Dark Fires (27 page)

III

P
aradise
R
eclaimed

NEW YORK 1876

51

Fall had come early to New York City. As Jane hurried across Fifth Avenue, her cheeks were stung red from the new nip in the air. Already the big oaks lining the park were turning, their leaves red and gold. Squirrels were already gathering their winter provisions, scurrying amid the trees. The sky was blue and cloudless, the sun shining with faded brilliance. An early snow was in the air. Jane did not pause to admire the scene.

In fact, never had her spirits been so low.

Oh, God, she thought again, for the dozenth time, how will I deal with this as well?

It had been hard enough leaving England, hard enough leaving him. Yet she had had no choice. To stay in London as his mistress—the obvious solution—would have been to die a slow death. Loving him so thoroughly, Jane could not share him with another woman—worse, with the woman he had loved once and so completely before herself. Having been his wife, Jane could not now be only his mistress.

She had not meant to leave so abruptly, nor had she meant to go to America. She had gone with Molly and Nicole to the little house on Gloucester Street, numb and shocked, not even able to cry. The house was empty, barren, offering no sense of warmth or coziness. Jane had stood in the parlor amid the rolled-up rugs and covered furniture, everything so immaculate and bare with all her personal treasures gone, and she’d known she could not stay. If she stayed, she would succumb to Nicholas. If he begged her to be his mistress, she would not be able to deny him. She had never been able to deny him. She had decided to go to Paris.

And, of course, she needed money.

At her urgent message, Lindley had come instantly. And it was Lindley who persuaded her to go to New York, not France, with him, as he was on his way there for a business trip. He had been planning on leaving in ten days. Jane had told him she would go—provided they left that day, or the next, on the first available ship. She could only guess that he had agreed because he really did love her, and he wanted to get her away from Nicholas as quickly and surely as possible.

Jane hurried into the Regency Hotel on Sixth Avenue. She was not overwhelmed by the huge marble columns, the high frescoed ceilings, the vast crystal chandeliers, or the endless Persian rugs. She had become accustomed to such grandeur. As she hurried up the stairs to their adjoining suites, a refrain repeated itself in her head.

Should she tell him?

Should she tell Lindley? And what about Nicholas?

God, how she missed Nicholas!

Her heart was broken, yet every day she was faced with an onslaught of fresh, raw pain, despite the passage of the past month. This time, she knew, she would never recover from Nicholas’s love.

Jane entered her own suite, throwing down her packages. She’d been shopping. She had just sat down on the sofa when the polished mahogany door attaching her living room to Lindley’s opened, and Jonathon came in. “Jane! I’ve been worried! You said you’d be back hours ago.”

She barely looked at him. “I took a long walk in the park.”

“A long walk?” He was skeptical. Then he came and sat beside her. “What’s wrong? You look like hell.”

She abruptly made the decision to tell him and blurted, “I’m pregnant!”

He stared, shocked.

Jane felt the tears rising. “Damn, damn, damn!” she cursed, not caring. Then she was instantly contrite. “Oh, I take it back, of course I want his baby!”

“I don’t believe it,” Lindley breathed.

“He must know,” Jane said, her heart wrenching with the memory of how she had denied him Nicole. “I must tell him. I will write him a letter.”

“No! He’ll come after you!”

Jane looked at him sadly. “I won’t write him today, Jon. In a few months, when he no longer wants me, then I will send him a note.”

Lindley opened his mouth, then closed it. He touched her shoulder, rubbing it. “What can I do?”

“Nothing.” Her smile was small, rueful.

“Do you want to cancel supper tonight?”

Jane regarded him, her heart twisting with worry. They were to dine tonight at Rathe Bragg’s. Rathe was Nicholas’s brother. He was, of course, friendly with Lindley, having met him numerous times when he was in London visiting his brother. Lindley and Rathe had bumped into each other one day at lunch at a men’s club, and Rathe had invited Lindley to have dinner with him and his new wife, Grace. Jane had not wanted to go. Of course, Rathe did not know she had been his brother’s mistress and was the mother of his child. Still, Jane wanted to stay away from him, sensing danger in the relationship, even if it was only a casual acquaintance. But Lindley talked her into it. Just one evening with nice people, Jane, he had said, you deserve it, and she had gone. Unfortunately, or fortunately, she and Grace had instantly become fast friends. Now, two weeks later, Grace knew everything there was to know about Jane, as Jane did about Grace, so rapidly had their friendship grown. Except Grace only knew that there had been a big love in London—not that it was her brother-in-law. Jane had not told her anything about her relationship with Nicholas, carefully avoiding that period of her life. Jane knew that both Rathe and Grace thought her to be Lindley’s mistress—and they were both utterly charming about it.

Jane suddenly wanted to go to dinner. She wanted to confide in her friend—everything. Of course, she could not, she would not. But she could at least discuss some of her predicament, and cry on her best friend’s shoulder. “No, I want to go, I want to see Grace.”

But Lindley wasn’t listening. He was staring at her intently. “Jane,” he said, “there is a solution.” Jane blinked.

“Marry me.”

“I can’t!”

“Of course you can! Shelton is married to Patricia. Face it, Jane, face it! Damn, I hate seeing you like this! Patricia is his wife. Now you’re pregnant and alone. And we are friends. Most important, I love you and will gladly care for you—and be the father to your child. Do you want this child born a bastard?”

Jane flinched. “I don’t know, I must think.”

“Think.” He leaned close, touched her cheek. “I am here for you. I think I’ve proved it many times. You know you can count on me and trust me.”

He got up and departed to his own rooms. Jane watched him leave. Then she bit her trembling lower lip, her cheek dropping to the sofa back, hugging the big throw pillows. Should she marry Lindley?

Oh, God! What else could Fate possibly have in store for her?

“Oh, Nicholas,” she whispered. “Did I do the right thing?”

52

“Darling,” Grace Bragg said, her smile semisweet and semiwicked, “why don’t you take John into the den and do whatever it is you men like so much to do when you’re ensconced in your all-male citadels that prohibit the fairer, more enlightened sex? Smoke and drink and all that interesting, intellectual—it must be intellectual— male conversation?”

The tall, voluptuous redhead was bending over her husband, a smile on her beautiful face. He was still seated, quite indolently, at the dining-room table, as were Jane and Lindley. Rathe, a big, muscular, devastatingly handsome man, was visibly surprised, his blue eyes wide, his expression startled. Grace nuzzled her cheek to his. “Darling, you could even gamble a bit.”

With one strong arm, he suddenly caught her around the waist, imprisoning her in an intimate position. “Is my wife trying to get rid of me?” he asked, low, laughter sparking his eyes, his mouth near her ear. “Is my impossibly liberated wife trying to encourage my antiquated, chauvinistic stereotypically male pursuits?”

Grace had the grace to blush. During their stormy courtship down south in Natchez, she had, on one or two occasions (or more!), accused him of male arrogance and other philistine attributes. Now she smiled even more sweetly and more wickedly. “Darling, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth!”

“Is this the wild, rabble-rousing suffragist I married?” he teased. “Or are you someone else, a look-alike? Has there been a stranger in my bed recently?”

She smacked him playfully, drawing free of him, winking at Jane, who was regarding their close, uninhibited relationship wistfully. There was so much love and affection and respect between them. But then again, Grace was such an admirable woman, so strong in her convictions, and so well educated and intelligent. While Rathe appeared to be the ideal husband. Not only was he handsome, virile, and magnetic, he was a very successful businessman and he clearly worshiped her.

“All right, I take the hint,” Rathe announced, rising. He winked as well. Big dimples accompanied his smile, causing a pang in Jane’s heart at the resemblance between the brothers. Yet this was the only resemblance. Rathe was a golden-haired, blue-eyed man, always smiling, teasing, in love with the world and himself and his family. Jane’s anguish increased; how could one brother be so sunny and carefree and the other so dark and tormented? Yet with her, Nicholas had begun to change, to smile and laugh and even to tease. God, she missed him.

“C’mon, Lindley, let’s pursue some antiquated, male-oriented pastimes,” Rathe was saying.

“Sounds good to me.” Lindley grinned, squeezing Jane’s shoulder as he passed. Rathe had the aplomb and insouciance to swat Grace’s behind rather forcefully as he went out, causing her to gasp, jump, and blush a fierce red, in that order. Her gaze met Jane’s sheepishly, then she laughed. “He is impossible, that man!”

“You are so very lucky,” Jane said huskily.

“Very lucky,” Grace agreed softly, her palm touching her abdomen. She was just starting to show the signs of her pregnancy. Her expression grew serious. She closed the dining-room doors, then returned to the table and sat in Lindley’s place, next to Jane. “But you have a good man too.”

Jane just looked at Grace.

Grace smiled. “Tea or coffee? How about some more of this sinful chocolate cake?”

Jane accepted both and had just taken a bit of the cake, which was sheer heaven, when Grace abruptly said, “What’s wrong, Jane? You look as if your best friend died.”

Jane laid down her fork. “I’m pregnant.”

“Oh,” Grace said. “Oh.”

Jane pushed the cake away. Grace knew about Nicole—adored her, in fact—and Jane knew she suspected Lindley wasn’t the father, because of the baby’s coloring, but she had been too polite to even ask. In fact, it was amazing that the Braggs had accepted her into their home knowing she had a fatherless baby, as if she were Lindley’s wife, not, as they thought, his paramour. But they were real people, without a single snobbish thought between the two of them. Besides, after they’d become friends, Grace had confessed she’d been Rathe’s mistress for a while—although not exactly willingly. Jane had been shocked. “He forced you?”

Grace had grinned. “Well, coerce is a better word. Actually, he took advantage of my dire circumstances.” Then she’d amended herself. “Really, I’m making Rathe sound like such a cad. He was sort of a cad, I admit. However, he did want to marry me. I refused.”

Jane had been shocked. Grace had laughed. “I was in love with him but stubbornly refusing to admit it,” she’d confessed. “Can you believe I told him I’d rather be his mistress, that way I wouldn’t be stuck with him forever?”

Jane could barely believe it, her eyes popping at Grace’s daring insolence. “You should have seen his reaction.” Grace had laughed.

Now Grace covered Jane’s hand with her own. “Does Jon know?” She meant about the pregnancy.

Jane looked up at her. Obviously Grace thought she was carrying Lindley’s child. “It’s not his,” she said tersely.

Grace’s eyes went wide.

Jane’s filled with tears.

“Oh, I’m sorry, that was so thoughtless of me,” Grace cried, squeezing her hand. “Jane, I am not judging you!”

Jane shook her head unable to speak, and wiped her eyes with the napkin. “No, you see, Grace, what you’ve thought all along isn’t true. I am not Lindley’s mistress.” Grace stared again— they had never discussed this openly. “I am only his friend,” Jane confessed. “He does love me, and he does want me. Today he even asked me to marry him. But, you see, I love someone else.”

“I see,” Grace said.

Jane fought the sob choking her. “I love Nicole’s father,” she said softly. “He is in London. He is married,” she added.

“I’m so sorry,” Grace cried. “That bastard! That typical, rotten, selfish, philandering, rutting bastard! That—”

“Grace!” Jane cried. “He is Rathe’s brother, Lord Shelton, the Earl of Dragmore!”

Grace gasped.

The two women stared at each other, Grace’s flush of fury fading to sheer white, Jane’s nose red, eyes shiny. “We thought his wife was dead,” Jane said miserably. “And he married me. But not out of love, but because he found out about Nicole. Yet I love him so. When his first wife reappeared, I couldn’t take it, I couldn’t. He wanted me to be his mistress, but after being his wife … I ran away!” Jane began to cry. She tried not to, but it was impossible.

Grace got up and swiftly hugged her. “Sometimes men are such insensitive boors,” she said. “Get it out, Jane, all of it,” she said, recovering her calm. “You will feel much better, and you can trust me.”

Jane regarded her. “I was only seventeen when we met,” she said unsteadily. “And I fell in love with him that very first moment. He was so big and dark, so powerful, even menacing. And his eyes, they were silver, so cold—yet so hot.” She paused, lost in remembrance of that time in the dusty parlor at Dragmore. She decided to tell it all. “They called him the Lord of Darkness …”