Everything went soft. His face, his eyes, and the tension in his body drained away. Chad was almost five, with dark-brown hair and a medium complexion and his mother’s green eyes. He was giggling, although trying to be serious. The earl watched as Jane filled a wineglass with water, then lifted her own. “To you, my lord,” she said in a high, false voice. “To the Lord of Dragmore.” Governess Randall, a big, stocky horse-faced woman, frowned disapprovingly and harrumphed.
“To you, my lady,” Chad mimed, and they drank their toasts. The earl smiled.
“My lord, I fear there is some urgent correspondence awaiting you in your library,” Jane continued. “If you have finished, perhaps we should see to it.”
“I am finished,” Chad announced. “Do we go downstairs?” His adorable face screwed up quizzically. “Papa may be in the lib’ry!”
“But my lord,” Jane cried, standing with dignity and gesturing grandly to the corner of the nursery. “Your library awaits you there.”
Chad stood, imitating her graceful, regal movements. The earl was no longer watching his son. He was watching Jane. She had changed out of her schoolgirl’s dress and was wearing a simple skirt, sans crinoline or bustle, and a silk, striped blouse with a lace collar. Her hair hung in a braid as fat as his arm to her buttocks. He had seen a few wisps before, peeking out from the bonnet, so the pale, champagne color did not surprise him. She had beautiful hair. The tail teased the small of her back. It was a saucy, impudent curve of derriere, high and round, and realizing what he was eyeing, he abruptly jerked his gaze away.What the hell was wrong with him?
“Papa!” Chad shrieked.
The earl caught his son as he charged into his arms, lifting him high and swinging him around. He slipped Chad to his feet, ruffling his thick hair. “How was supper, son?” He was squatting.
“Jane and me, we played a game,” Chad cried excitedly. “I was lord and she was my lady! That’s our lib’ry. Want to come in?”
The earl knew how to play with his son. He had taught him how to ride, fish, and hunt, how to track.The way Derek had taught him.Now he was uncomfortable, with Chad pulling on his hand, trying to drag him into the “library.” He felt the heat of the skin on his face. “Maybe later,” he said, his hand in the boy’s hair. It lingered there. Chad was not disappointed. He gazed up at his father with adoration.
Nick met Jane’s glance. It was soft and surprised and curious. A blush stained her cheeks. He didn’t like her regard, and he shot her a quelling look. In return, she gave him her fragile smile and cast her eyes away.
As she stood there in the blue serge skirt without the crinoline, he realized her legs were very, very long.
“My lord,” Governess Randall interrupted. “I really think these games, at the table, are quite inappropriate. Chad should learn his manners, not—”
“I think Chad can both learn manners and play games with Jane,” the earl said abruptly. His gaze strayed of its own accord from Randall to Jane. She was poised like a bird about to take wing; then she relaxed and smiled a true, wide smile. It was warm, it was light and laughter, it was happiness. Nick felt the surge of an answering warmth in his own heart. Confused, he stared at her. And he became aware of her gazing back and the heat building slowly in his loins.
He recoiled.What the hell was wrong with him?
She was a child, his ward.
But the heat grew. And he was afraid, so very afraid, that he knew what was wrong. Abruptly he wheeled and left the room, for once not even hearing his son calling after him. His strides were long, hard, fast. As if he could outrace the thought forming in his mind.
But he couldn’t.
He was thinking of his father, the Comanchero Chavez.
5
The sooner she got this over with, the better.
Jane took a deep breath, for courage. She was standing outside the massive teakwood doors of the library, which were closed and highly forbidding. She knew, already, that this was the earl’s solitary, private domain. She had sensed that even his son was hesitant to venture forth there. She knew he was within. Not that she had asked his whereabouts—she could feel his presence.
It was tangible.
Jane hesitated, remembering hotly how he had found her playing childish games with his son in the nursery. She once again regretted her impulsive behavior and her flyaway imagination. She was confirming his first opinion of her—that she belonged in the nursery. Gnawing her lip, she resolved to control herself. To be graceful, dignified, adultlike. She knocked.
There was no response.
Jane hesitated, more sure than ever that he was within, afraid now to incur his displeasure, or worse. But she did not believe in procrastinating. She had to get this over with. Bravely she knocked again, harder this time.
The door opened so abruptly and without any warning that Jane, leaning against it, fell forward and against his body. She did not have to look up to know it was he. He was so tall and so hard, harder than she believed possible. He caught her, exclaiming, “What the hell!” She gasped and looked up. His hands dropped from her shoulders as if he’d been burned. For an instant their gazes met, his so pale yet so dark. He was angry.
“I’m s-sorry,” she stammered. She regretted now her foolishness in seeking him out. It was like bearding a wolf in his den. Her heart was thundering in her breast.
“I take it you want something,” he said, arms crossed.
“May we speak?”
