One Night With You Page 17

  “She has nothing to do with us.”

  Not precisely the answer she sought.

  “She has everything to do with us. You’re punishing me because of her—”

  “That’s not true.”

  “No?” She angled her head. “If Aurora had turned out to be another woman, any woman besides me, would you be sleeping alone tonight?”

  She waited, her breath lodged deep in her chest.

  He stared at her in silence, his eyes dark and unfathomable. A muscle ticked in his jaw, the only sign that she perhaps struck a nerve.

  The silence grew, a terrible thing between them, confirming that it was Jane he found objectionable. Finished standing before him, an offering that he would refuse as if foul, she swallowed down the thickness in her throat. Gathering the scraps of dignity left to her, she thrust her chin forward. “Forgive me for disturbing you.” I won’t do so again.

  “Jane,” he called, but she had already passed through the door. Even knowing he would never cross its threshold, she locked it behind her, collapsing against its solid length, her chest heaving as if she just raced a great distance.

  He knocked, the wood reverberating at her back. “Jane, let’s talk about—”

  “We’ve talked enough. Good night, Seth.”

  She held her breath, waiting to see if he would say more, unsure whether she wanted him to or not…knowing she only wanted to hear what he could never say.

  She pressed the base of her palms to her burning eyes and willed the pain away, choking back a sob as she commanded herself to forget she had ever loved Seth. That she still did.

  The sob swelled higher in her throat, threatening to burst free as that realization washed over her.

  She had never stopped loving him. Even after all these years.

  The journey back to Town was a miserable affair, even without the waves of tension, palpable as fog, swirling around them. She stared out the window, watching the rolling countryside, convinced she could never look Seth in the face again. Not without reliving the shame of his rejection, at any rate.

  The swaying and rolling motion of the carriage heightened the sickness she had thought mild and endurable at the cottage. A queasy belly that cramped and twisted insistently soon pushed thoughts of Seth from her mind. After the first hour, she fell limp against the carriage wall, slipping in and out of misery-induced sleep.

  “Are you well?” Seth asked at one point, his hand falling on her shoulder.

  She whimpered at his touch, as if it somehow compounded her misery.

  “Fine,” she mumbled without opening her eyes, concentrating on not retching all over the carriage floor. “Just tired.”

  At some point, her dozing must have turned into a full-fledged slumber because the next thing she knew she was being lifted from the carriage and carried up the steps of the St. Claire townhouse.

  Her cheek rested weakly against Seth’s hard chest, the thudding of his heart filling her ear as her head lolled with the pound of his footsteps. She lifted her head, determined to escape his comforting nearness, to neither need nor want it, but that still left the hard bands of muscle holding her securely, and the unyielding breadth of a very male chest against her. She gave up the fight, telling herself she took no pleasure in his holding her.

  He deposited her upon a large tester in the room that she had occupied prior to taking their vows. Relieved to be free of the rollicking carriage, she curled on her side, closing her eyes as she sank into the down-filled mattress, so grateful she did not even protest when he removed her slippers and stockings.

  Slipping her hand beneath her cheek, she released a shuddery sigh as warm fingers squeezed the blood back into her feet. “Mmm,” she moaned, rolling onto her back, afraid to open her eyes and find him gone and the pleasant sensation a dream.

  He rubbed deep, languorous circles over the arch of her feet. His fingers slid up, those marvelous thumbs moving over her calves in long, penetrating strokes until she felt boneless, a weakened mass of her former self.

  Instinctively her knees parted and she groaned as he moved up even more, his fingers digging deep, sweeping strokes along her quivering thighs. Her hands stretched out to her sides, fisting the brocade counterpane as small noises of pleasure escaped her.

  She opened her eyes, letting herself look at him at last.

  Seth stood poised over her, hands digging into her thighs, a feverish look in his eyes that brought a rush of moisture between her thighs. Her body reacted, an aching throb tugging low in her belly, demanding and insistent. She bit her lip, wanting badly to assuage that ache—wanting him to pound it into submission as only he could.

  “Jane!” a voice intruded.

  Seth’s hands dropped from her thighs as though burned and he took a hasty step back.

  Anna charged into the room, her broad faced creased and lined with worry. “I heard you were carried inside the house. Are you unwell?” The older woman looked Seth over accusingly.

  Jane rearranged her skirts, sitting up. “I’m fine. Only a little travel-weary.”

  “Hmm,” Anna murmured, casting Seth a sidelong glance.

  Blinking with the realization that Anna stood before her, Jane exclaimed, “Anna! What are you doing here?”

  Anna nodded at Seth, folding her hands before her substantial figure.

  Jane’s gaze jerked to Seth.

  He gave only a curt nod.

  Anna explained, “Before you left for your honeymoon, his lordship hired me.”

  Jane stared hard at Seth. “You did that?”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “It was a small matter.”

  Why would he do something so thoughtful, so generous…for her? And before they ever left Town. Before that wretched night when she had thrown herself at him and shamed herself.

  “You do look peaked,” Anna observed, her sturdy, callused palm brushing Jane’s cheek. “Are you feeling poorly?”

  “I’ll leave you now,” Seth announced. Looking to Anna, he advised, “Do see that she rests and eats.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Anna sketched an awkward curtsey, watching as he strode from the room. As soon as the door clicked shut, Anna whirled about. “Out with it now. What has he done to you?”

  “Nothing. I’m merely a bit under the weather,” Jane confessed. “I’m sure it’s no more than exhaustion from the journey.”

  “It’s the babe,” Anna pronounced, shaking her head with a dogged resolve. “Your mother was violently ill with both you and your sister—especially you.”

  Jane’s hand flew to her belly. “Violently ill?” she echoed, praying it would not be so with her. She did not want Seth to think her weak and sickly. He already thought low of her. She would have that he not view the mother of his child as frail and unfit for the rigors of motherhood.

  “Come, lie down. I shall send for a tray.”

  “No,” Jane said, her voice falling hard. “I won’t have him think I need special care.”

  Anna observed her keenly, lowering herself to the bed beside Jane. The bed dipped from her added weight and Jane had to stop herself from rolling to the edge. “You seem to care a great deal about what he thinks of you.”

  Heat warmed her cheeks. Jane splayed a hand over her belly and rubbed idly. “Clearly I am not immune to him. He is an attractive man.”

  “And that’s the sum of it, then.” Anna smirked, cocking a bushy gray brow. “He’s merely…attractive.”

  “Of course,” Jane said, fighting the wave of emotion that told her she lied.

  Leaning down, Anna removed the pins from Jane’s hair, shaking the heavy mass free. “Rest. All this excitement…” She clucked and shook her salt-and-peppered head in disapproval. “First that rushed business of a wedding—”

  “I had a church wedding once,” Jane interrupted. “It’s not everything.”

  “Then that ill-conceived honeymoon. You’ve no business traveling in your condition,” Anna continued as if she had not spoken. “You need peace and qui
et. Let your mind and body settle.” With a decisive nod, Anna shoved to her feet. Jane grabbed her hand, stopping her.

  “Anna…” she hesitated, scanning the woman’s heavily lined face, needing approval from the woman who had been more of a mother to her than her own. “Have I disappointed you?” Her hand curled over her stomach protectively, almost as if she wanted to shelter the child within.

  Shock crossed Anna’s face. “You? Never.” Moving close, she smoothed a chapped palm over Jane’s brow. “You’re a good girl. Misused by the very people God intended to love you, is the sorry truth. You’ll have a child to love now. Who will love you back.” Her lips twitched and her eyes twinkled with humor. “And you’re with the boy you always loved. You deserve no less.”

  Jane shook her head fiercely, seeing no humor in her present predicament.

  Anna continued, “You may fool yourself, but I know you. You never stopped loving that boy.”

  Jane fought the sudden, infuriating burn of tears in her eyes, wishing she could deny the claim.

  Swiping the back of her hand against her eyes, resolve steeled her nerves. She may love him, but she would not torment herself with the hopes that he could love her back.

  Seth sought refuge in his bedchamber. He needed to greet his sister, but not before he collected himself. Not before he gained control of his raging lust.

  Pacing the room’s length, he dragged both hands through his hair, cursing when he realized how they shook.

  Damn her. And damn him. He couldn’t even touch her in the most innocent way without fondling her. How was he to keep his hands to himself?

  He had defined the parameters of their marriage. He could not change the rules now. Not without looking a bloody ass. Not without revealing himself weak and without control—precisely the type of man he vowed never to become. He’d lost control before. He would not permit a woman to hold such power over him again.

  Not that he needed to worry. Even if he failed and succumbed, she would never give him another chance. Not after he rebuffed her. He’d seen the look in her eyes that night. The utter devastation. The deep hurt. He had felt its echo in his own heart, so much that he almost surrendered. Almost caved and took her in his arms, claimed her body as he yearned.

  She hardly looked at him now. And when she did, her gaze flitted over him as if he were nothing—something to be scraped off the bottom of her shoe.

  He sighed. At least it kept her from coming to his room in the dead of night garbed in a nightgown that did more to accentuate her curves than disguise.

  He could never survive that. Not again. It had killed him to watch her walk away when every inch of him wanted to strip her bare and sink himself to the hilt in her softness, to join with the body that haunted his nights.

  If only the woman who drove him mad with desire weren’t Jane—weren’t his wife.

  If only he didn’t feel his control slip each time he looked at her.

  Chapter 22

  Jane smoothed her hands over her wide pleated skirts. The blue and yellow striped dimity was heaven to behold. No more ghastly black. She could have wept with elation.

  It had taken less than a week to outfit her with a new wardrobe. The little Frenchwoman Seth had sent wasted no time, barking orders with military precision. Even Anna jumped to her commands. In a flash, the seamstress had stripped her wardrobe with the clipped command, “burn them” and began measuring Jane for ball gowns, day dresses, riding habits, nightgowns, filmy undergarments that made her blush. Nothing was overlooked, including future clothing for her confinement.

  Pulling on the tidy white cuffs of her dress, she knocked on the door to Seth’s office, anxious to see his reaction to her new attire, to show him that she could look the part of a countess—even if a name only wife.

  They had not seen each other since he deposited her in her bedchamber, leaving her to Anna’s care. His summons today mystified her.

  His voice carried through the door, bidding her enter.

  Squaring her shoulders, she fixed a neutral expression on her face and did her best to ignore the way her blood rushed at seeing him. He sat behind his desk, papers and ledgers littering the surface. Strands of golden brown hair fell over his forehead. As always her fingers itched to touch his hair, to delve through the sun-kissed mess and push it back from his brow.

  “Jane,” he greeted, his gaze sweeping over her as he rose to his feet, tossing his hair back with a shake of his head.

  Her fingers flew to her clammy cheek, realizing she mustn’t look her best despite her lovely new gown. With each day, she felt as if she were being turned inside out. Her stomach a rolling, twisting beast that dictated her actions. Every smell, good or bad, had her covering her nose, fearful to draw too deep a breath lest she become sick.

  He motioned across from him.

  She followed the gesture and noticed the room’s other inhabitant, immediately recognizing Mr. Younger, the Guthrie family solicitor. A sour taste filled her mouth, and she gave him a grim nod. He had always treated her as though she possessed half a brain. Fortunately, she had not seen him since Marcus’s funeral.

  Rising to his feet, the reed-thin gentleman bowed. “Lady Guth—” he stopped and corrected himself, “Lady St. Claire.”

  “Mr. Younger.” She smiled tightly and took the chair beside his. “A pleasure to see you again,” she lied.

  “Jane, Mr. Younger has some startling news.”

  “Indeed?” She looked to Mr. Younger.

  “Yes, it seems I owe you an apology, my lady.”

  She cocked her head to the side. “Whatever for?”

  The solicitor’s Adam’s apple bobbed wildly. “It appears I should have monitored your brother-in-law’s supervision of your jointure—”

  “My jointure?” she interrupted. Her gaze flicked to Seth. “Marcus left me no jointure.”

  Mr. Younger pulled at his starched collar as if it choked him. “In fact, the late Lord Guthrie did.”

  Marcus left her a jointure? She considered this news, accepting it as a possibility. It was what most gentlemen did, and Marcus had been the consummate gentleman, infidelities withstanding.

  “Mr. Billings convinced us that you were too grief-stricken over Lord Guthrie’s sudden death to attend to your affairs.” Releasing his collar, he gave a small shrug of his slight shoulders, his gaunt cheeks flushing. “Given the circumstances of your late husband’s passing, I deemed that very likely.”

  “Could you not have asked me?” she bit out, her hands clenching the arms of her chair.

  He reddened further at her simple question. “I found it quite credible that you lacked the proper frame of mind to oversee proceedings usually left to the domain of men. Mr. Billings and I decided he was best suited to manage your affairs.” He looked to Seth as though expecting agreement.

  Suddenly it all made sense. Desmond had worked so hard to keep her beneath his thumb in order to maintain control of her jointure. Her cheeks burned, indignation firing her as she focused her wrath on the hapless solicitor. “Well, which is it, Mr. Younger? Was I too grief-stricken or too feeble-minded to be versed in my affairs?” She fisted her skirts to stop from swinging at the arrogant popinjay.

  Her own jointure would have altered everything. Granted her the means to be independent. Perhaps she would not have risked attending Madame Fleur’s masquerade, so desperate for a night of freedom. Perhaps she would not have seduced Seth at Vauxhall. Would not now find herself married—once again—to a man who cared nothing for her.

  Nor would she carry his child. Her hand drifted to her stomach and her anger dissipated like a ring of smoke in the air. As simple as that her wrath vanished.

  Mr. Younger inclined his head in a show of remorse. “My deepest apologies, my lady. It was not well done of me.”

  Seth’s voice broke in, “I would like my wife’s funds transferred at once.”

  “That, my lord, is the issue that brings me here today,” the solicitor murmured in a near whisper,
his eyes downcast. “Upon learning of Lady Guthrie’s marriage, I set myself to that precise task. And yet…” He pulled on his collar again.

  “Spit it out, Younger,” Seth demanded.

  “There is nothing left,” he choked. “Mr. Billings has gone through all of it.”

  “Gone through all of it?” Seth echoed, dark brows dipping in a frown.

  Jane shook her head. A bitter laugh bubbling up from deep in her chest. “Of course.”

  The irony galled her. Desmond had convinced the solicitors she was incompetent to oversee her affairs, and then he proceeded to squander her money.

  “We greatly misjudged Mr. Billings, my lord. He is quite the swindler,” Mr. Younger rushed to say. “I’ve visited him and he claimed that your wife’s portion was spent on her upkeep.”

  “Indeed,” she inserted hotly, thinking of all she had gone without since Marcus’s death. She had not shopped, traveled, or done the usual things that a lady of the ton might do.

  Younger continued, his nasal voice grating her nerves, “Seeing as there is no way to prove or disprove this claim—”

  “Nothing can be done,” Seth finished, the edge to his voice sharp as cut glass. Jane watched as he unfolded his great length from behind the desk.

  Mr. Younger shrank back in his chair, the leather creaking beneath him.

  “You may take your leave, Younger. And thank you. It’s of use to know one solicitor whom I shall never entrust with my affairs. I shall be sure that all of Town knows as well.”

  Mr. Younger’s mouth fell slack and his eyes bulged. Leaning forward, he raised a hand in supplication. “L-Lord St. Claire, you cannot mean to spread tales—”

  “Of your incompetence? Indeed, I do. Good day, sir. I’m certain you remember the way out.”

  His face pale as chalk, Mr. Younger gave a reluctant nod before rising and departing the room.

  Jane stared after the solicitor for a moment before murmuring with a shake of her head, “I’m sorry, Seth. It seems I should not have come empty-handed into this marriage.”

  “I never expected money when I married you.”