She looked at him. “I’ve allowed him his paramours,” she said, not steadily. She inhaled. “Don’t trouble yourself over me, Jon.”
He touched her face. “Trouble myself over you?” He laughed. “Jane, darling, I love you, and knowing how unhappy you are is making me miserable!”
Jane was stunned.
“It’s true,” he said, low, kissing her hands, one after the other. “I love you. You deserve better. You deserve love, not cruelty. God—” He kissed her hand again, this time keeping it pressed to his cheek. He looked at her. “I want you, Jane. I want you.”
She tried to pull away, and sensing her agitation, he let her go. Immediately she jumped to her feet and moved away. “I already told you,” she said. “I cannot be your mistress.”
“Why not? He has Amelia. And others. Why not? I can make you happy.” Lindley stood urgently. “At least I would die trying. Let me try. Give me a chance.”
She shook her head numbly. “Don’t you see? When I make love with a man, it’s just that— love.” Her tone dropped. “I’m sorry, Jon, but I don’t love you.”
He was very still. “I know,” he finally said. “But I think you would come to love me, if you let yourself.”
“I’m married.”
“Damn!” He paced away, then turned. “But you don’t love him, Jane.”
She bit her lip, staring at him with wide eyes.
“Oh, God! You do!”
She moved away, feeling unspeakably sad. “I’m sorry, Jon. Please, just be my friend.”
“I had better go,” he said harshly, the hurt clear in his tone.
Jane pursed her mouth so as not to cry. She watched him leave abruptly. He wouldn’t look at her. She felt so bad for him. Why was life so unfair?
Thomas arrived with a trolley table set for two, pushing it into the middle of the room. “I shall be dining alone, Thomas,” Jane told him, taking her seat. She helped herself to a glass of white wine and sipped it as Thomas uncovered the platters, then left. She wasn’t even hungry—just unbearably tired and thoroughly miserable.
Jonathon Lindley, in love with her, and she had hurt him. The earl with Amelia. The scandal. And here she was, so alone and so lonely. She suddenly wished Jon hadn’t left.
And as it turned out, she wasn’t as alone as she’d thought.
“No appetite?”
She gasped to find her husband leaning in the doorway, his expression mocking. “I—I didn’t hear you come in.”
He smiled without warmth. “It’s in myred blood”he said, moving into the room. He stripped off his tie and let it fall onto a chair.
“What?”
Another sarcastic grin. “Maybe someday I’ll tell you a tale.” He tossed his jacket on the same chair; it slipped to the floor. “A true tale,” he said, prowling closer.
Jane didn’t move, watching him carefully. She could not take her eyes from him. There was a coiled energy in him, and it was menacing. In that moment he reminded her of a panther, stalking his prey. Stalking her. And a hot, hot memory of him pressing her to the floor and plunging into her assailed her.
He paused by the table, inspecting it. “Dining alone? Why is that? The table’s clearly set for two.”
Jane looked at him. His eyes glittered.
“Don’t tell me.” He laughed, the sound mirthless and harsh. “You were expecting me.”
“Would you care to join me?” she managed. Her heart was beating wildly. She could feel her blood pulsing in every fiber of her being. Suddenly she was aware of her body as never before—of her legs in their sexy high heels, the fullness of her hips in the fitted gown, her breasts straining against the low bodice. She was flamingly, agonizingly alive.
“How kind of you, dear wife,” he said, abruptly hauling out a chair and sitting. “As it turns out, I’ve yet to eat. Shall I serve you as well?”
“Please,” she whispered helplessly.
