He was not in the parlor. “Quite, thank you. Where is Nicole? Where is the earl?”
“Out back.”
Swallowing, feeling heated, Jane hurried into the kitchen. She paused at the screened door leading to the back garden, opening it but not going through. An impossible sight greeted her.
The big earl dwarfed the little pink swing. He looked positively silly sitting in it. In fact, it was distinctly possible that he’d break it if he continued to use it. He held Nicole in his arms, moving the swing back and forth with his muscular, breeches-clad legs. Nicole wiggled and made noises and said a few words, including her favorite one—“Mama.”
Jane couldn’t help it. She smiled. Warmth stole through every fiber of her being. Worse, tears filled her eyes, blurring them. She was unbearably touched, and suddenly so ashamed for keeping father and daughter apart.
It was clear that he wasn’t taking her daughter from her. Was it possible that he would just ask to be able to visit as he willed?
She must have made a sound, for the earl looked up, saw her, and jumped to his feet. Nicole squealed in protest. The earl’s face had taken on that sunburned look. His gaze melded with Jane’s. “I was just giving her some air,” he said defensively. “She likes the swing.”
Jane carefully wiped the smile from her face. “Yes, she does,” she said levelly. But, God, her heart felt as if it would burst with nameless need. Politely she said, “Would you care to come in and share breakfast with us?”
He was startled. His eyes flashed silver, and then he came forward, Nicole wriggling like an imp in his arms.
Today he wasn’t angry and Jane wasn’t threatened. She was very, very aware of the earl. Of his size—she had forgotten how tall he was. Of his strength—she had forgotten how broad were his shoulders, how thick his legs. Of his power— he filled up the tiny yard, and as he approached, his presence overwhelmed her. She had forgotten how handsome he was. His silver eyes, the thick, slashed brows, the high, high cheekbones, the hard, square jaw and straight, flared nose. He was a magnificent man. And he still ignored decorum.
His shirt was casually buttoned halfway. His chest and the black hairs there were visible. She noticed a sprinkling of gray ones as well. His breeches had dirt on the knees—had he been playing with Nicole on the lawn? And they were tight, as tight as she remembered, hugging his form, hugging everything. She glanced at his groin before she could stop herself, and quickly turned to let him and Nicole pass inside.
Color had flooded her. And she was warm, so warm. God, she ached. She remembered, too perfectly, yesterday evening. His body, pinning hers to the wall. His strength, his power—his heat and hardness.
She still wanted him.
The realization was a shock.
Lips pressed together, Jane followed them into the cheery blue-and-white kitchen. “Molly, the earl will be joining us.” She gestured for him to follow her to the dining room. She would not meet his gaze. She took Nicole from his arms and set her in her baby chair. Nicole laughed with happiness, clapping her plump hands. She loved to eat.
Jane sat in her customary place at the head of the small table, which sat eight. The earl awkwardly sat on her left, across from their daughter. Neither spoke. Jane fiddled with Nicole, talking with her, while the earl folded his muscular arms across his chest and watched impassively.
She couldn’t help the thought. It was as if they were man and wife. If only he had wanted to marry her …
He couldn’t help the thought. If she hadn’t left him, they would be married, and sitting here as man and wife right now …
Molly served them buttermilk pancakes with fresh berries and cream. Jane ignored her own plate to help her daughter eat. The earl finished his food, watching them constantly, the only conversation between mother and daughter. He shoved his plate away. “Eat,” he said to Jane. “I’ll do it.”
Jane froze, holding a spoonful of pancake to her daughter’s mouth. She did not look at the earl. “It’s all right, I’ll eat afterward.”
The earl got up, came around the table, wedged between them, and took the spoon from Jane’s hand. He smiled at Nicole. “Aren’t you hungry, darling?” he coaxed softly. “Open for Papa.”
The sound of his voice, the heat of his nearness, and the sight of him feeding their daughter assailed Jane with such powerful desire she couldn’t move or breathe. Nicole laughed and the earl fed her a spoonful. Jane looked at her plate. This was intolerable. Would he ever speak to her in such a warm, low tone?
She toyed with her food. The earl continued to coax Nicole into eating rather than playing, and Nicole responded better to her father than she did to Jane or Molly or anyone else. Finally the earl set the spoon down and looked at Jane. “There’s something I would like to discuss with you when you’re finished.” His tone was level and boded neither good nor bad will.
“I’m through,” Jane said, rising. “Molly! Please take Nicole.”
The earl walked into the parlor and Jane followed him, trying not to stare at his broad back and small hips and worse, lower. He reached behind her to shut the door. His stare was hard. “We’re going to get married, Jane.”
Jane couldn’t believe her ears.
“No objection? Good, this is better than I’d anticipated,” he said easily, still pinning her with his gaze. “We will be married next week, and you and Nicole will move into my London flat.”
Jane recovered. Her very first reaction was a primal elation, which was quickly swept away by rationality. Jane was no longer naive, and did not even pause to think he was marrying her for any reason other than their daughter. Did she want to be married to this man, who had broken her heart? Who would marry her again out of duty? The answer was a resounding no.
But, logically, she considered Nicole and what was best for her. And knew the answer was still no, for the earl had been providing abundantly for her when he didn’t even know about his daughter, and he could certainly continue to do so. She grew angry. “No.”
“It wasn’t a proposal,” he said in a mocking tone. “I was telling you what we are doing.”
