Heiress in Love (30 page)

She sent a dagger look over her shoulder at the culprits. The largest boy stared sullenly back at her. The others bowed their heads and wouldn’t meet her eye.

“Shame on you all!” She rose to her feet. “You’ll be sorry for this.”

“My sketchbook,” gasped Luke.

Jane glanced around. Luke’s precious drawings had been flung atop the heap of horse manure.

Taking hold of one, unsullied corner, Constantine fished the sketchbook out of the mire and handed it carefully to Luke.

“Perhaps some pages can be saved,” Jane said. She put her arm around Luke and glared at the stable boys. “And as for you three—”

Evenly, Constantine said, “Lady Roxdale, go with Luke up to the house. I’ll handle this.”

“But—”

“Thank you, my lady.” With his most charming smile, Constantine bowed, dismissing her. There was nothing for her to do but leave.

*   *   *

While a bath was drawn for Luke, Jane ordered some hot water to be brought to her sitting room so that she could help him wash the worst of the grime away.

When he was relatively clean and she was somewhat calmer, she rang for tea and some lemonade and a currant bun for Luke. He took a tiny sip of lemonade. The bun went untouched.

If she’d needed any proof of the depth of his pain and humiliation, she had it in his loss of appetite. She’d never seen him so uninterested in food before.

“Come. Sit with me.” She drew him to her and cuddled him close.

“I am so sorry, darling.” She shook her head. “That such a thing should happen here, at our stables! I wouldn’t have credited it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

“I did all the things you and Lord Roxdale said. I told them to leave me alone in a big strong voice. But then they picked me up…” His mouth contorted in an effort to hold back his sobs.

“Oh, darling, I know. I know you did your best. Sometimes there’s nothing you can do. But you may be sure that Lord Roxdale is dealing with those boys in a way they won’t like.” She’d never considered herself a violent woman, but she burned to box those bullies’ ears for them. She must trust in Constantine to punish them fittingly.

She waited a while before she asked, “Why did they treat you that way?”

Luke flushed and bit his lip. He shook his head. “Don’t know.”

“But you do know, don’t you, Luke?” She hesitated, not quite knowing how to phrase her concern. “Did you, perhaps, do something to those boys?”

“Nothing! I’ve done nothing at all.” His lip quivered. He was trying his best not to weep.

Jane’s heart twisted. “I am sorry, darling. I didn’t mean to suggest it was your fault. Well, what is it, then? Can’t you tell me why they were teasing you?”

Her gentle questioning seemed to upset him all the more. She would not hurt him for the world, but she had to know why this kept happening so she could try to put a stop to it.

“Won’t you tell me, Luke? You can say anything. I won’t be shocked or disappointed. But I want to know.”

He kicked the leg of his chair with his heel. “It’s
nothing,
Aunt Jane. Really, it isn’t. I—I made some rude sketches of them, that’s all.”

Somehow, she didn’t think impudent cartoons were responsible for such widespread animosity. “Oh? And did you make sketches like that of the boys in the village, too?”

He hunched a shoulder and didn’t reply.

“Luke?” She felt so helpless; she was on the verge of tears herself, but that would never do. “Darling, I can’t bear to see this happening to you. You must tell me or Lord Roxdale, so that we can do something about it.”

“You can’t!” He was on his feet, shouting at her. “You can’t do
anything
about it, all right?”

Tears streamed down his cheeks. Jane went to her knees on the floor and wrapped her arms around him to hold him tightly. Murmuring endearments and reassurance, she stroked a hand through his hair. His small body shook; then he buried his face in her shoulder and broke into sobs—ugly, wrenching sobs that seemed to rip from his chest.

“They say I’m a bastard. That my mother was a … a—”

“Yes, I can imagine what they call her,” she interrupted, to save him the embarrassment of using such language to her.

What on earth?
“But it’s not true, darling. Your parents were most certainly married and your birth is as respectable as mine.”

Jane’s heart wrung with pity for him. If she could have taken his pain into herself to spare him, she would have done it.

He raised his face. “Why would they say such things if they weren’t true?”

Jane shook her head, soothing his hair from his brow with one fingertip. “I don’t know, my dear. Sometimes children say hurtful things with no regard at all to the truth.”

She drew back, searching his woebegone little face. “I want you to know that whatever happens, I will always love you and take care of you, and so will Lord Roxdale. We’ll find a way to stop this. You’ll see.”

She heard a step outside and turned her head to see Constantine standing in the doorway.

“What happened?”

He came in, moving toward Luke with a frown in his eyes.

Reaching to tip up the boy’s chin, he held his face to the light. “Full of pluck, aren’t you, son?” He lifted a brow at Jane. “Bruises? Bones broken?”

She shook her head. “He is very shaken, though. And upset. And the stable boys?” asked Jane. “What did you do about them?”

There was a grim set to Constantine’s mouth. He rested a hand on Luke’s head. “I dismissed them. I can’t have lads like that on the estate.”

Luke’s head jerked up in surprise. His gaze fixed with almost worshipful intensity on Constantine’s face.

Jane frowned, unsure whether she approved. “I think they’d have preferred a horsewhip.”

“Possibly,” said Constantine. “But I don’t hold with corporal punishment. I gave them the choice of various highly unpleasant duties or leaving my employ. They chose the latter.” He sighed. “It goes against the grain with me to rob lads of their livelihoods, but they are young and strong. They’ll find work elsewhere. And their dismissal will serve as a warning to others that Luke is under my protection.” He paused. “We can’t have the poor lad terrorized in his own home, can we?”

Luke had finally stopped trembling. Something like hope shone in his eyes.

“Let’s hope that’s an end to it,” said Jane. “If anything like this happens again, you must run and tell us straightaway.” She hugged Luke to her and kissed the crown of his head, then released him. “Now, up to the nursery with you. Your bath should be ready by now. We must get you all lovely and clean.”

“And afterward,” said Constantine, “how about another game of fox and geese?”

*   *   *

That night, Jane went up to the nursery to fulfill her promise to read Luke three entire episodes of Sir Ninian’s adventures. She didn’t even get through the first story before Luke slipped into dreams.

For a long time, she sat watching him in the quiet.

She loathed what had happened to him that morning. She ached for his pain, would have done anything to take it away. A hard lesson to learn that she couldn’t. He must bear it, and she must simply help him do that. Constantine had said something to her that resonated: Luke would be stronger for having survived this day.

Constantine had spent hours with Luke today, joking and playing games, letting the boy forget about the horror of the morning. By suppertime, Luke had regained his usual buoyancy. Constantine had been wonderful, truly. She doubted any father could have bettered his performance.

She anticipated that the awful incident would resurface in Luke’s mind often in the coming days and weeks. But she hoped the sting of it would lessen after today.

Jane wiped her eyes with her knuckle and rose to look out of the window. Twilight lay soft in the air outside. The days were lengthening, and so was this magical time when the world hung between daytime and night.

She took a deep breath and exhaled it shakily. Then she went down to her bedchamber to fetch a shawl and left the house.

*   *   *

Constantine had been at work in the grotto’s innermost chamber for the past two hours or more. He was pardonably pleased with the result.

A multitude of silk cushions and pillows covered the floor, while embroidered hangings draped over its walls, softening the cavernous space. A bottle of champagne nestled snugly in its silver bucket. Beside that, he’d set two crystal flutes and a selection of viands delectable enough to tempt the most jaded palate. Wisps of incense smoke wafted from a miniature Oriental burner, scenting the air with a subtle hint of the exotic.

He’d just lit the last candle when a movement behind him made him turn around.

Jane stood at the chamber entrance, clutching the edges of her shawl together at her breast. She still wore her day gown but her hair was unbound, tumbling in glorious auburn waves around her shoulders. His fingers tingled with the need to sift through that soft, flowing mass.

So elegant and slender, Jane appeared almost ethereal in the mysterious shadows of the grotto. Too pure and delicate for the profanity of his touch.

His heart kicked into a hard gallop. He’d anticipated a moment like this for a very long time, perhaps since that first glimpse he’d caught of Jane staring down at him from her window. Only now did it occur to him that he’d never felt so …
anxious
about bedding a woman before.

Everything hinged on this night. Their future together depended on his making the next few hours the most pleasurable of Jane’s life. What was more, she trusted him to accomplish that feat, despite the horror she’d suffered through with Frederick. It was enough to daunt the most hardened rake into nonperformance.

But his apprehension didn’t stop his cock straining against his breeches at the sight of her. The primal, animal part of him roared in triumph. Finally, he would have this woman, possess her body, claim her in a thousand intimate ways.

He waited for her to glance away from him and become aware of her surroundings. He’d taken some trouble to set the scene for this momentous occasion.

She didn’t notice any of it, but walked straight into his arms.

Then she said his name in her soft, clipped voice, took his face between her palms and kissed him with those warm, satiny lips. Something inside him flipped over. Constantine Black, celebrated rake, flung all his practiced maneuvers to the winds and wrapped himself in Jane.

He splayed his fingers and plunged them through her hair, devouring her mouth with deep, long kisses, over and over again.

He ran his hands over her, caressing the small of her back, pushing the shawl from her shoulders, touching, stroking, impatient for more. Clothing became an irritation, thwarting his progress. With a muttered oath, he turned her to face away from him. Fumbling a little, his fingers worked at removing her gown.

Various aids to seduction that he’d arranged on the shelf remained where they were, all but forgotten. His plans for slowly stripping her in a long, drawn-out seduction unraveled faster than the damnably complex lacings on her corset.

As her stays finally came undone and her petticoats fell away, he swept her hair aside to press kisses at her nape, resting his lips at the vulnerable place where her neck and shoulder joined. Gently, he bit down.

She moaned his name, sagging a little in his arms.

“Yes, you like that,” he murmured, pleased. He let his mouth linger, tracing the delicate blue shadow of a vein with his tongue, tasting the salty tang of her skin.

When Jane shuddered, he bit down harder, then sucked her flesh to soothe it. Her knees buckled but he held her up, one arm around her waist, one hand sliding under the neckline of her chemise to fondle the soft, firm flesh of her breast.

The sudden press of her bottom against his groin made him gasp into her shoulder blade. He turned her and slid the sleeves of her chemise from her shoulders, baring her lovely breasts, letting the soft undergarment whisper to the ground.

Jane surprised him then, reaching out to bunch her hands in his shirt to tug it free of his breeches. She gathered the linen in her hands, lifting it up. Obediently, he raised his arms over his head and helped her remove it.

The appreciative light in her gaze as it wandered over his bare torso made his balls tighten painfully. She did that to him with just a look. What could she do with her hands, her mouth?

To distract himself, he reached out and palmed her breast, curled his fingers underneath it, weighed it in his hand. With deliberate precision, he flicked one tight nipple with his thumb. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she gave a small, pleasured moan.

Encouraged, he played there for a while, touching her with light, tantalizing strokes until she begged for relief. “Constantine. Oh, please.”

He swept her up in his arms and carried her to the mountain of cushions. He laid her down, then stretched out beside her, marveling at the pleasurable anticipation in her gaze. This time, she didn’t seek to cover herself or shy away.