“I am Jane Barclay,” Jane said coldly.
“How nice,” the redhead murmured, and then she was gone, gliding down the corridor toward the library, her red heels clicking on the stone floors. Jane watched, with growing dismay, as she knocked once upon the door then let herself in without waiting for a response. She felt a strange urge to cry, but would not. Hopefully, desperately, she waited for the earl’s anger to erupt. But it never did.
She looked at Thomas glumly. “W-who is t-that?”
He gave her a kind, commiserating look.“Thatis the Lady Amelia Harrowby. The widow Harrowby,” he added significantly.
“Oh” was all Jane could manage, her chest choking her.
She blinked up at the servants, who were watching her strangely, and with compassion, it seemed. She forced a smile for their sakes. “Please finish the windows, and thank you very much.” The last words broke.
Jane didn’t go upstairs to her room. She slowly walked down the corridor toward the library. The door was still open. She paused there, looking in.
Lady Harrowby sat on the earl’s desk, while he sat behind it. She was leaning over, her breasts practically falling out of her bodice. Her face was close to his, and she was smiling, laughing actually. Jane really couldn’t see the earl’s face, but it looked like it was stony. Then the widow took a finger and traced it over his cheekbone, down to his jaw, and up to his mouth.
Jane must have made a sound, because Lady Harrowby jumped off of the desk and the earl leapt to his feet. His gaze found Jane’s. She turned and ran, but not before she heard the redhead saying peevishly, “Who is that, darling?”
There was no reply.
10
The earl was not particularly pleased.
He sipped a whiskey in his study, feeling, in fact, profoundly agitated. Normally he did not care when Amelia chose to just pop in. She never stayed for more than a few days, as the country “bored” her. She knew he would tolerate no disturbances during his work day, and what she did to occupy herself then, he never knew and did not care to know. At night she amused him, sufficiently well, to say the least. Then she would return to her London town house on Warwick Way.
Today, however, the earl was disturbed. He had been planning on going to Newmarket tomorrow to look at those breeder bulls. Now he would have to postpone his trip. Because of Amelia’s untimely arrival; it had nothing to do with Jane. And when the thought occurred to him that he could take Amelia with him, as they would have to stay overnight, he shoved it abruptly away. No, he would not go tomorrow, maybe next week. And this was the cause of his current agitation, nothing more. It certainly had nothing to do with the blue-eyed girl who had stood in the library doorway looking so devastated that afternoon. Or so Nick kept telling himself.
“Damn it!” he exploded.
It was for the best, he thought savagely. He was a man, with a man’s needs. Amelia was his mistress, one of many, so what? Jane was a schoolgirl and his ward and the sooner she realized this, the better. The sooner she got over her little schoolgirl’s crush, the better. Right, damn it?
“Right!” he roared.
“My, we are in a mood,” Amelia said from the doorway. He glanced at her.
She smiled and moved to him, undulating gently. She wore a low-cut, sleeveless crimson evening gown, the better to show off her magnificent breasts. For some reason, tonight she reminded Nick of a schooner, a top-heavy schooner crashing through the waves. He smiled slightly at the imagery.
“That’s better, darling,” Amelia purred. “Did you miss me?” She clung to his arm. Her bosom pressed there invitingly. The earl was, surprisingly, not in the least interested.
“Amelia, please, spare me the cute dialogue.” He shook her free.
“Damn you,” she hissed.
He turned to her, lifting a brow. “Too late, I fear I’m already on my way to hell. Or maybe,” he mused, “I’m already there. Care for a shot?” He raised the decanter of whiskey.
“You are in a worse mood than usual,” Amelia stated.
“True.” He poured them both large snifters. “If you don’t like it,” he said, handing her a glass, “leave.”
She stared.
He stared back.
She put her drink aside and tried a smile, touching his arm. “I’ll make you feel better, darling, I promise,” she finally said.
He looked her in the eye. “I doubt it.”
She could hide beneath the covers of her bed, or she could get up and get dressed and go downstairs for supper.
