He knew his face was burning.
Amazingly, she took his arm. Nick felt the contact to his very soul—hot and electric, he was jolted as if by lightning. But he did not have time to judge his own physical reaction. She led him into the parlor and to the window. “Look.”
He looked at the lawn, specifically, he looked at the muddy runnel he had made with his horse. He looked at Jane intently, searchingly. He did not look at Lindley. He was embarrassed. “Just what the hell do you care?” he asked, low, his gaze trained upon hers.
She did not flinch. “I care.”
He flinched. Then, icily, he said, “It’s my goddamn lawn and it’s my goddamn house and if I want to track mud I will.”
“Very well,” Jane said. “That was spoken like a five-year-old.”
His color heightened. Her gaze was blue fire. He jammed his hands in the pockets of his breeches and turned his back to her. He felt about five years old.
Lindley stood, clearing his throat. “How about some dinner? I think I smell roast beef.”
Jane hadn’t meant to berate the earl in front of Lindley. She had almost lost her temper when she had seen her sparkling floors tracked up, and then, when she had seen the lawn, well, that had been the final straw. The earl certainly knew better! Instinctively now she knew it was better to let the incident pass than to apologize. And, perhaps, the earl would start to think about what he was doing.
Jane dressed for supper with excitement. She wished desperately that she had an evening gown and jewelry, but she did not. (She would not dare wear another of her mother’s gowns!) She wore her best dress, a dark rose, and let her hair fall free with a pearl-studded comb pulling back one side behind her ear. She pinched her cheeks and lips and studied herself in the mirror, eyes dancing.
Jane was discovering her power over men.
Last night she hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. But she had. Lindley thought she was beautiful—and so did the earl.
The Earl of Dragmore had admitted she was beautiful.
Yet it now became clear that even though he thought so, he still did not see her as a woman equal of him. However, Lindley did.
Lindley had defended her to the earl. Lindley thought her à woman. Jane knew it from her eavesdropping, and more important, she knew it from the way he looked at her and the way he flirted with her.
She was learning that a soft, intent look, lowered lashes, a sweet smile, could bring a warm glowing light to a man’s eyes. Lindley’s admiration was obvious and direct. Jane was used to admiration. She had been adored her entire life until she had left London to go to the parsonage. Finding this kind of love again was food for a starving soul. She felt that she could walk upon clouds!
And …
If the earl did not quite see her a woman equal to him, she would show him that she was—by flirting back with Lindley.
Jane glided down stairs, flushed with anticipation. Both men were waiting for her in the library, Lindley clad in evening wear, the earl in black trousers, shirt, and waistcoat. Yet it was the earl who stole her breath, who made her body tighten and pulsate with sexual awareness. However, Jane merely smiled at him. She beamed at Lindley.
“You are breathtaking.” Lindley gasped, clearly meaning it.
Jane murmured something appropriate as he kissed her hand warmly. Behind her, she heard the earl coughing as he choked on his drink.
“May I escort you?” Lindley asked warmly.
“You can always escort me,” Jane said daringly, her voice throaty. She did not look behind her, but was aware of the earl’s burning regard. “Anytime, anywhere.”
Lindley laughed, thrilled.
The earl came up behind them, his presence looming and hot. “He will escort you,” he said, “only when I allow it.”
Lindley chuckled. “Relax, old man. What—got a case of jealousy, have you? Can’t help it if she knows which of us is the handsome one.” Lindley winked at Jane.
Jane gazed at him as if smitten, ignoring the earl. She thought she heard him grinding his teeth.
The earl said not a word throughout supper. Lindley regaled Jane with stories of India and the Philippines. Jane regaled Lindley with stories of her mother and the stage. She laughed, he laughed. The earl glowered.
“I need a whiskey,” the earl finally muttered, shoving up abruptly from his chair. They had finished raspberry tarts, but it was rude nonetheless, for Lindley and Jane were still seated contentedly. Nick paused, making a caustic gesture. “My lady? Shall we adjourn to the parlor?” His tone was a mimickry of their own cultivated ones.
Lindley rose and hurried to pull back Jane’s chair. Jane thanked him prettily. The earl snorted and strode away. Jane touched her hand to Lindley’s sleeve. “It’s such a beautiful night,” she said wistfully. “It’s a shame to sit inside and smoke and drink. Wouldn’t you rather stroll in the moonlight with me?”
