He found her mouth with his in the darkness, and they kissed with openmouthed passion, heedless of the proximity of so many of their peers in the nearby rooms. Jane felt his heat, his taste, his maleness, his essence. But all that mattered was that he was Jocelyn, that he was the air she breathed, the heart that beat within her, the soul that gave her life meaning. And that he was here, warm and alive and in her arms.
She would never let him go. Never.
But he lifted his head, gazed down at her for a long moment, then released her and was gone. She listened to the sound of his footsteps receding down the hall in the direction of the salon and was alone.
More alone than she had ever been in her life before. She stared blankly into the almost dark hall beyond the doorway.
Neither of them had spoken a word.
“There you are,” a voice said gently perhaps a minute later. “Allow me to escort you to Lady Webb, ma’am. Shall I ask her to take you home?”
She could not even answer him for a few moments. But then she swallowed and stepped resolutely out of the doorway. “No, thank you, Lord Ferdinand,” she said. “Is Lady Oliver still here? Do you know? Will you take me to her, please?”
He hesitated. “I don’t believe you need worry about her,” he said. “Tresham is not—”
“I know that,” she said. “Oh, I know that very well. But I wish to talk to her. It is timesomeonedid.”
He hesitated, but he offered his arm and led her back to the soiree.
LADYOLIVER APPEARED TObe having some difficulty working her way into any group. She was standing alone in the middle of the drawing room, fanning herself and smiling rather contemptuously as if to say that it was beneath her dignity to join any of the groups there.
“I’ll wager she did not even receive an invitation,” Lord Ferdinand muttered. “Lady Sangster would not have invited both her and Tresham. But she would be too polite, I suppose, to turn the woman away. Are you sure you wish to talk to her?”
“Yes, I am,” Jane assured him. “You need not stay, Lord Ferdinand. Thank you. You are a kind gentleman.”
He bowed stiffly to Lady Oliver, who turned and raised her eyebrows in surprise when she saw Jane.
“Well,” she said as Lord Ferdinand walked away, “the notorious Lady Sara Illingsworth herself. And what may I do for you?”
Jane had intended to try to draw her away to the refreshment room, but it seemed they were in a small island of privacy, enclosed by the noise of group conversations and the sound of music coming from the next room.
“You may tell the truth,” she said, looking very directly into the other woman’s eyes.
Lady Oliver opened her fan and plied it slowly before her face. “The truth?” she asked. “And to which truth do you refer, pray?”
“You risked your husband’s life and the Duke of Tresham’s because you would not tell the truth,” Jane said. “Now you would risk the lives of two of your brothers and that of his grace again. All because you have not told the truth.”
Lady Oliver visibly blanched and her hand stilled. There was no mistaking the fact that she had just been dealt a severe shock, that she had not known about the duels until this moment. But she was evidently made of stern stuff. She pulled herself together even as Jane watched, and began fanning her face again.
“I count myself fortunate that I have brothers to defend my honor, Lady Sara,” she said coldly. “What do you want? That I should call them off and save your lover? You might be better served if he died in a duel. It would save you the ignominy of being shed like a soiled garment when he is done with you. That is what Tresham inevitably does with his doxies.”
Jane regarded her coldly and steadily. “You will not divert me from what I have sought you out to say, Lady Oliver,” she said. “The Duke of Tresham was never your lover. But he has always been a gentleman. He will die rather than contradict a lady and cause her public humiliation. The question is, ma’am, are you a lady? Will you allow gentlemen to suffer and perhaps die because a lie serves your vanity more than the truth?”
Lady Oliver laughed. “Is that what he has told you?” she asked. “That he was never my lover? And you believed him? Poor Lady Sara. You are an innocent after all. I could tell you things.… But no matter. You have nothing more to say? I will bid you good evening, then. I have friends awaiting me.”
“You will have an unenviable life ahead of you,” Jane told her, “if someone is killed on account of your lie. A life in which your conscience will plague you every single day and every night too. Even in sleep you will not be able to escape it. I pay you the compliment, you see, of believing that you do have a conscience, that you are vain rather than depraved. I will not bid you a good evening. I hope it is not good. I hope you will be tormented by the mental images of what may happen during one or both of those duels. And I hope that before it is too late you will do the only thing that is likely to win back the respect of your peers.”
She watched as Lady Oliver snapped her fan shut and swept away into the music room. And then she turned her head to find Lady Angeline on her brother’s arm, Lady Webb on Viscount Kimble’s, all waiting to gather her up into their company.
“Come, Sara,” Aunt Harriet said, “it is time to go home. I am thoroughly fatigued from so much pleasurable conversation.”
“I will take upon myself the pleasure of escorting the two of you out to your carriage, ma’am,” Lord Kimble announced.
Lady Angeline stepped forward and hugged Sara hard. Uncharacteristically, she said nothing.
Lord Ferdinand did. “I will wait upon you early tomorrow morning, Lady Sara,” he said.
To tell her if Jocelyn were alive or dead.
