“Yes.” She kept her chin up. “There is one expense you do not need to burden yourself with. I do not need a carriage.”
“Why not?” He rested one elbow on the back of the sofa and set his closed fist against his mouth. His dark eyes did not look away from hers. “You will need to shop, Jane, and get out to see the sights. It would be unwise to rely upon me to take you about. Shopping bores me. When I come here, I will be far more eager to take you to bed than out for a drive.”
“The servants can shop for food,” she said. “And if you object to the clothes I wear, you can send dressmakers here. I have no wish to go out.”
“Is what you are about to do so shameful to you, then?” he asked her. “You really feel you cannot show your face to the world ever again?”
She had answered that the day before. But it would be as well, she thought, if he believed it. Strangely, it was not true. Life had become a practical business, which she must direct and control as best she was able.
He did not speak again for some time. The silence stretched between them while he stared broodingly at her and she gazed back, uncomfortable but unwilling to look away.
“There is an alternative,” he said at last. “One that would bring you fame and fortune and great esteem, Jane. One that would save you from the degradation of bedding with a rake.”
“I do not consider it degrading,” she told him.
“No?” He lifted his free hand and cupped her chin. He ran his thumb lightly across her lips. “I am not intimate with the inner circles of high culture, Jane, but I daresay my word carries some weight almost everywhere. I could introduce you to Lord Heath or the Earl of Raymore, two of the more prominent patrons of the arts. I have every confidence that if either one of them heard your voice, he would set your feet on the road to fame. You are that good, you know. You would not need me.”
She gazed at him in some surprise. He wanted her—she did not doubt that. But he was prepared to let her go? Even to help her be independent of him? Quite unconsciously she parted her lips and touched her tongue to the pad of his thumb.
His eyes met and held hers. And she felt raw desire knife down inside her. She had not intended to provoke such a moment. Neither had he, she suspected.
“I do not want a career as a singer,” she said.
It was the truth even apart from the fact that she could not flirt with danger by going before the public gaze again. She did not want to use her voice to earn a living. She wanted to use it for the pleasure of people who were close to her. She had no yearning for fame.
He leaned forward and set his mouth where his thumb had been. He kissed her hard.
“But you do want one as my mistress?” he said. “On your terms? What are they, then? What do you want that I have not already offered?”
“Security,” she said. “I want your agreement to pay my salary until my twenty-fifth birthday even if you should dismiss me before then. Provided I am not the one to break our agreement, of course. I am twenty now, by the way.”
“For five years,” he said. “And how will you support yourself after that, Jane?”
She did not know. She was supposed to come into her inheritance then—all of her father’s fortune that had not been entailed on his heir. But of course she might never be able to claim it. She would not suddenly stop being a fugitive simply because she had reached the magic age of freedom.
She shook her head.
“Perhaps,” he said, “I will never tire of you, Jane.”
“Nonsense!” she told him. “Of course you will. And long before four and a half years have passed. That is why I must protect my future.”
He smiled at her. He did not smile nearly often enough. And altogether too often for her peace of mind. She wondered if he knew what devastating charm his smile hinted at.
“Very well, then,” he said. “It will be written into the contract. Salary until dismissal or your twenty-fifth birthday, whichever comes later. Anything else?”
She shook her head. “What about your conditions?” she asked him. “We have come to an agreement on what you will do for me. What must I do for you?”
He shrugged. “Be here for me,” he said. “Have sexual relations with me whenever I can persuade you that you want them as much as I do. That is all, Jane. A relationship between a man and his mistress cannot be legislated, you know. I will not even try to insist upon obedience and subjection, you see. You would not be able to keep such a promise even if you could be persuaded to make it. And damn me for a fool for saying this aloud, but I believe it is your very impudence that attracts me. Shall I have Quincy draw up the contract and bring it here for your perusal? I imagine he will be vastly diverted by such a task. I will not bring it myself, Jane. I will not come again until you send for me. I will assume when I do hear from you that the bedchamber abovestairs is ready for use.”
“Very well, your grace,” she said as he got to his feet. She stood up too. A week was going to seem like an eternity.
He framed her face with his hands. “That will have to change too, Jane,” he said. “I cannot have youyour gracingme when we are in bed together. My name is Jocelyn.”
She had not known his name. No one had ever used it in her hearing. “Jocelyn,” she said softly.
His very dark eyes were normally hard and quite opaque. It was impossible to see more of the man than he was willing to reveal—and that was usually not very much, she suspected. But for a moment after she spoke his name, Jane had the distinct feeling that something opened up behind his eyes and that she was falling into them.
For only a moment.
