A Secret Passion (10 page)

Despite Jane’s certainty that she would be unable to sleep at all that night, she slept within moments of dousing the candle on the bedside table. However, this blessed release was interrupted when she awoke in tears.

At first the dream had been so lovely. She and Harry were walking in a field together, searching for butterflies. But as she caught an elusive pale yellow winged insect, a pair of bronzed male hands covered her own. When she looked up, she saw the earl naked, with the saber wound oozing blood down his arm. Halfway between sleep and consciousness, she awoke and felt frozen with unknown fear.

And then, she heard something—footsteps belowstairs. She slipped from under the covers as quietly as possible and moved to the door to listen. Harsh whispers seeped through the thin door. A man’s and a woman’s voices.

In a panic she thought it might be Lord Graystock, but it occurred to her that the earl’s voice was lower-pitched than that of this gentleman. In her relief, she sagged against the door, which emitted a long squeak. Abruptly the voices stopped. For long moments Jane dared not move. She tiptoed to her escritoire, lit a candle, and pulled out her writing paper. With Sir Thomas in the parlor, Jane was sure there was not a chance she would fall into slumber again. And she had awoken with a firm resolve to put into motion her long-repressed desire.

As she stared at the blank page, Jane replayed her actions of the afternoon. She swallowed as she recalled the images. Her conscience wreaked havoc upon her person.

On one shoulder, her conscience whispered in her ear that what she had done was evil and she was going to the devil. She had had relations without marriage.

On the other shadowed shoulder, Cutty’s voice reminded her he had always wanted her to be happy and find love. He had told her she would know it when she felt it. She did know it. Her heart belonged to Harry. What she had experienced with the earl was pure lust on his side, with a large dose of curiosity and shock on her part.

And, of course, pride. Her damn pride, she thought. It was the one fault she had tried to cure repeatedly, with no great success. If she had just had the courage to push the earl away, and to bear his barbed tongue, she would not have succumbed.

But her practical nature took over, and she was honest enough to admit she was relieved the problem of her virginity had been removed. Really, her situation had been absurd. During her entire youth, it had been instilled in her to protect her virtue and reputation. In the year since her husband’s death, she had agonized over how she could keep the secret of an unconsummated marriage. It had been a ridiculous worry, as who would have known unless a physician had examined her? But she had been uneasy that her innocence on the subject might give her away. She knew she blushed upon the slightest mention of the marriage bed. She was sure married women had a certain knowing eye after succumbing to the other sex. She had felt “virgin” was imprinted on her forehead at times.

And now the problem was gone. The earl was a gentleman of unquestionable character. She had no doubt whatsoever he would guard her secret to his grave. It had been perfectly obvious he had been repulsed and horrified by her innocence. It was ironic, really. She had been so sure, after all the lectures of her numerous governesses, that men would be positively panting after her untouched innocence. And they had been, except for the earl.

With a shaking hand, she wrote a letter to Harry. It was the hundredth time in the last year she had done so. But each time before, it had been in her head, not on paper. Scratching her words with care, she tried to find the right phrases to convey her request to her oldest friend.

She wrote she would be there within a week, and still desired to be with him always, as they had spoken of during their youth. Would he still have her? She described her feelings, and her desire to make him happy, yet wrote too of the humiliation in baring her feelings. It had been ingrained since birth that a female must never reveal these types of thoughts before a proper declaration by the gentleman. In a way, it repulsed her. She begged forgiveness for her boldness and explained the situation regarding her father. Upon rereading, she wanted more than anything to toss the papers into the fire. But with a deep breath she sanded the letter, sealed it with wax, and wrote the directions with care.

With the slightest of sounds, the door to the cottage closed, and Jane moved to the window in time to see the gentleman walk into the night.

The cold wind cut through the fine cloth of Rolfe’s somber spring coat, invading his very being as he rode away from the stables. The newly formed pale green leaves did not yet cover the naked branches of the oak trees on the front lawn. He struggled to still his swirling thoughts while he rode past the long regiment of poplars lining the grand entrée to Hesperides. He continued down the lane leading to the village for a mile or so. A movement up ahead caught his squinted eye.

“Of all the…” he cursed under his breath. A few more paces brought him to a halt several feet from her.

“My lord,” she said with eyes downcast.

Not bothering to dismount, the earl nodded his head once, a fraction of an inch, and responded, “Mrs. Lovering.”

When neither of the two parties continued after a moment or two, Jane cleared her throat. “I had no intention of disturbing you. I was just taking a bit of air.”

Her face was very pale. He looked at the neat center part of her flaxen tresses, peeking out of her modest black bonnet. She appeared very proper, in mourning, from tip to toe. His body flooded with heat as he remembered he had seen and touched every part of her delicate person less than fifteen hours before.

“Please do not allow me to impede your way. Carry on,” Rolfe stated in his usual brusque tone.

She appeared shocked by his words. Without an utterance or a backward glance, she continued past him. It was on the tip of his tongue to turn back and stop her to engage in further conversation, and he would have if his feelings had been less.

The farther she walked, the angrier she became. She could not decide why she was so irritated and could not precisely decide what he had said to offend her, but he had done so. She reasoned with herself as she turned back toward the cottage, what had she wanted him to do? Acknowledge what had happened the day before? Suggest another rendezvous? Get down on bended knee and beg her to accept him in marriage? Certainly not any of those suggestions. It was better this way. And besides, he had less than no interest in wedding her. He had made that perfectly clear. He even thought that she had allowed her own seduction in hopes of forcing a betrothal. It was too humiliating to contemplate. Besides, she would as soon wed herself to this arrogant cock as to that mushroom, Billingsley. They would just pretend nothing had ever happened between them. She touched again the envelope in her pocket and resolved without further ado to post it this morning. She chuckled to herself as she tried to picture the earl down on his knee in the dirt, pleading for her hand. She stopped to pluck a few wildflowers and smiled as she dreamed of Harry with his sandy brown hair that matched his eyes. Yes, she would post the letter this very morning.

Thomas moved past the carpeted staircase onto the marble front hall. His steps echoed throughout as a footman opened the double doors leading into the breakfast room. He kissed the hand of Lady Graystock and wished her a good morning.

“Dear boy, please help yourself to the sideboard. You must be famished,” the earl’s grandmother said, her eyes twinkling.

“Yes, well, thank you, my lady,” responded Thomas without looking into her merry old eyes. He did not want to ask her why she thought he might be hungry. He walked to the resplendent table and fished a few kidneys and sausages onto his plate.

“My dear grandson, Rolfe, has written a missive for you. It seems he has left us to fend for ourselves. But he insists that you stay here to entertain me and shoot some of our doves, and fill up the larders with fish,” she continued.

Thomas reached for the letter and broke the seal. He scanned the note. “Oh, Lady Graystock, I would not presume to stay any longer if the earl has departed.”

The old lady smiled and slathered a good deal of butter on a muffin as he read her grandson’s letter.

Gooding,

Please do not presume that my departure necessitates your leaving. Most to the contrary, I do insist that you stay and endeavor to entertain one or two ladies in the neighborhood, that being Lady Graystock and another lady whose eyes refuse to meet yours. I shall be gone no longer than a sennight. Pressing business requires my immediate attention in town. Before you toss this into the fire, I do beseech you again to restrain your natural instinct to flee. In fact, I must beg you to consider that if you do not stay with my grandmother, she is likely to invite additional people to the Hall, with great embarrassment to me. Gooding, I am counting on you. With any luck, I will return shortly. I remain,

Graystock

As he folded the letter, Lady Graystock took Thomas’ hands in her own. He glanced down to see the many wrinkles on her large, blue-veined hands. “My dear,” Lady Graystock said, “please indulge an old heart and stay with me.”

Thomas was most eager to use this excuse to put as much distance as possible between himself and Miss Fairchild. But it was impossible not to heed Lady Graystock’s request. As he gave his accord, he contemplated how many days would have to pass before he could quietly but firmly leave. He had underestimated the united strength of the Graystock bloodlines.

“As you wish, Madam,” responded Thomas.