Nick thrust past her lips. He despised Amelia and he felt it in every fiber of his being. He despised all women, he despised Patricia, who was dead. Maybe he would have killed her if she’d lived. The only woman he did not despise was Jane.
Jane. If this was Jane’s hair in his hands he would come. The image was wrong, so very wrong, but it was so graphic and powerful, Jane taking him eagerly into her mouth, that a surge of desire more intense than any he’d experienced before swept him. Nick was on his knees, pushing Amelia onto her back. He did not, would not, look at her. After flipping up her skirts, he slid into her. She was wet and hot. He saw Jane as she had been last night, languidly lying upon the bed, breasts bared, head back, arching, offering her pure, virginal breasts to him. He saw the lazy, dark, languid light in her eyes. The sensuous invitation … The earl finished quickly.
He rolled away from Amelia, who lay panting in satisfaction. He realized he did not just despise his mistress—he despised himself.
13
“Whatever is going on in here? This racket is unbearable!” Amelia cried.
Jane didn’t look at her. “Careful, John,” she warned as he stood precariously upon a ladder in the yellow parlor taking down the heavy brocade drapes. Too late; the drapes fell, a goodly portion upon him, making him lose his balance. Fortunately, Thomas steadied the ladder just in time, preventing an accident. “Are you all right?” Jane cried anxiously.
“Yes’m,” John said, grinning with embarrassment. He was just a year or two older than Jane.
“Whatisgoing on?” Amelia demanded from the doorway.
Jane sighed and turned to her. She gestured gracefully with one hand. “As you can see, we’re cleaning.”
Amelia’s eyes narrowed.
All the rugs had been rolled up to be taken outside, swept, beaten, and aired. Likewise with the heavy, moldering drapes. Two maids had moved all of the furniture into the center of the room, the better to attack the gritty corners and cobwebs.
“John,” Jane instructed, “ask Howard to help you remove all the furniture, except the piano, of course, into the drawing room so we can wax these floors.”
“My, my,” Amelia said. “We are the perfect housekeeper, aren’t we?”
Jane turned. “I would not go around calling other people names, Amelia. They might call you something back.”
Amelia had the sensitivity to flush. “There are names you could be called too,” she shot. “I know all about you—Miss Barclay. You may be Weston’s granddaughter, but he never publicly acknowledged you!”
Jane reddened, but lifted her chin. “My father did. And I am proud of who I am.”
“Pride will not get you what you want,” Amelia said, laughing. “Excuse me—it will not get you whom you want!”
The truth of that statement hurt. “But at least I have pride,” Jane flashed back. “At least I don’t stay with a man who practically accuses me of being a whore to my face!”
Amelia went white with fury. “At least,” she hissed, “I make him happy when it counts! When the lights are out! You will never be woman enough for the earl!”
No matter how hard Amelia struck, nor how cruel she was, Jane could not threaten her with revealing what she’d seen. With innate dignity, she turned her back on the older woman. She realized then that the two maids, John, and Thomas were all frozen, having heard every word. She knew her cheeks were pink. Good Lord, did they all think that she coveted the earl? Nevertheless, she smiled at everyone and said cheerfully, “We will never get this room freshened if we all stand about gawking.”
Immediately everyone returned to his task.
Amelia snorted.
“Annie, take everything off the mantel, if you please. It’s as filthy as the rest of this room.” Jane was aware, as Annie complied, that Amelia had stomped with all the grace of a cow out of the parlor. She realized her small hands were clenched into fists at her sides, and she relaxed them. That woman was a viper. How could he be so blind? Jane was trembling. How did Amelia know she cared about the earl? Would she tell him? Oh, Jane thought in despair, Amelia had no decency, she would tell him, laughing, and he would most likely be amused.Amused.If he should learn her feelings, as confused as they were, and be amused, Jane would die! And then she heard the front door closing, and Amelia’s voice, no longer caustic, but sweeter than honey. “Hullo, darling. My, you look hot.”
There was no reply.
Jane found herself at the door, peering down the corridor and into the foyer. The earl was striding toward her, Amelia hurrying alongside him. “Shall I tell Thomas you’re ready for dinner, darling?” She cooed. “I’ve had him prepare a wonderful treat!”
Jane gritted her teeth, furious. She had supervised the day’s menu—with the earl’s foreign tastes specifically in mind.
He saw Jane; his stride slowed.
Jane found her chest unbearably tight. As on the day before, he wore tight, tight breeches—she saw thick, powerful thighs and his heavy groin. His shirt was half open and soaked through with mist and sweat. His chest was slick. His hair was damp and tousled. His eyes were bright before their light was carefully extinguished. “Hello, Jane,” he said.
She smiled. Her eyes shone. “Good day, my lord,” she replied softly.
He didn’t stop, but his gaze lingered, bringing warmth to every fiber of Jane’s being. Then he was past. Amelia threw her a look of searing hatred. Jane didn’t care, not in that moment. He had spoken to her. He had been civil to her. Yesterday he had been kind to her. He had been kind to her the night before. And even though he had only said hello, Jane had felt more, so much more. And it wasn’t a childish fantasy. Jane clasped her hands to her breasts with a deep, deep breath. She was taming the lion—she was gentling the Lord of Darkness.
