“No,” Jane said grimly. “No, no. The last place I am going tonight is home.”
36
“You’re not going to come in?” Amelia gasped.
“Not tonight,” the earl said calmly as they stood on the doorstep of her brick town house. His carriage awaited him in the gas-lit, cobbled street beyond the small front garden and wrought-iron fence.
“Darling, really,” Amelia said, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her lush body against his. “Don’t be so moody.”
He unwrapped her, removing her from him. “Good night, Amelia.”
She grasped his hand, halting him as he turned to leave. “Are you going to be faithful to her?” she cried, her face white and angry in the lamplight. There was no question that she was referring to Jane.
A cruel look crossed his features, and he gripped her chin hard. “My wife has nothing to do with this.”
“No? Somehow, I doubt it! I think you have a tendre for her!”
The earl laughed, white teeth gleaming. “Don’t think to provoke me into your bed, Amelia.”
“Let me provoke you,” she said huskily, reaching to touch his flaccid penis through his trousers, rubbing it gently.
He removed her hand, ungently. “Do you ever have anything other than sex on your mind?”
“You didn’t come in last night either!”
“I’m sure that strapping twenty-year-old groom you make eyes at can accommodate you, Amelia,” the earl purred.
“Ooh!” She gasped, recoiling, yet shock and fear of discovery flared in her eyes.
He grinned. “Don’t ever underestimate me, my dear,” he said, low. “And never play me for the fool.” He turned his back on her and strode down the walk.
“You bastard!” she hissed. “How dare you insinuate such a thing!”
His laughter, soft, mocking, assured, drifted to her as he climbed into the carriage with the Drag-more crests. “Home, Eddie,” he called, not glancing back once at his furious mistress.
Tension reared itself in the earl. He sat stiffly, staring straight ahead at the opposite seat with its plush black leather upholstery, yet he saw only Jane. Jane pale, shocked, hurt. Impossibly beautiful, as fragile as an angel, as innocent. Something that felt like a knife twisted in his guts.
He did not want to hurt her.
Ever.
But she had hurt him. Had lied, deceived him, cheated him of his daughter. She had left him too, after he had offered marriage—after he had realized he loved her. She had never loved him, he realized now. She had merely harbored an adolescent crush upon him, one that had passed readily enough. Again there was the stabbing of an old, old pain.
And there was jealousy.
She only appeared innocent, and he reminded himself of this fact vigorously.
He did not like her relationship with Gordon. Gordon was only fifty, a trim, elegant man, and maybe, once upon a time, he had been like a father to Jane. The earl did not believe in fairy tales. Jane was now a ravishing woman, and any man with one eye could see that, and no man could be immune to her intriguing combination of innocence and sensuality. Including Gordon.
Was he one of her lovers?
And what about Lindley? Had Lindley lied? He and Jane were awfully close, weren’t they?
The earl knew he was torturing himself, but he couldn’t help it. When he had offered Jane marriage after discovering Nicole’s existence, he had never even dreamed it would be upon the terms she insisted on. To the contrary—he had envisioned her in his bed, naked and wet and writhing beneath him while he slaked his endless lust for her. He had envisioned giving her more children, beautiful blond, blue-eyed dolls. Yet instead, he was keeping company with his oversexed mistress while Jane kept company with her own paramours.
His fist crashed down on the seat beside him. He was rigid now, seething, agonized. Damn her —he hated her!
He wanted to go back to Amelia and fuck her. Prove his manhood, prove his own disinterest in his wife. But he knew he would not,could not, knew he was only fooling himself if he told himself he did not want Jane. Oh, he wanted her, all right.
