“I thought so,” she said softly. “Once I thought I loved someone and I gave myself to him freely. If I ever love again, I will do the same, but not until then—not for sport and not for gain.”
His shame increased, and maybe it was then that he started to fall in love with her. “I will always be here for you,” he said. And he knew, as he said it, that it was the truth.
29
Now that he had glimpsed her once, he had to see her.
He dared not question why. And the old burning rage was back.
He had stayed abed late, unusual for him, because he had not even entered it until dawn. He had a headache from the whiskey he’d consumed, and he blamed it on the blue-eyed blond witch they called Angel. How appropriate, he thought with a grimace as he buttoned up his shirt, the Lord of Darkness and the Little Angel.
“What time is it, darling?” Amelia asked, sitting up and baring her large breasts. She yawned, knowing he was watching her in the mirror, posturing for him.
He grimaced again. He had fucked her savagely last night, with no consideration for her feelings. Of course, he did not give a damn about her feelings, and she liked rough sex. He turned, leaning against the bureau, openly studying her. Amelia smiled with lazy invitation, stretched again, and let the sheets fall to her plump thighs. She spread them slightly.
She was getting fat, he thought with disgust. Or had she always been overripe? She reminded him of a cow in that moment, and he could not dispel a mental image of Jane. He had only seen her from afar, but she had been slender and impossibly sensual, a siren beckoning all from the stage. He tried to remember why, after breaking it off with Amelia two years ago, he had ever bothered to renew their relationship. She had run after him the next time he had been in London, that fall, and he hadn’t much cared who was warming his bed that night. Convenience, he supposed, summed it up then, and summed it up now.
“Come here,” Amelia purred, stroking the bed by her thigh.
He turned and left abruptly, not bothering to close the door.
“You are a boor,” she shouted after him, frustration in her voice. “More boorish than ever!”
He ignored her. If she didn’t like it she could leave; in fact, he hoped she would leave. He ordered his carriage brought around as he sipped strong, hot coffee, suddenly too tense to eat anything. He was going to see Jane. But first he would have to find her.
He was regretting the decision he had made almost two years ago when he had undertaken to support her financially, through Robert Gordon. Then he had made it clear he did not want to do more than provide the monthly allowance, that under no circumstances did he want to be bothered with any details about Janeat allSo during the past two years he had written the checks and had not heard a single word from Gordon. The bottom line was that he did not even know where she lived. And now he would have to waste time finding out.
The earl’s first stop was Mayfair. Thinking about Lindley in her dressing room brought back the anger he had felt when he had found him there. He intended to confront Lindley, but he had already left for the day and was not expected back until after tea. Nick wasn’t sure Lindley knew where Jane could be found anyway. It depended on the question that was arousing his ire: Just how well did they know each other? Were they lovers?
He would kill Lindley if they were.
He calmed himself as he trotted down the steps of the big brick town house Lindley had recently built for himself. He told himself he would not kill Lindley for being seduced by that little hussy. She had probably climbed into his bed when he was asleep and drunk, as she had done to him. No man could resist in such circumstances. Besides, it was not his affair. She was his ward, yes, but only technically. She had chosen her life—one without him. So be it. He provided money and she could damn well fuck whomever she pleased, Lindley included.
He was not calm.
He knew where Gordon lived, but he was also not at home and not expected back until after the theater that night. The earl did not leave a message.
No one at the Criterion knew where she lived, and the earl was sure they were all telling the truth. He realized that she hid the location of her residence. It seemed a bit odd, but recalling all her fervent admirers the night before, he decided it was reasonable.
The trail was dead, for now. He debated hiring a detective who could, within a few days, find out all the details he wanted to know. This was a waste, and he dismissed the notion immediately. He would return to Lindley’s at five to see what he knew. If this proved fruitless, he would catch Jane before her evening performance.
She would not escape him again.
The two men stared at each other.
Tension filled the room.
Finally Lindley spoke. He looked Nick in the eye. “I don’t know where she is.”
The earl stared back. “Are you seeing her?”
Lindley hesitated. “She is just a friend.”
The earl was angry. “Then you must know where she lives.”
“I do not,” Lindley said firmly, too firmly.
“You’re lying.” Nick was incredulous. “You’re lying to me.”
