Jane was furious. She had had enough. And that he would think she and Robert lovers was unbelievable. Yet she had only to recall him and Amelia to know she would not deny it. “Let me go,” she said with forced calm.
“I don’t think so.”
As she stood imprisoned in his embrace, her body hot and pulsing in response to him, her control snapped. “Perchance,” she said too sweetly, “Amelia doesn’t satisfy you?”
He froze.
“If she did,” she cried, “you would not have so much energy left over to torment me with! Or is it just your style to leap from her bed to mine? Is this perhaps the new fashion? Is it the fashion nowadays to parade one’s mistress in public before one’s wife—within days of the wedding?”
In that instant his grip tightened, and she saw both pain and anger wrenching on his face. She stood very still, her heart slamming; and he released her abruptly.
Jane backed away, breathing hard. The earl slumped against the wall, a mocking smile distorting his beautiful mouth. “Go back to your lovers, Jane,” he said wearily. “I don’t want you.”
As if doused with water, the fires of her rage dimmed and died. As her pulse slowed from its mad gallop, her eyes never left him. With her heart, she wanted to tell him the truth; with her heart, she wanted to go to him, touch his brow, smooth the pain away, and somehow take away what had been said and start over. But she responded with her mind and with her pride. Tears welling, lips pursed, she backed away, found the stairs, and fled up them into the refuge of her room.
37
Jane came downstairs thoroughly exhausted from a sleepless night. Although finally dozing sometime after dawn, she had overslept as well, and it was half-past nine. This at least gave her some small degree of satisfaction, for surely the earl would have retreated to his library and papers, or left the house, by this hour. After the cruel words they had exchanged the night before, Jane did not want to face him. She came to an abrupt stop in the dining-room doorway when she saw him seated at the head of the long gilt table. Her heart lurched.
He didn’t look at her. Nicole was in her baby chair, on his right, playing with a spoon and croissant. He was sipping coffee and reading theTimes, apparently having overslept as well. Had he also passed a mostly sleepless night? Jane realized she was slightly breathless, and despite their fight she couldn’t help but remember, of all things, his hard body pressing hers and the heat and strength of his mouth.
Determined, then, and angry with herself, Jane sailed forward, toward Nicole. She cried out at the sight of her mother approaching, finally causing the earl to glance indifferently her way. Nicole waved the spoon happily, banged it once, then began to gnaw it.
“No, sweetheart,” the earl said, taking the spoon from her despite her vocal protests. “‘Tis unseemly to chew the silverware.”
Nicole began to cry.
Nick stroked her hair and placed the croissant in her chubby hand, but she ignored him, dropping it. Jane paused, waiting to be summoned to the rescue, yet feeling no satisfaction—just a wrenching in her heart at the sight of father and daughter together.
“Sweetheart, the croissant was baked today,” Nick cajoled with a smile. His voice was low and melodious, and Nicole suddenly stopped shrieking to stare at him as he smiled and bit off a third, chewing gustily. “Want to share Papa’s?” he asked.
“Papa,” Nicole cried, chubby hands flailing. Nick handed her the croissant, which she now claimed greedily. “Mama!” she shrieked triumphantly, waving the pastry at Jane.
The earl returned to his journal, apparently immersed in the news. Jane came forward to greet her daughter with a hug and a kiss. She sat on Nicole’s right, her gaze flitting toward her absorbed husband. He had treated her abominably last night, not to mention humiliating her in public with his fat floozy; and now he was apparently ignoring her. She decided to ignore him as well.
Tossing theTimesaside, he called to Thomas and ordered the carriage brought round, then summoned Molly, now officially Nicole’s nurse. “Have Nicole dressed for a ride in the park,” he said, standing.
He finally looked at Jane. He nodded curtly.
“You’re taking Nicole to the park?” Jane managed, flustered by both his intention and his nearness. Standing he towered over her, his legs braced, and there was no denying the strength of his thighs so obviously delineated in the snug breeches.
“I assume you have no objections?”
“Of course not,” Jane said, suddenly wistful. She imagined them all together in the open carriage on this beautiful morning, her, Nicole, the earl. She wanted to join them. She waited for an invitation—but it did not come. The earl, instead, nodded again and left.
Jane had lost her appetite, if indeed she had ever had one that day. Molly had taken Nicole to dress her more warmly, as it was cool this morning, and she was left alone in the vast dining room. Should she ask if she could accompany them? Suddenly it seemed like the most marvelous idea, an outing in the park, and they could even take Chad away from his studies. Her heart was pounding, yet she did not have the courage to move from her chair.
Ten minutes later she heard the coach leaving, and she bit her lip, foolishly feeling like crying.
What was wrong with her?
The earl might be a bastard as a man, but as a father he was superb—yet this knowledge wasn’t new. So why should she be so distraught now, just because he’d taken his daughter for a ride in the park? Why should she be so touched? Because it was not the thing—no other peer would dream of doing something so inelegant, so unsophisticated, as to take his tiny child for a drive. It was touching. And she was his wife, the mother of his child, yet she wasn’t welcome to join them.
And she felt the guilt then too for having denied him his daughter in the first place.
“My lady,” Thomas intoned from the doorway, “you have a caller.”
Jane rose, brow lifted.
