The hansom stopped by the immense, flat tiers of pink granite steps leading up to the imposing teakwood front doors of the mansion. Nick paid and thanked the cabbie, and stepped out after his son. At that precise moment, Rathe came through the front doors, beaming and dimpled, his blue eyes dancing. Behind him, Nick saw a beautiful tall redhead, obviously his wife.
“Nick!”
The earl smiled a genuine smile, revealing his own dimples, so like his brother’s. The two men embraced, clinging for just a moment, then drew apart, embarrassed. The earl was blushing slightly. “God, it’s good to see you,” he said, smacking Rathe’s shoulder.
Rathe punched him back. “My brother, the earl! And who’s this? No—this can’t be Chad? You said he was only six!”
“Seven!” Chad cried, grinning. “Are you my Uncle Rathe?”
“You bet!” Rathe swung him up into his arms and Chad squealed. “Want a ride, champ?” he asked. When Chad responded enthusiastically, he set him on his broad shoulders. “Nick, this is my wife, Grace.”
Grace smiled with genuine warmth as Nick kissed her hand. “I’m so glad you’ve come,” she said softly.
Nick studied her openly. “I’m so glad my hell-raising brother finally found his match,” he said at last.
Grace grinned; Rathe groaned. “You don’t know the half of it!” he exclaimed. “How was your trip? Nick, we have some company, I hope you won’t mind.”
“Not at all,” Nick said easily, following his brother with his son on his shoulders into the house. His attention, however, was caught by Grace, who had given Rathe a warning look, her own gaze worried.
“It’s someone you know,” Rathe continued easily, swinging Chad to the ground in the doorway of a small, intimate parlor and taking his hand.
Nick’s smile died as he glanced past his brother. His heart actually stopped in midbeat, and he stared, stunned.
Jane, impossibly beautiful and impossibly pale, sat alone on the sofa and stared back, equally shocked.
54
He had come to New York to find Jane, but he had never expected to find her in his brother’s house. For one long moment he could not speak or move, he could only stare.
Jane rose nervously to her feet, clutching her gown in her fists, her eyes as big as saucers, her face whiter than a ghost’s. It was then that Lindley came forward from the tall, draped windows, his stride hard, his face set. He moved toward Jane, as if to protect her.
The earl didn’t think. He rushed forward, swinging. Lindley ducked, and the earl’s blow, containing enough power to kill, merely glanced off his temple. But it knocked Lindley off balance and to his knees. The earl went after him like a maddened bull, dragging him up by his suit lapels. Grace cried out in protest clutching the wide-eyed Chad. Rathe was rushing to them, grabbing his brother from behind and trying to tear him from Lindley. “Nick! Damn it, stop!”
Jane stood frozen, hands clutched to her breasts.
Nick burst free of Rathe’s hold as Lindley backed warily away, panting. ‘I’ll kill you if you’ve so much as touched her, you son of a bitch!” Nick roared. His face was red, the veins standing out rigidly in his temples, his throat corded. “I will kill you, do you hear?”
Rathe grabbed him again. Furious, Nick spun free. “Stay out of this,” he warned his brother, who instantly stepped back, not out of fear, but out of sudden understanding and respect.
Chad broke free of Grace’s grasp to run to his father. “Papa! Papa!”
The earl caught him. “It’s all right,” he said firmly. “Go with your aunt Grace. Jane and I have something to discuss.”
Chad was reluctant, but Grace came forward to take his hand and lead him out, despite his many backward glances.
The earl moved to Jane, fist raised with frustration, but clearly not raised at her. “Did he touch you? Are you sleeping with him? Are you?”
Jane shrank back. “No.” It was a barely audible whisper.
“You’ve done enough,” Lindley shouted from behind them. “Leave her alone—can’t you see that you’ve practically destroyed her?”
The earl whirled, but Rathe was between the two of them before further violence could erupt. Jane swallowed. “He is only my friend,” she managed, her voice quavering.
Jealousy was red and hot, a haze blinding him now that he had found them together. “How good a friend, Jane?” he demanded.“How good?”
“He is not my lover!” she cried, a flush rising to her face. “How dare you even ask! How dare you —when you have Patricia running your household and warming your bed!”
That froze the earl, and he stood there panting, his shoulders straining the seams of his jacket, sweat beading at his temples. Jane was panting too, facing him, her breasts rising and falling rapidly above the low, lace-edged bodice of her gown.
