“She is here, in the parlor, alive—not dead!”
And then a stunning blond woman appeared from behind Thomas, her bearing regal and disdainful. With a glance, she took them all in, Chad, Jane, Nicole and Molly, the earl. “Hello, my lord,” she said coolly.
“My God,” Nick said softly, stunned.
Jane stared at the beautiful woman—his wife. And then the ground came rushing up to meet her and, blessedly, she knew no more.
49
Before sweeping Jane up in his arms and rushing with her into the house, the earl directed a searing look of disbelief and hatred at Patricia. “Thomas,” he shouted, “bring tea and whiskey, cool cloths and smelling salts.”
He pounded into the study. He lay Jane down upon the sofa as if she were made of fragile china, smoothing hair away from her forehead. “Jane,” he said, low, soft. “Jane, wake up.”
And then, although there was no sound, he felt her animosity and contempt and he turned to see his first wife standing in the doorway, staring at them. “How quaint,” she said.
“You bitch,” he bit out, and turned back to Jane.
“Papa!” Chad came running in, white-faced, Governess Randall on his heels. “What’s happened to Jane? Is she dead?” He started to cry, although manfully trying to hold back the tears.
“She’s only had a little faint,” the earl told him. “Chad, be a good man and go upstairs with Randall . Jane will be up shortly and you’ll see she is fine. You’ve missed enough studies as it is today.”
Although reluctant, Chad allowed the governess to take his hand. He followed her out, with many backward glances at Jane. Jane moaned. The earl touched her face, coaxing her back to consciousness. “Wake up, darling,” he murmured. “Jane, wake up.”
Thomas entered with the damp cloths and liquor. “The tea will be just a moment more,” he said, handing the earl a whiskey. He ignored Patricia quite royally.
Jane eyes fluttered open.
The earl propped her up. “You’ve had a shock,” he said grimly. “We all have. Here, sip this,” he said, guiding the glass to her mouth.
Jane took a draft, coughed, turned away protesting and saw Patricia. She froze.
The earl whipped his head around furiously. “You may await my summons in the parlor,” he said through gritted teeth.
Her eyes blazed, but she was also afraid, and with a negligent shrug she exited.
“Oh, God!” Jane cried, sinking back down and covering her face with her hands.
“We’ll work it out, Jane,” the earl promised, but there was a note of desperation in his voice.
She sat up. “I want to go to my room,” she managed. Her face was stark white, and she turned her agonized blue gaze upon him. “How can she be alive? How?” she cried. “And why has she come back now?”
“I don’t know,” he said tautly. “I don’t know.”
The earl closed the parlor door behind him, leaning against it. Hatred blazed from his eyes.
Seated like a queen in the center of the couch, still every bit the beauty, dressed richly in gold silk and brocade, Patricia Weston met his stare steadily, a tiny smile of superiority turning up the corners of her mouth.
“This is unbelievable,” the earl said. “Have the past six years been amusing, Patricia?”
She made a moue. “Apparently they have been quite amusing for you.”
He clenched his fists. “Why have you come back? And where the hell have you been?”
“I’ve been in America, mostly,” she said, as if discussing a two-week holiday. “And I came back for what’s mine.” Her green eyes hardened.
“You mean Clarendon?” The earl laughed. “Clarendon is Chad’s. And I have a wife.”
“Do you? You don’t mean that little tart? I am your wife, she is merely a mistress. Legally speaking, that is.”
