She nuzzled his shoulder. “Why did you tell me this?”
He turned to her, his gaze dark and unreadable. “I grew up in this frontier where violence rules and only the strong survive. This is where I come from.”
Jane shuddered. She touched him. “Is it still so savage?”
“No. Somewhat untamed, but not like what I’ve just described.”
“Do you know the woman?”
His gaze moved over her features. It was a long time before he answered. “Yes.”
“That poor woman,” Jane said, suddenly inexplicably moved. “Did—did it destroy her marriage? To the Ranger?”
He shook his head. “No. He loved her, still loves her, more than life itself, I think. And she feels the same way about him.”
Tears came to Jane’s eyes. “How romantic! Love triumphs after all.”
“Why are you crying?”
Jane shook her head. “It’s a terrible story, but even more beautiful too because of the tragedy they overcame.”
The earl said nothing, just stared at her. Then he leaned forward, wiping away her tears with his big, calloused thumb. Surprised, Jane saw that his eyes were glistening. “Nich—”
“Sshh,” he said, claiming her mouth with barely leashed power, and then he claimed her body as well.
48
Summer had come to London in all its first glory. It was a beautiful day, red robins singing high in the elm trees, the sky blue and cloudless, the day warm enough to go with the thinnest of garments and no coats or wraps. The bold Dragmore carriage rolled through Hyde Park, pulled by its team of magnificent bays. The earl and Jane sat side by side, their bodies touching from shoulder to hip to knee. Nicole was in her mother’s arms, unusually quiet, and Chad sat on the seat facing them, waving to all those they passed and remarking excitedly upon any and everything.
“What a wonderful idea,” Jane said to Nick, her gaze lingering upon his handsome face. She was sure her love for him was easy to read and quite obvious to everyone.
“Governess Randall wasn’t exactly pleased,” the earl said. He had taken Chad from his studies.
“To hell with her,” Jane returned, her manner prim.
The earl laughed and took her hand, squeezing it. “Sshh, not in front of the children.”
Jane made a stricken face, and the earl laughed again. He did not release her hand. Jane settled more comfortably against him. They both ignored the many gaping, gossiping riders and coach passengers whom they passed.
“Papa,” Chad cried excitedly. “Can we go for a ride in a boat?”
They were approaching the lake, and a few rowboats were evident, ladies lounging amid the lace of their dresses and parasols, the men in striped shirtsleeves rolled casually up, rowing steadily.
“I don’t see why not,” the earl replied. He turned to Jane. “It’s up to your mother.”
Jane held his gaze. His words thrilled her, and she impulsively leaned forward to plant a light kiss on his mouth. “Of course it’s all right.”
The earl blushed, looking quite pleased. “Jane,” he said a few moments later, as the carriage stopped in front of the green, shingled boathouse, “do you remember that story I told you last night?”
Jane glanced at him curiously. “Of course I do.”
Chad interrupted, asking if he could go look at the boats. The earl nodded and his son rushed from the carriage. The earl and Jane made no move to follow. He stared at her. “That woman, Jane,” he said. “She is my mother.”
Jane gasped.
“I am the boy.”
Jane stared, her thoughts racing, her grip on his hand tightening instinctively. “Oh, Nicholas, what an awful cross to bear!”
