He is callous. Anyway, Jane, you have done what you have done, and that will be an end to it in any case.”

A shot rang out, setting the horses underway, and any thought of their conversation was lost as the crowd began to yell for the various horses. Jane lifted her glasses to her eyes and saw the black mare. The jockey was in the colours of the Barrington’s livery, maroon and cream, and his short whip tapped regularly at the animal’s rump, driving the mare on.

The horse was a dream. She flew through the rest of the field, her head down and focused as though she enjoyed the sheer thrill of the race. When she stretched over the finishing line, Jane could not help but cheer, and turned to see pandemonium break out in Robert’s box. Robert was gifting Lady Baxter with a very thorough kiss.

Jane’s gaze spun back to the course. Violet was right. It was silly to think of yesterdays. What Jane had longed for in the past could not come true now. She pressed her fingers to her right temple and felt a pounding pain commence in her head.

~

“Enough. Why not go and look over the animals for the next race with Lord Franklin? I am sure he would escort you.” Robert slipped Lady Baxter’s arms from about his neck and set the woman away gently, ignoring her pout.

Lord Franklin heard his name and glanced over with a knowing smile, then offered the lady his arm.

She conceded and went off with Robert’s friend with a flounce and a lifted chin, sidling close to Franklin in an obvious ploy to make Robert jealous.

It was pointless. He’d had his fill of her. He never bent to feminine games unless it suited his own aims. He was not, in general, a man led by his emotions. His desire for women was a mental game. The pumping organ in his chest was a cold and empty thing. Women, in general, did not affect it. He crossed his arms over his chest and watched Lady Baxter walk away.

Yesterday, he would have welcomed her fawning as a mark of his success, but today, it was cloying.

She had not accepted his desertion last night gracefully though. She’d been angry this morning, but despite that, the woman was not to be set off lightly. She was blatantly throwing herself at him now because she’d divined his interest was fading. More fool her. She’d clearly learned nothing about him. It would only put him off. It also convinced him that her previous disinclination had been a foil. She’d taken two weeks to woo, but now, he suspected, she’d never been disinclined, only hoping to snare him for longer than a brief affair. A game he was learning to be wary of.

He did not deliberately avoid long-term relationships. On the continent he’d had several.

A smile pulled at his lips when he remembered the opera singer in Rome. Then there was his widow in Venice. They’d taught him much of women. He’d learned many skills in his dissipated years abroad. It had changed him from a naïve and greedy youth, hungry for everything and anything that filled and fuelled his violently empty soul, to a connoisseur who liked to savour stimulation. Gluttony was no longer to his taste. He enjoyed relishing every morsel. Sadly, he just hadn’t found a woman who held his interest in a while. His eyes strayed towards Sparks’s box. And no woman had ever truly filled the void. Not since Jane. That damn woman had tainted everything beyond her, and now he’d seen and savoured an appetizer of the original woman he judged all others by, he’d lost his hunger for anything else again. He wanted her.

His stare reached to where she sat and caught her gaze. Instantly, she looked away in an obvious attempt to pretend she had not been watching. Her face now hidden behind the broad rim of her black bonnet, he turned fully in her direction and rested his gloved hands on the rail, making no secret of his contemplation.

Her slender, black-clad figure was tense. She was, perhaps, nervous. She probably knew he was still looking. Well, she deserved a little discomfort. He smiled.

When she’d suggested their assignation, he’d assumed she was fast, and she’d be eager, but in his chamber, she’d seemed hesitant. Yet her responses had been beautiful, real, honest, and open in a way he was unused to.

She’d let her defences fall last night. It had been all he’d anticipated.

He leaned forward onto his elbows and tipped the brim of his hat a little lower, hiding his gaze.

She was peeved because his attentions had been planned for Lady Baxter, yes, but from the way she’d looked at him just a moment ago, he would make a fair guess she was jealous, too. Well, jealousy was a useful tool.

She’d changed. But then, so had he. What to make of it? That was the question. All he knew at this moment was she piqued his interest, and he was unwilling to simply let her shrug him off. When he’d first seen her last night, the anger, which had driven his desire for self-destruction in the early years of his life after Jane, had fired up again within his gut. But equally, there had been a deep-seated need for her.

She had been everything to him once. He couldn’t say if it made him glad to have her so close, or if he wished to see her suffer by his hand in exchange for the harm she’d done him. Tangled emotions had disturbed his sleep and still tormented him, conflicting tumultuous and dissipated desires.

Jane was the only woman who could make his heart pump harder, and the one thing he knew was she could hurt him. He could not dispel her from his mind now any more easily than he had been able to dispel her from his heart years before.

He stood up again with a self-deprecating sigh, and his fingers touched the betting slip in his pocket. He had an excuse to call on her. Perhaps he would explore what he felt for her. He’d learned to enjoy the pleasure of the wooing as much as the winning, the art of it and the power in persuasion. That was his true vice. He liked very much to feel a woman succumb and submit and mould to his will. Once she was tame, usually his interest waned. But there was still a lot of pleasure to be found in Jane, no matter which direction this led.

Jane knew he was watching her. She could sense his gaze like a dagger piercing between her shoulder blades.

Her fingers pressed to her temple as she tried to quell the ache in her head, and her heart would not cease racing.

She’d seen him pull Lady Baxter loose and the woman walk away with another gentleman. Even from a distance, Jane could tell from Lady Baxter’s movements she had not been happy.

Why had Robert cast off Lady Baxter?

Had he done it because he’d known it was upsetting her?

Jane tried to watch the next race, but felt too angry to pay attention. She should not care what the villain did. He was not for her. No man was. Her future life was solitary. That was what she longed and prayed for, just some peace. Robert would not even wish to be a part of it.

Still she sensed him staring, and a long breath escaped her lips.

She felt so out of control. She’d held so many hopes for her life after Hector. She’d imagined she could, at last, do as she willed. All she wished for was a simple life, friendships, and mundane pursuits. Normality was a treasure she’d ached for for years. She’d thought Hector’s loss would release her from her loneliness, but even in Violet’s company, the loneliness had not abated. There was that stupid Robert-shaped hole in her life again. She had enough to worry over, fending off Joshua. She did not need to become embroiled in Robert’s games as well. The only thing she was certain of regarding Robert was he was trouble.

Jane endured two more races, refusing to look in Robert’s direction again, the ache in her head intensifying with every moment.

Then Violet commented on her silence.

Jane gave up the pretence. The headache was unbearable, and she could not go on.

When she asked if they could leave, Violet was all concern, and Jane felt awful for dragging her friend away.

On the drive home, Lord Sparks and Violet chattered merrily as Violet gripped his arm, and Jane pretended to sleep.

When they reached Violet’s, Jane retired immediately and curled up on her bed. She felt so alone. She had been alone for so many years, from the moment she’d watched Robert ride away. But it had never cut her as deeply as now.

Unable to cry because coping was too ingrained, yet unable to sleep either, her thoughts reeled with recent and distant memories of Robert.

The longing in her heart was for a home, somewhere safe and comforting she could retreat to, but nowhere was safe, thanks to Joshua. There was nowhere to hide away from the pain of meeting Robert again. Oh, she just wished she could die, but then that would let Joshua win, and what she wanted most of all was to fight back against the Suttons. The last Duke had stolen half her life. She would not give the other half to his son. She would suffer anything to ensure Joshua did not win. That was the one decision she could make. It was the only control she had. She would not run, and nor would she let him win, which meant she must also keep coming face-to-face with Robert.

~

Looking in the mirror, Robert admired the cravat his valet, Archer, had deftly tied, and smiled, a mocking twist on his lips. His fingers swept back his fringe. He was a handsome devil. The knowledge boosted his confidence.

Women adored him. Well, every bloody woman except the one he’d wished to keep. His smile turned to a sneer for his reflection.

What did his looks count for? In this respect, not a thing.

He slipped his arms into the black evening coat Archer held up.

Edward, Robert’s younger brother, would call Robert vain to the point of arrogant. Robert preferred to think of his appreciation of his looks as a desire for perfection. To which Edward would say, “more like perversity”.

A self-deprecating laugh escaped Robert’s throat as Archer slid Robert’s coat onto his shoulders.

Robert slipped each button into place himself, while Archer swept a fleck of dust from the shoulder.

“You are in good humor tonight, my Lord.”

Robert smiled again. Archer had been with him through his adolescent and maturing years abroad. The man was a saint, and sinner too, and a godsend. Archer could be counted on for anything. The man was Robert’s right arm, his co-conspirator, and, at times, his saviour.

“I am, Archer,” he answered, giving the man a wicked grin and patting his shoulder.

He knew what Archer was asking. Would there be a lady returning on his arm tonight? Somehow, Robert doubted it, not unless Jane could be persuaded, but, after last night, he thought it unlikely.

“I believe I am a-wooing, Archer. With a lonely night ahead.”

The valet nodded, and the look in his eye told Robert, Archer had his own wooing to do.

“You may have the night off. I’ll not need you again.” If Robert’s luck did come in by some remote chance, he could manage alone. Jane was clearly not a woman who appreciated frills and fuss. He suddenly remembered her excitement over bluebells in the woods at Farnborough when they’d been young. She’d been easily pleased then.

A smile still playing on his lips, Robert left the room.

He felt a sense of purpose he’d not known in ages, and blood pumped into his veins.

Yes, this was what he enjoyed, the invigorating pleasure of the chase.

Chapter Five

Robert strode into the Coleford’s soirée with a feeling of expectation and scanned the people gathered in the drawing room.

He was pleased with himself. After a quick trip to White’s, he’d discovered Violet’s whereabouts, and if Lady Rimes was here, then Jane would be, too.

Standing taller than many of those around him, Robert had the perfect vantage point from which to spot his black-clad quarry, but one swift glance revealed nothing.

“Lord Barrington!” Robert turned and faced a slender blonde, a former conquest, Lady Shaw. She wrapped her fingers about his arm as if claiming him.

Robert unwound them about to give her a polite set down, but the Earl of Coleford chose the same moment to welcome his late arrival.

It was a timely rescue, and Lady Shaw withdrew.

“Barrington, I did not expect you, but you are welcome.”

Coleford had been a friend of Robert’s father, and the man had a daughter to marry off, so any bachelor within a thousand-mile radius was welcome. Even Robert’s rakish ways were no deterrence when weighed in balance to his title and wealth.

“Lord Coleford.” He shook the man’s hand and offered a slight bow. “I was unexpectedly available and heard my friend Lord Sparks was attending. I hope you will forgive my intrusion.”

“Forgive it.” The man laughed. “You forget how close your father and I were, Barrington. You should know you are always welcome here. Have you met my daughter?”

Robert was impatient to see Jane but pinned a smile on his face regardless, and greeted Coleford’s girl, an attractive brunette with a bright, wide smile and sparkling blue eyes, but far too shallow and light-headed for Robert’s tastes. He did not do young, and he did not do innocent.

After several minutes of making polite conversation, he took the opportunity to ask Coleford if he’d seen Sparks.

Coleford pointed him in the direction of the garden, and Robert excused himself.

His heart kicked into a quicker beat as he stepped through the French door and felt a cool evening breeze.

He saw Lady Rimes immediately. She was strolling with Sparks along a path leading away from the house, but Jane was not with them.

Robert crossed the lawn in long, swift strides, a carefree feeling reminiscent of his youth rising inside him. He called out as he neared them, “Sparks!”

The couple stopped and both looked back. Sparks gave Robert a slanting smile and turned fully, while Lady Rimes merely glared.

“I did not expect to see you here, Robert?” Sparks stated.

Robert’s feet were firmly rooted to the spot. He could not find any words to ask them about Jane without being bloody obvious. “I thought … ” He stopped. Lord in heaven, he felt like he had at nineteen when he’d first expressed his feelings to Jane. It was idiotic. The only thing to do was just ask. It was hardly out of character for him to chase a woman. “Where is the Dowager Duchess of Sutton? I’d presumed she would be in your company, Lady Rimes.” He gave her a swift, brief bow, then cast her one of his most charming smiles.

She waved a hand at him in a dismissive gesture. “You need not seek to win me over, Barrington. She shall not heed my opinion, and besides, she is not here. She is not feeling well.”

Confused, Robert merely stared.

“She has the headache, my Lord,” Lady Rimes clarified. “Perhaps because you have been hounding her. You take advantage then flaunt yourself with another woman. Her Grace is … ” She stopped, offering him a flint-like stare which clearly judged and weighed him worthless. But then her voice dropped to a confidential tone, “She is not one of us, my Lord.” Her slim eyebrows lifted in arch punctuation of her words. “Do not toy with her. She is no flirt, Barrington, and she does not have the resources to fend off men like you. If you have any honour left in your soul, you will leave her be.”

Her head spun to look up at Sparks. “Forgive me, my Lord. I find the company not to my liking. You may seek me in the card room later.” With that and a swish of lemon silk, the woman was gone.

Robert looked at Sparks. “I take it Lady Rimes does not like me overmuch.”

“Not if you upset her friend,” Sparks answered then held out his hand. “Good evening, Robert. Do you want to get a drink?”

Robert nodded as they shook hands, then he fell into step beside Geoff, and together, they walked back across the lawn.

“She’s right though.”

“What?” Robert queried, his gaze drifting across the various couples spread about the lawn enjoying the first lukewarm night of the season.

“Violet is right about the Dowager Duchess of Sutton. She is not your usual sort. I would back off if I were you.”

Robert stopped, and Sparks stopped too, his eyes turning to Robert.

“Has she been speaking of me? What has she said?”

Sparks laughed.

“What?” Robert felt suddenly irritated.

“Calm down, old friend.” Sparks’s hand lay on Robert’s shoulder. “It is just she asked the same of you, in a roundabout way, and no, she has not spoken. Your little widow is a very private person from what I have seen. I doubt she would even share her secrets with Vi. But both Violet and I know because we saw you bring her home.”

Robert felt heat rise on his skin. Why should he feel remorseful? She was not a sixteen-year-old virgin with a reputation to lose any more. She was a widow with a life of her own, and, no doubt, a list of lovers in her past. She had been married to a man older than her grandfather, for God’s sake.

Still, he felt the need to preserve her reputation. “Then you will also know nothing untoward occurred. If it had, she would have been home at dawn.” Robert answered Sparks’s knowing gaze with a look that said “you’re wrong.”

“As you say, Robert, but the warning stands. She’s vulnerable. If I were you, I would leave her alone.”

Robert smirked. He did not like being told what to do, and no matter how much he liked Sparks, Robert was not about to be warned off the only woman he’d ever considered his. “No.” Answering in one syllable, he moved to turn away. Sparks caught his arm.

“Robert, think about it and take care.” Robert yanked his arm free. “I mean of her,” the man said to Robert’s back.

~

Jane weaved through the people promenading along Oxford Street and glanced back at Violet’s footman following two paces behind her. He carried a bonnet she’d bought, in a box, and the ribbons and lace she’d purchased as a gift for Violet.

Jane had come out to clear her head, having spent hours thinking about how to beat Joshua and receiving no God-given inspiration. But now her head was aching again as the afternoon crush of shoppers hindered her path.

Ahead of her, a curricle slowed in the road. It caught her eye because the movement was odd. Glancing up, she was greeted by the sight of her stepson.

How on earth had he found her?

Preparing to climb down, Joshua handed his reins to a groom clothed in yellow and brown striped livery.

Jane immediately turned and began forcing her way back against the tide of shoppers.

“Your Grace!” the footman called as she pressed on in a sudden panic, twisting and turning between the passers-by, leaving him behind.

She was in no mood to face one of Joshua’s scenes in such a public place.

“Your Grace!” Violet’s footman called again.

Jane glanced back and saw Joshua had not dismounted after all. His curricle was creeping along a little behind her, his horses following her at a walk while he watched her.

She would not outrun him in the crush of people. He would keep his pace beside her no matter what she did. As usual, he had the advantage.

She pressed on, weaving through the human traffic, and sifted through her options. She was not far from Violet’s. As she approached the junction to Bond Street, she considered turning there, but the crowd was currently protecting her. If she did so, she would lose that protection. She did not turn.

When she reached the curb, a road-sweep boy stepped down to brush a fresh path for her and two gentlemen who walked behind her.

The boy held out his grubby hand.

Jane reached into her reticule for a coin and heard another deep voice hail her from along the road.

“Your Grace!” A voice she recognised with an instinctive lift of her heart, even though she knew it came at the worst moment.

Oh heavens, could this get any more complicated?

Dropping a two-penny piece into the road-sweep’s dirty palm, she glanced up.

Robert sat on his high perch phaeton, pulled by a magnificent pair of blacks, approaching the junction she’d crossed. He was smiling, and he lifted his hand.

She turned away, refusing to acknowledge him while Joshua was watching. She just caught Robert’s expression slip into a confused grimace.

There was a bookshop a little further along; holding her breath, she headed for it.

When she glanced back, she saw Joshua’s eyes focus on a large town coach which had pulled across his path to turn into Bond Street.

Ahead, Robert climbed down from his curricle, having handed his reins to his groom.

She sighed in frustration, then finally, the bookshop was there, and she darted inside.

The bell above the door rang.

“May I help you, Ma’am?” A mouse-like shop assistant was immediately at her side. Jane dismissed him with a flick of her hand.

“I have merely come to browse.”

Her heart was still pounding in a steady thump, the pace of a grandfather clock. She could see Robert’s curricle through the shop window. It stood vacant.

Hiding her agitation, she took an aisle between the narrow shelves and hurried to its end, then slipped about the corner and stood with her back against the end of the row. Her breathing was ragged and unsteady.

The shop bell rang again.

Glancing along the back row of books, Jane saw a middle-aged gentleman studying the shelves at the end of the next aisle. She busied herself reading the spines of the books on the shelf facing her.

Heavy, confident strides echoed along the aisle beside her.

Jane held her breath, unsure whether to try to run or simply stay and face whichever one of her antagonists it was.

“Jane.”

Robert.

Her breath slipped out on a deep sigh, and, despite herself, she had a sudden feeling of relief. His familiar face was a comfort, even if he was glaring at her.

“I was on my way to call upon you. I do not see why there is any need to avoid me? I am surely not such a monster. I believe the other night was—”

She shot him a meaningful look and turned her gaze to the gentleman further along the aisle.

Robert looked contrite when she faced him again. “Perhaps we could look for a tea shop?”

“No, thank you, my Lord. I am busy.” Her initial relief had waned. She had nothing to say to him, after all, and he was the last person she would wish to know of her problems with Joshua.

She moved to pass him, but he gripped her elbow, though not painfully, just with a pressure she felt sought to deliver some message he could not speak in public.

“I was bringing your winnings,” he said in an over-earnest voice, his eyebrows lifting, “and—”

“Look, my Lord, I gave you no money, they are not really my winnings. Keep it. Please. I am shopping.” Whatever it was he wished to say, she did not wish to hear it. She had enough concerns without Robert making her life more complicated.

His brow furrowed, and his eyes studied her with greater intensity. “Ja—”

She glared at him and moved her eyes to remind him of the gentleman playing audience.

He recommenced, “Your Grace, I thought only to offer to take you for a drive. If you are busy today, what if I called tomorrow?”

Jane lost patience. She was in no mood for his dogged denial. She’d slept poorly the night before, and she was far too tired to play Robert’s cat and mouse games. She neither had the time nor the inclination for it. She was still feeling shaky from her flight from Joshua. She just wished Robert would accept that no meant no. “Or, my Lord, you could simply not call.” Jane knew her reaction was waspish, but she was exhausted. He knew nothing of her now.

His eyes narrowed. “Not call?” His voice said he thought her completely mad.

Jane backed away a single step, her arm pulling against his grip. Why must he make things even harder? Her gloved hand lay on his chest, on his morning coat, over his heart, holding him back as he would have stepped forward. “Please, my Lord, just leave me alone. I have enough to cope with at the moment.”

His expression clearing, he answered curtly, “If that is what you wish.” Then his fingers let go her arm and lifted to the brim of his hat, and he bowed. “Your Grace, excuse my interruption.” He turned on his heel and began walking away. But at that moment, the shop bell rang again.

Jane looked along the aisle and saw Violet’s footman, and beyond him, through the glass door, Joshua’s curricle stood before the shop.

Damn the man.

She looked back at what was currently the lesser of two evils, her gaze narrowing on her former swain’s back. “Lord Barrington! Wait! If you would?”

He halted and turned back, lifting his gloved hands in an expression of disbelief.

“Either you wish me to stay or you wish me to go? Which is it, Your Grace?”

Fully able to swallow her pride for the sake of security, Jane rushed forward and gripped his arm. “It is stay. Please, my Lord, would you take me home? My head is aching. I do not feel up to walking now. If you would take me up in your phaeton, I would be extremely grateful.”

“Lord, Jane, you do blow hot and cold,” he whispered in a growl.

She said nothing, but, gripping the crook of his arm, let him lead her along the aisle.

“Jack,” she said to the footman as they reached the door, “Lord Barrington is going to escort me. I will no longer be walking.”

“Your Grace.” The man bowed, but she caught his look of confusion as he rose.

“Your Grace?” She turned her attention back to Robert, at the question in his voice. “Is something wrong?” His words were solicitous and quietly spoken, his deep burr just for her ears as he drew open the door for her. “Are you truly unwell? You’re shaking.”

She looked up and met his gaze about the rim of her bonnet and offered him a restrained smile. “I will be fine, my Lord, if you would just escort me home.”

Chapter Six

Robert eyed Jane with uncertainty, taking her hand then helping her up into the high seat of his curricle. He could feel her fingers trembling. She was nervous and agitated, and he would swear there was something more to this he did not understand. One minute she’d been brushing him off, the next asking for his assistance. “She’s vulnerable.” Sparks’s words echoed in Robert’s head.

Did Lady Rimes know something no one else did?

He walked about the curricle then climbed up to sit beside her.

She was balanced on the edge of her seat, her back rigid and her fingers clasped over her reticule on her lap. Her profile was half-hidden behind the rim of her bonnet as she faced forward. All he could see was her pursed lips.

His groom passed up the reins then returned to stand on the plate at the rear.

Jane’s teeth clasped her lower lip as she kept looking ahead.

Robert faced the street and saw a vehicle disappearing about a corner further along. He flicked the reins, got his animals underway, and saw her fingers lift to her brow in the periphery of his vision.

Her head turned to look at the shops on the other side of the street, leaving him with a view of the back of her bonnet.

He felt frustrated, and if he were truthful with himself, a little riled. He waited for a gap in the flow of traffic then turned the team, taking them off Oxford Street, away from the bustle and hum, on to Bond Street.

Once he’d negotiated the turn, he glanced at her again. She was still silent and apparently intending to ignore him for the whole journey.

“Is something wrong, Jane?”

He did not remember this quiet, stubborn woman at all.

She did not answer.

The silence was filled by the sound of the horses as their iron-shod hooves struck the cobble, their whinnies and heavy breath, the creak of leather and jangle of the metallic tack, the rattling approach of other carriages passing, and the occasional shout from street vendors.

“Jane?” he pressed again at length, drawing the carriage to a halt, waiting to turn into a side street which would lead them back to Grosvenor Square.

He sensed her look towards him as he negotiated the turn.

“Nothing is wrong. I didn’t sleep well, that is all.”

Why would he swear she had picked that moment to respond simply because she knew he would be distracted? There was something more. He was certain of it. More to the point, he did not think it was anything to do with him, otherwise, why would she have suddenly requested his escort?

Glancing across at her, he saw she was facing forward again.

“You know, Jane, if there is anything wrong, you only need tell me and I would help.”

She looked at him then, meeting his gaze and appearing uncomfortable, and yet desperate, as though she wished to believe him but did not.

Reluctantly, he broke the silent communication, turning his eyes back to the street.

The next moment he had chance to look across, she was facing forward again, her thoughts, he would swear, somewhere beyond him and the street.

He made no further effort to break the silence, concentrating on the short drive to Lady Rimes’s address.

As the phaeton traced about the iron railings enclosing Grosvenor Square’s central garden, Jane finally piped up, “I suppose I should at least offer you some refreshment for your kindness, my Lord.”

Robert glanced at her before pulling up. “Not if it is purely out of obligation.”

Once the groom had taken the reins, Robert climbed down and came about the phaeton to help her descend. When her fingers gripped his, they were no longer shaking. It was only more evidence that he had not disconcerted her, but something else had.

It was a strange feeling that transferred from the senses in his hand to his gut as he helped her down – compassion, longing, need. Or just pure hunger? He had no idea. It was nothing he’d felt before.

Once she was on the ground, her fingers gently tugged for freedom.

He did not let go, waiting for her to lift her face so he could see beneath her bonnet.

She did not.

Quite deliberately, he would guess.

After a moment, he let her go.

Without a word, she hurried up the steps, deserting him, but then she stopped as the door opened, and looked back as though she’d just remembered he was there. “You are welcome to come in if you like?”

A mocking smile broke his lips. There was absolutely no predicting the woman. Well, he was willing to take whatever crumbs she threw him today. “For a moment only. If you are certain?”

She gave him a sharp nod and went inside.

Robert told his groom to wait with the horses then jogged up the steps and lifted his hat from his head.

“Your Grace. Sir.” The butler bowed to them both then held out a hand for Robert’s hat as Jane untied the ribbons of her bonnet.

She handed it to the butler then undid the buttons of her spencer.

In a gallant mood, Robert took the garment from her shoulders, his fingers accidentally brushing the skin above the neckline of her gown.

She shivered as she’d done the other night.

It sent a sharp knife-thrust of desire into his groin.

Ignoring it, he handed the garment to the butler.

All this black was trapping the vibrant Jane he’d known beneath it, sucking the colour out of her. She was a mere shadow of the real Jane. If he could peel it all away, as he’d done the other night, would she be free of what bothered her?

“Selford, Lord Barrington and I would like tea,” she ordered of the butler. “We’ll take it in the drawing room. Is Lady Rimes at home?”

“Her ladyship is, Your Grace. Lady Rimes retired to her chamber an hour ago.”

“Thank you, Selford. Do not disturb her on our account then,” Jane acknowledged before moving on. “My Lord.” The call was for Robert to follow.

Watching her in a place she felt at home was different again, but Robert felt like a bloody lapdog trailing after her. Still, he could enjoy the view, the slimness of her bare arms beneath the short, puffed sleeves of her day dress and the snug fit of her black muslin bodice. The way the material hugged the curve of her breasts and waist. Her black hair was simply dressed in a neat coiffeur, pinned back from her face, apart from a few wispy curls which had escaped to brush her brow.

She led him upstairs and along the hall to a pink room, heavily perfumed by a vase of roses in full bloom, then pointed to a chair. “Do sit down, my Lord. Is tea suitable? Or would you prefer something stronger? I could ring if you’d prefer brandy.”

He took a step towards her. “Nothing, Jane, except to know what I’ve done to upset you. Why were you hiding from me today? You have no right to hold a grudge, you know. I admit, I may have pressed you a little fast the other night, but … ” He left the sentence there, prompting for her explanation.

Her expression slipped from diplomatic Duchess to the new wary, vulnerable Jane, and her fingers clasped together before her waist. She glanced towards the window when she spoke. “You have not upset me.” When her gaze returned, the Duchess was back. It hit him with the strength of steel. “It is just that … ” She stopped, swallowing back her words, then began again and threw her words at him instead. “For heaven’s sake, Robert, it is hardly five weeks since Sutton died.”

His eyes scanned her face wondering what the hell was going on, and his hand touched her arm.

She moved back.

“But you are in London, regardless, Jane, and attending entertainments.” She could hardly claim to be really mourning Sutton, no matter her blacks. She was flouting convention. How did she expect him to take that explanation? Her behaviour hardly said she had been devoted to the man.

She turned away and walked across the room. “I am visiting a friend, nothing more. I did not come here for the season or the entertainments.”

He caught a glimpse of her figure through the loose folds of her gown as she moved, the fabric brushing her hips and thighs. When she turned back his eyes lifted first to her bust, then to her face.

“So you do mourn him then?” he pressed, not moving, letting her run if that was what she wished. Taming her would be like training a mare to the saddle, a step forward and then withdraw. Giving her time to grow accustomed to each stage.

She sought refuge behind a sofa across the room, her fingers gripping its back. “In a fashion. But it is none of your business.”

“No?” He did step forward now.

“No, Robert.” She held her ground.

“Then explain exactly why you came home with me the other night, and why you then changed your mind?”

She sighed as if irritated by his question.

He continued walking forward.

She did not move, although her eyes followed him with a steady look.

“I did not change my mind. I had not intended to … ” She stopped, blushed and glanced upwards, as though the ceiling, or God, could give her the words. Clearly, something had as she refocused her gaze on him, the hardened Duchess again, daring him to challenge her and argue. “All I wished to do was talk. I did not mean to hurt you then or now, but I do not want to commence a flirtation with you. The other night was a mistake.”

“So you told me yesterday.” His voice was a mocking growl. He was annoyed despite himself. “But I think you are unhappy, and I do not believe you are grieving. So why are you miserable?”

She blushed harder and leaned to pick up a copy of La Belle Assemblée from a low table, before dropping into a seat on the sofa. He knew she was trying to appear casual. She did not succeed.

“I am happy.”

She was not, her intonation was thoroughly unconvincing and her movement taut.

Occupying a chair opposite her, he answered, “Liar,” letting a lilting smile catch his lips to ruffle her feathers.

A blush painted her ivory cheeks, and her gaze popped up again, the purest emerald cloaked by long, dark lashes. “I am in no mood for your games, my Lord.”

“Robert,” he snapped, leaning forward in the chair, resting one elbow on his knee. “Do not try to hide behind formality, no matter your feelings. And I am not the one playing games. I took you to my house because you asked to go, and then you changed your mind and I brought you home. I offered you your winnings. You refused to accept them. You asked me to leave you alone at the bookshop, and I obeyed, but you called me back. It is not I playing games, is it, Jane?”

She was silent as she held his gaze, then she coloured up again and concluded. “I am in a difficult position, Robert. Please, do not make it harder?”

“She’s vulnerable.” Robert stood with a sudden need to understand her predicament and crossed the room to occupy the seat beside her on the sofa. Then he gripped one of her hands. “Confide in me, Jane. Something is wrong. I am convinced of it today. A problem shared is a problem halved, as I recall. What harm is there in telling me? What is going on?”

Her eyes met his, saline making them gleam in the bright sunlight streaming through the window, defining the emerald green like the jewel itself.

He was not, in general, a man of much depth. He did not seek to know people well, and he certainly did not wish to take on other people’s problems. But this was not just any other person. This was Jane. As he waited, earnestly willing her to speak, a sharp pain settled in his gut, the age-old need and longing he felt for this woman. He was like a starving man in her presence. Bloody desperate was what he was.

Her fingers pulled from his grip.

Even holding her hand made him lust after her; his groin was heavy. He thought she was tempted to tell for a moment, but then her eyes clouded and her gaze dropped.

Jane felt the intensity in Robert’s deep brown eyes silently urge her to speak, and daylight caught the lighter shades, turning them gold as she watched him. She couldn’t speak though; it was not fair to drag him into this, she’d hurt him enough once.

Her eyes dropped back to the magazine. “Nothing is wrong, my Lord.”

His knee touched hers, and she felt his muscle stiffen. Then he rose sharply and paced across the room. “Liar,” he said again when he stopped and turned back. His tone was sharp and condescending.

He was angry with her, and she could hardly blame him. She’d told him to leave her alone then called him back and imposed upon him to convey her to Violet’s.

And, of course, he had no idea she’d only done it to avoid Joshua. She’d told herself she’d invited Robert inside out of common courtesy, but she knew she had invited him in because, despite the fact this man was not her tender-hearted Robert, she still felt safer with him. She simply did not want to let him go yet. She just needed time to feel confident again.

He was watching her.

She looked up, her gaze skimming over his sculpted, tailored, slim, athletic figure. He was so infuriatingly handsome, despite oozing anger and arrogance. The magnetic pull exuding from him dragged her awareness towards him as his brown eyes challenged her, seeking every detail of her thoughts.

“If,” he began, his pronunciation expressing bluntly that he still thought her words a lie, “you think to dangle me, Jane, you are playing with fire, not a fish.”

He stepped closer, and sensing that he intended to lean over her, Jane thrust the magazine aside and stood, too.

It brought her up face-to-face with him, and he towered over her, merely a foot away. Her eyes fixed on his mocking smile, and a lead weight dropped from her stomach to the aching point between her legs.

She said nothing, and his fingers came up and lifted her chin, bringing her gaze to his.

“You are such a liar, Jane.”

His tone was no longer angry, but it held a cynical humour, and the pupils in his eyes had widened, large, onyx circles darkening his gaze with long, dark lashes defining it.

A warm ache settled somewhere in her chest then spiralled to her womb like a rolling penny when his lips lowered to hers, catching at them gently, a soft caress.

She echoed it without thought. Her eyes closed as he continued to kiss her, and she opened her mouth when his tongue touched her lips. Her very bones melting, her arms reached about his neck, and her body pressed against him, and then he stopped and pulled away.

Her eyelids lifted. She faced a knowing smile and felt the chill of his desertion.

“As I thought, a lie, Your Grace, all of it. You do want me. Like it or not, Jane. Admit it or not. You want me. You are found out, my dear.” His eyes narrowed as he continued. “But why not admit it? I cannot make you out. And there I presume is the dilemma which has you so distracted and upset. Whatever it is that prevents you admitting it, I mean.”

His hand rose suddenly and tapped her under the chin, before dropping again. “Such a tease, Jane. You don’t know me very well, do you? These games do nothing but inspire me to persist.”

A knock struck the door she’d left ajar. “Tea, Ma’am.” The maid’s voice reached into the room.

“Come in.” Jane felt a blush rise again, realising the maid must have heard at least part of their conversation.

Jane turned her back on Robert to hide her embarrassment, then crossed the room and looked out the window.

She waited there, listening as the maid laid out the tea tray.

“Thank you,” Jane said, when she heard the maid withdraw, looking down towards the square and the park below.

Joshua was there, sitting in his curricle.

He’d positioned it in the far corner of the square and sat with one arm stretched along the back of the double seat while he smoked a thin cigar, looking up at the house. A gloating smirk lodged on his face as he spotted her.

She stepped back and turned away only to find her path blocked by her other pursuer, the Earl of Barrington.

Her fingers lifted and rested on the front of his coat, steadying herself and holding him back as she met his gaze. A flint seemed to spark between them then and caught to a flame. She could see it in his eyes and feel it in her blood.

She did want him physically. She always had. Robert Marlow was a heart-wrenchingly beautiful man. But the problem was, he knew it, and he knew exactly what he did to her, too. She had to stand firm, despite her memories and the feelings which still burned inside her from the old days. He was not her haven against the world. Right now, he was nothing but a wolf in sheep’s clothing, as dangerous as Joshua in his way. But, God forgive her, he made her want to be devoured, no matter how much she knew it could only bring her pain, and clearly he wanted to devour her, because, regardless of the anger still bristling in his eyes, and his right to be aggrieved, his head bent and his hands slid about her waist.

The embrace was fierce and impassioned. She was breathless in moments, and her heart thumped hard as her fingers clung in his hair, hanging on against the flood.

His hands slid down over the contours of her body, moulded to the shape of her buttocks, then pressed her to him. A lustful groan slipped from his mouth into hers as she felt his arousal.

“Huh-hum.”

Robert let her go instantly, and Jane felt her face turn crimson as she looked across the room and met Violet’s reproachful gaze.

She stood in the doorway, her hand still gripping the door handle.

Of course, they had not shut the door.

Jane glanced guiltily at Robert, only to see him expressing no remorse at all.

Instead, he wore a wolfish grin, looking full of scornful satisfaction as his fingers lifted and swept back the lock of hair she’d dislodged.

Ignoring their reaction, Violet walked into the room and crossed to the tea tray. “Shall I pour?” Her tone bore as much humour as annoyance.

Feeling ashamed, Jane accepted with a nod.

“Selford said you had a visitor. I presumed you would need some company.” There was censure in Violet’s voice.

Jane smiled an apology and moved to collect her tea. Then she returned to the sofa and sat.

“My Lord?” Her friend sent Robert a quelling gaze.

Jane assumed he would instantly withdraw with some excuse to leave, but Robert was not so easily daunted.

He nodded and walked forward to collect his cup then sat beside Jane.

It seemed a deliberate move. She was very aware of his muscular thigh pressing against hers. She felt a blush again.

“To what end do we owe the honour of your visit, Barrington?” Violet said, taking the chair opposite.

“His Lordship kindly gave me a lift home,” Jane interceded before Robert could respond.

Despite the charming smile on her face, Violet glared at Robert. “Your kindness was well rewarded, I saw.”

Jane coughed, choking on the tea. She set it down. When she looked up, it was to see Robert smirking again. He looked like he was almost laughing.

“Actually, I was on my way to call upon the Dowager Duchess. It was merely the hand of fortune that brought us together sooner.” He drained his cup and set it down before reaching into the breast pocket of his morning coat. He withdrew several folded notes and held them out towards her.

She stared at them. “Your winnings, Your Grace,” he prompted.

“My Lord, I—”

His expression darkened at her denial, and he interrupted. “If you do not want it then give it to a charitable institution. I said I would lay the bet for you, and I did.” He tossed the money on to her lap and rose.

Jane picked it up and put it on the table by her cup, then rose, too. She felt as though there was a tumultuous moat of misunderstanding and maybes separating them. Their impulsive embrace of moments ago was like a lost memory already.

“Your Grace.” He bowed. “If you will excuse me, I should be off in any case.” He turned to Violet, stepped forward and, bowing, held out his hand, indicating for her to set her hand in his. She did not. Jane watched Robert rise and smile in a dismissive gesture that told Violet he did not give a damn. “My Lady,” he intoned scathingly, before turning away then striding from the room with an assured step.

Oh. Jane looked at Violet, unsure what to do, but then, without any real thought, she set off in pursuit.

“My Lord!” she called, halting his pace as he reached the top of the stairs. “Wait, I’ll see you out.”

A knowing smile curved his lips.

The infuriating man was driving her quite mad.

When she reached him, she gripped his arm and led him on to the stairs, speaking in a whisper, “Robert, I do not want you to think—”

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