Jane realized the impropriety of the moment and returned to her chair, her cheeks burning. The dark blond was regarding her openly, his handsome face admiring. “Aren’t you going to introduce me, Shelton?” He grinned again.
The earl rose. “Damn it, Lindley, I forgot you were coming.”
“I can see why.” Jonathon Lindley’s brown eyes were dancing. “I’d forget my own last name if I had her.”
Annoyance flickered on the earl’s face. “This is my ward. The Duke of Clarendon’s granddaughter.”
Jane stood to curtsy.
“I didn’t know old Weston had any heirs other than Chad,” Lindley exclaimed. The earl made no comment. “Hullo.” He took Jane’s hand, bowing over it and kissing it. His mouth wasn’t supposed to touch her skin—but it did.
She yanked her hand back as if it’d been burned.
Lindley smiled, but the earl’s face grew tight. “Cut it out, Lindley,” he warned. “She’s seventeen.”
“And private property?” Lindley turned to see the earl’s black expression. He held up a hand. “Just kidding,” he said somberly. His eyes were quizzical.
“You did not see what you think you saw,” Nick explained stiffly. “I was—er—choking.”
Lindley raised a brow.
“I was pounding his back,” Jane admitted.
“Of course,” Lindley said. He seemed to doubt them.
Thomas was setting another place. Lindley grinned affably at the earl. “Does this mean you have also forgotten the race this weekend?”
Nick scowled. He hadn’t forgotten that he had intended to race his stallion No Regrets this Sunday. He had just put off the decision he was now making. “No. Damn it, Lindley, I meant to send you a message. Somehow it escaped me. I can’t get away this weekend.”
Lindley chuckled. “Of course not. I wouldn’t budge either, if I were you.”
“What in hell does that mean!”
“Easy, old man, don’t take offense. Why don’t we sit? Something smells awfully good.” He smiled at Jane. “It seems I’m in the nick of time.” His smile widened as he glanced at the earl.
Nick caught his meaning and shot his friend a warning look, which did not seem to affect Lindley at all. After they were all seated and Lindley served, the handsome peer turned to Jane. “So tell me,” he said amiably. “However did you arrive here?”
The earl leaned back on the big, maroon sofa in the drawing room, legs sprawled indolently in front of him. He looked from Jane to his best and only friend, Lindley.
Jane sat at the piano, playing beautifully, singing with the voice of an angel. It had been Lindley’s suggestion, damn him. He was staring at her, admiration in his eyes and on his face. It was obvious he found her very attractive. Damn him.
Nick had never been unhappy to see Lindley before.
He looked at Jane. She was a vision. He looked at Lindley. Lindley was a notorious rake. He had dozens of mistresses. He admired all women of passable charm. He was a born flirt. The earl had seen him admiring many women the way he was admiring Jane. She was too young for his attentions. He didn’t like it, not one goddamn bit.
But he lost interest in Lindley. Jane was mesmerizing him. He could not take his gaze from her. She was so graceful, more graceful than any seventeen-year-old—or any woman—had a right to be. He thought of her today, in the stream. He remembered the sight of her in her clinging clothes, remembered how she’d felt in his arms on his hunter. He remembered how she’d flirted with him in the dining room.
He wanted her.
Physically. Now. He was stiff and erect. He did not want Lindley to notice. He toyed with a small pillow. Lindley was too enraptured to even notice Nick’s strange behavior. Pillows, indeed.
When Jane had finished, Lindley applauded enthusiastically. Jane smiled briefly at him, then turned to look at the earl. Their gazes met, held. “Very nice,” he said thickly, ignoring the way Lindley was watching them. He lunged to his feet and left the room.
Nick poured himself a finger of whiskey in the library and listened to the hum of their voices. Jane’s soft and sweet, Lindley’s bold and flirtatious. Lindley then appeared, and Nick automatically poured him a brandy. Handing it to him, he said, “Don’t flirt with her. She’s only a child.”
“A child? Come on, old man, you don’t believe that, not for a minute. You can’t fool me.”
“She’s seventeen.”
