A Secret Passion (26 page)

“I must apologize for the inconvenience.”

“It is not an inconvenience. I had planned to stop over here this evening in any event. There are chambers enough in this house for the entire Thompson family and their many cousins. You are both welcome to stay here for as long as it takes Mr. Thompson’s ankle to heal properly. If he does not take care, he will suffer from it every day of his life.”

Jane looked too embarrassed to meet his gaze. “You are an expert on these matters, are you?”

“I have had enough improperly cared for injuries to know of what I speak.”

Rolfe was astonished that he had admitted any frailties to her and resolved to remain silent.

“I can’t tell you how delighted I am to see you, Brother,” stated an ill-kempt, blond version of the earl. “How long has it been? I tried to calculate it last evening when I received the message you would be arriving. Afraid I was too deep in my cups to figure it.” There was a slight slur to the dulcet tones, and his gray eyes were red-rimmed and watery. “Ah, a lady present. I do apologize, ma’am,” he said as he bowed unsteadily.

“Mrs. Lovering and Mr. Thompson, may I present to you my brother, the Honorable Frederick St. James?” the earl inquired.

The greetings and thanks were given and received in tones most politic. When the full extent of Harry’s injury was made known to the earl’s younger brother, a physician was sent for and the foursome adjourned to the saloon in the front of the establishment. The earl excused himself thereafter to the comparative privacy of his chambers.

As he mounted the carpeted grand staircase, Lord Graystock pondered his brother’s state of affairs not for the first time. Frederick resided at this particular estate for the better part of each year. However, Rolfe had never trusted him enough to deed Seaton, which was unentailed, to him. Despite his slow physical ruin from drink, Frederick at least showed a spot of the same dark humored cynicism as his father and brother. Rolfe wondered that his brother’s wife and son were not in evidence.

Harry could feel the pain in his ankle worsening. All he wanted to do was lie down and find out if laudanum could be produced from somewhere within this monstrous mansion. And all Frederick seemed capable of doing was prolonging the agony.

“As you can see, Mrs. Lovering and Mr. Thompson—I may call you Jane and Harry, may I not?”

Surprised by the familiarity, they replied, “Of course.”

“As you see, then, my brother has a great disgust of me. I have been a disappointment to him, and to really my entire family. The proverbial black sheep, I believe I am called, don’t you know? I apologize for my presumption and bluntness, but as you will be our guests here for a while, it is as well you know the circumstances.”

Speechless, Jane and Harry looked at Frederick. For probably the only time in his life, Harry’s lighthearted wit eluded him, and Jane’s manners were lacking.

Frederick continued, “May I offer you both refreshments? I shall pull the cord and Wiggins will bring us all something. A little stronger than tea, I suggest. Harry’s ankle and all that.”

Jane found her voice and manners. “You are very kind, sir, but I think I shall avail myself of one of the guest chambers you have so graciously provided and take a bit of a lie-down. It has been a long journey.”

“Of course, my dear. Harry and I will settle in for the duration. That is, until the good doctor arrives.”

Harry was sure he did not want to remain in the present company, but looking at his throbbing ankle, he sighed and decided a bit of brandy might be just the thing, as the requested laudanum had not materialized.

“You’re looking rather hipped, Harry. What is it, old man? Worried about facing the gluepot in Gretna? Nothing to the old marriage business. You just need a little of my specialty, ‘Kill Devil,’ just in from the colonies. Superior flavored rum. What do you say?” A portly butler entered and waited patiently.

Looking at the man, Harry nodded and Frederick continued, “Wiggins, old chap, bring in the firewater, say.”

When the butler had departed, the earl’s brother continued, “Good chap, even though he might try to put on airs from time to time. But then he draws in his horns when he oversteps.”

When the so-called firewater had been consumed, which proved indeed to live up to its name, Harry realized he needn’t have been concerned about keeping up his end of the conversation, as Frederick was so deep in his cups he would never notice or remember on the morrow.

In good time the doctor came and examined his ankle. A private audience, with Jane and the earl included, proved what Harry had dreaded. He must keep the ankle elevated for at least the next two days to bring down the swelling, and then the doctor would visit again. The doctor thought that the ankle was probably broken and would need to be immobilized if there was to be any hope of avoiding a permanent limp. Jane looked disheartened and again thanked the earl for his generosity and hospitality.

Dinner was a strained affair, with Frederick wavering between a modicum of lucidity and drunken collapse. The earl, reserved and pale, said not a word. Harry seemed to be the only soul willing to make an effort toward any type of conversation. Jane’s uninspired remarks were ill rewarded, as she felt all the awkwardness at being the only lady surrounded by three gentlemen. She excused herself soonest, and left the threesome to their port.

It was still early when Jane returned to her chamber to get her scribbling box. Upon asking a footman for the location of a room where she could write undisturbed, she was directed to a small sitting room where an escritoire sat facing double doors. It was a cozy room, and Jane soon found herself lost in her work.

A good hour had passed in a haze of writing when Jane chanced to glimpse outside the French doors. She was surprised to see the garden ablaze with light. She rose, nudged the doors open wide, and walked to the edge of the Wentworth railing, where a footman walked down a line of terrace lanterns, lighting each one with a small torch. A strong breeze teased the first of late summer’s leaves from their heavy branches. The footman turned toward her after lighting the last lantern.

“Why are you lighting those? Is some sort of celebration planned?” she asked.

“No, ma’am. The earl ordered them lit, as he is wont to do when he visits the estate, especially when guests are about.” The footman blew on the charred remnants of the torch. “I told him you were in her ladyship’s sitting room.”

Jane nodded her head and thanked the footman. “ ‘Tis a pretty sight to behold.” The young man bowed and walked away.

White blossoms, amid the cloak of darkness in the vast beyond, beckoned her. She leaned forward and breathed in the sweet scents of roses and jasmine. The sight of so many white flowers piercing the night amazed Jane. Intrigued, she ran down the steps onto the lawn and beyond to the pea-gravel path. As she walked along the phlox border of the flower bed, she heard a crunching sound mingling with the rustling of her silks.

Turning, Jane found herself face-to-face with Lord Graystock.

“My lord.”

“Mrs. Lovering.”

He offered his arm and an excuse as they continued to walk. “I see you have discovered the moon garden.” He bent over to snap off a fragrant bloom and handed it to her. “My mother was quite fond of all-white gardens and arranged for them to be planted at each of our properties.”

“Most unusual. I have never seen a garden quite like this.” And after a pause. “Where are your brother and Harry?”

“Mr. Thompson has taken himself off to his chambers, to elevate his leg. And my brother, I should think, would be in the library at this time, capable only of babble, I am sure.”

Jane paused before answering. “I am sorry.”

“About what? Being forced to be a guest here? Or my brother’s utter lack of control?”

“All of it, I guess.”

“There is no need to apologize. We know each other well enough by now to avoid formalities.”

He looked fragile. No, “fragile” was not the word one would associate with the earl. Rather, he seemed to have peeled off some of the layers of reserve he generally wore. His tanned, rugged visage looked pale gray in the moonlight as his dark eyes searched her face. Jane stopped and reached toward him, cupping his high cheekbones.

The gentle action softened his eyes further. It was the first time she had initiated an embrace, and she felt tentative and unsure—acting on instinct alone. She stroked his cheek and brushed the hair from his temple. He closed his eyes and moved his face to press his lips into the palm of her hand.

“I want to show you something,” he whispered. He reached for her other hand and tugged her arm down as he began walking the length of the parterre. Jane’s gait matched his stride.

They stepped through a large archway, heavy with white roses, into a walled garden replete with a gurgling fountain and lighted lanterns in the center. Everywhere, the scent of roses perfumed the air. White blooms surrounded Jane and Rolfe.

“Out of all our estates, I think this was my mother’s favorite corner of the world.”

“It is not difficult to understand why.” Jane leaned forward to inhale the heady scent of one large bloom. “You have never spoken of your mother.”

“She was beautiful, with light blond hair like Frederick’s,” he said, grimacing. “I take after my father.”

“I don’t agree. You both look very similar, apart from the color of your hair.”

“Ah, but I did not inherit my mother’s charm and ever present kindness and good humor.” Rolfe led Jane to the stone bench and sat down. “She died of the influenza when I was young—eight years old.”

“I am sorry. I cannot imagine losing a mother at that tender age. It was difficult enough for me at eighteen to lose my mother. I hope your family was able to provide the love and attention you must have required at that horrible time.”

“I think, rather, you and I have had similar lives, actually.”

The whir of the summer insect population echoed around them. Rolfe raised Jane’s hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. Jane could not summon a sound to her mouth.

“Do not fear. I shan’t compromise you again—if such a thing is possible. You have my word.” He lowered her hand. “I will leave on the morrow for London with the definite intention of not returning. I doubt we will see each other again.”

The warm, familiar scent of him curled through her. She rested her cheek against the lapel of the blue superfine coat and closed her eyes. It would be so easy to give in to the secret passion that coursed through her veins. But she would not allow it to happen. Rolfe, while kindhearted in some ways, was the epitome of the domineering male. She would never again allow someone to control her life. But, ah, it was tempting. Too tempting.

Jane felt the traces of his whiskers tease her forehead as a gust of wind poured through the archway. She shivered. Rolfe removed his coat and placed it about her shoulders.

“Thank you for everything you’ve done, Rolfe.”

“Ah, how I have longed to hear my name on your lips, without my forcing you to say it.”

Jane looked into his mysterious dark eyes and felt the constricting ache of desire. Tentatively, like a doe stepping into a meadow for the first time, Jane slipped her hands up Rolfe’s ruffled shirt to entwine her arms around his neck. Leaning forward, she reached his face and kissed his cheek.