“Jane,” the earl said, turning his head. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay and work in London?”
She kissed his shoulder. “You are a dear. No, I am determined to go to Dragmore.” She grinned. “And you know how stubborn I am.”
He smiled, his gaze fond. “Are you stubborn?”
“Since I was a child,” she said. “When I decide to do something, I do it.”
“Like haunting the village bully? What was his name?”
“Timothy Smith,” Jane said. “He deserved it! But that was nothing! Do you know that once I won a hundred pounds at the men’s club, Boodle’s?”
“What?”
Jane laughed. “It was a dare—that I could not get into Boodle’s. I was fourteen, it was just before I left the acting company to live with Matilda and Fred at the parsonage. A few young actors thought they’d really got me with this dare. Of course, I won.” She wrinkled up her nose with disdain.
“I don’t believe it.”
“I did. I disguised myself as a boy and went in with two old lords with a reputation for liking young boys. They thought I was their entertainment for the night and they were just thrilled. They never guessed I was a girl. Nobody bothered to stop me from gambling at the tables—I think everyone found a young lad trying his luck quite amusing.”
The earl groaned. “And after? How did you escape your lecherous benefactors?”
“By running away,” she said simply.
A silence ensued. Jane cuddled closer, caressing the earl’s flat, iron-hard belly. He stared up at the canopy. “I have a story,” he finally said quietly.
Jane glanced at him to see that his eyes were closed.
“There was a young woman, newly wed and newly widowed. She was ravishingly beautiful but very delicate—more so than you. In fact, she had been raised in a convent in France.” He paused.
Jane gazed at him curiously, wondering what kind of story he was telling her, and why. He still had not opened his eyes.
“She lived on the frontier in Texas. While traveling there from France, overland in Mississippi, she had accidentally met a man. A Comanchero. He was stricken with her beauty and he wanted her. In fact, he succeeded in kidnapping her before her first marriage, but a Texas Ranger rescued her before she was harmed.” He paused again.
Jane shifted. She wanted to ask if he knew this woman, and was certain he did—but did not dare interrupt. His tone was so flat, so devoid of emotion, that it frightened her.
“Her first husband died—was killed actually, in a typical brawl. The frontier was full of violence back then. She married again—to the Ranger who had rescued her—immediately. It was not unusual, because a woman could not survive alone in the wilderness. One day, when he was on duty with his regiment, their home was attacked by Comanches, and she was taken prisoner.
“The leader of the attack was the same Comanchero Chavez.”
Jane could not refrain from speaking. “Oh, God. What happened?”
“He raped her,” the earl said flatly.
“Did—did he kill her?”
“No. Fortunately, weeks later, the Rangers found their camp and destroyed it, rescuing her. The Ranger who was her husband killed the Comanchero, mutilating him first.”
Jane shuddered. “This is an awful story. Nicholas?”
He opened his eyes, to stare up at the canopy. “She had a child nine months later. It was not the Ranger’s. It was his.”
Jane pressed close, sensing his need, and stroked his hip. “And?”
He shrugged. “That’s all. It’s just a typical frontier story.”
Jane was confused. Why had he told her this terrible tale? “What happened to the child?”
The earl hesitated. “I don’t know.”
