The Duke's Governess Bride (15 page)

‘Why, Miss Wood,’ he teased. ‘whatever has come over you?’

‘You, Richard,’ she whispered shyly, slanting her face as she tipped her mouth to his. ‘Only you.’

There was nothing shy about how she kissed him then, or how he kissed her back. Richard felt as if he spent most of his nights alone and just as much of his days remembering how much he enjoyed kissing Jane, yet in all that remembering, he’d never come close to getting it right, not by half. The reality of her in his arms was that far beyond his imagining.

Her small, round body was soft and yielding, filling his hands with the vibrancy of her flesh beneath that grey wool in a way he’d never thought possible in a woman. He eased his hand from her waist higher, along her ribs to the curving swell of her breast. She caught her breath but did not flinch, and he took that as permission to push aside her white linen kerchief and slip his hand within. Her skin was warm and impossibly soft, and as he filled his palm with her breast, she trembled, and sighed her contentment.

Was there any better way to choose life over a fading memory of lost love, or to be reminded of the boundless joys of one over the sorrowful finality of the other?

Her lips were eager, her mouth wet and hot, and, when she shifted on his lap, her bottom pressed so enticingly against him that he groaned and could quite happily forget everything else except having her in his arms.

Well, not precisely all. She’d called him a wicked rogue to tease him. Had she any notion of how apt that description was? His body was reminding him of what exactly he wanted to do with her, of how this was Venice and a darkened theatre box and no one would notice or care if he were to unfasten the fall of his breeches and shove aside her petticoats and—

‘Per favore, signor!’
The porter rapped on the door of the box with a furious intensity. ‘Your Grace, if you please, at once, at once!’

‘What the devil?’ muttered Richard, unwilling to be interrupted by anything short of out-and-out disaster. ‘That fellow can go straight to blazes for all I—’

‘But it must be important,’ Jane said, already slipping from his lap to smooth her gown. ‘They wouldn’t disturb us otherwise. What if something serious has occurred?’

‘Very well.’ With a grunt of resignation, he rose and unlatched the box’s door. ‘What is it, sirrah? Speak, you impudent rascal, spit it out!’

The porter puffed out his chest with indignant self-importance. ‘Your servant waits below with a message of great importance.’

Richard scowled. ‘Which servant? What’s his name? By God, if it’s—’

‘Oh, Richard,’ Jane said anxiously beside him. ‘What if it’s word from the young ladies? What if something grievous has happened?’

He couldn’t ignore the possibility. ‘Very well, then,’ he said. ‘Send the man up.’

The porter bowed. ‘I am sorry,
signor,
but your servant has no ticket, and cannot be admitted.’

‘Damanation, I can’t see—’

‘We’ll go, Richard,’ Jane said, reaching for her cloak and muff. ‘There’s no use in lingering if it’s important.’

‘I’m not sure it is.’ Richard sighed impatiently. ‘You wait here, Jane, and I’ll be back directly, once I’ve settled this.’

‘Are you sure, Richard?’ she asked, resting her hand on his arm.

Her eyes were full of beseeching concern for his welfare, yet also trust that he’d resolve whatever nonsense this interruption was. Could there be anything more guaranteed to swell his affection for her?

‘Only a moment, sweet, I vow.’ He bent and quickly kissed her again. ‘With you waiting for me, that will be all it takes.’

Chapter Sixteen

W
ith a sigh, Jane returned to the chair she’d been sharing with Richard, or, more accurately, the chair on which Richard had been sitting, with her on top of him. He’d assured her that he wouldn’t be away long, and she’d no reason to doubt him.

And yet she missed him as much as if he’d gone off to sea on a voyage of years’ duration, not answered an errand that would take ten minutes at most. It made her feel a bit foolish, too, like one of her overly romantic young charges, but she couldn’t help it. What she felt when Richard kissed her was beyond anything she’d ever experienced. As much as she prized her education, she’d no words at all fit for describing it, and when he’d caressed her breast, why, she’d thought she’d perish from delight.

She’d arched against him, shamelessly pushing her breast against his hand to seek more of the pleasure his touch brought. Her nipple had tightened and grown more sensitive and somehow warmer, and that glow had then spread through her whole body, centring curiously between her legs. Self-consciously she’d pressed her legs together, and discovered that the pleasurable warmth only increased, and the more she restlessly shifted her limbs, rubbing herself against him, the more the warmth grew, stealing away her breath and her senses, too. It had been most…remarkable.

She took the muff from the chair beside her and cradled it in her arms, brushing her cheek against the silky fur as she thought of the man who’d given it to her. The play on the stage before her was forgotten, the orchestra’s music unheard.

Day by day, day by day—they’d each promised to follow that, without regrets. Yet those same days were passing so quickly, as fast as sand slipping through the waist of an hourglass, and she couldn’t bear to think of all the other days that would follow in her life without Richard Farren in them.

She heard the door behind her open, and she turned and rose at once with anticipation, expecting Richard’s return. But standing there in the doorway, lit from behind by the brightness of the hall, wasn’t Richard, but Signor di Rossi, dressed all in black like the night.

‘Ah,
cara mia,
here you are at last,’ he exclaimed, his cloak swirling around him as he closed the box’s door. He tossed aside his hat and the white half-mask, and bowed deeply to her, the silver scabbard of his dress sword glinting beneath his cloak. ‘I cannot tell you how I’ve missed you.’

He seized her hand before she’d realised what he was doing, and pressed his lips to the back of it. She gasped, astounded by his audacity, and more than a little frightened by it, too.

‘
Signor,
please, you forget yourself!’ she exclaimed. She jerked her hand free and whipped it behind her back, as if to keep it beyond his temptation.

‘How can I not forget myself when it is you I cannot put from my mind?’ he asked, pressing his hand over his heart. ‘Ah, Miss Wood! How grieved I was to receive your letter, and its unhappy contents! To learn that your—your
master
chose to exert his lordly English will over you, and forbid you from my company at the exact moment when we—’

‘But that is not true,
signor.
’ She was startled and confused by his impetuous manner, so much so that she wondered if he were drunk. ‘You’re most grievously mistaken. His Grace hasn’t forbidden me anything.’

‘Forgive me, Miss Wood, but I cannot believe that,’ he said, his elegantly accented voice filled with sorrow. ‘What I do believe is that you and I are friends, and must keep no secrets between us. Is that not so, Miss Wood?’

‘It is, yes,’ she said carefully, unwilling to agree to more than she intended. ‘You have been wondrous kind to me as a stranger in your city, and for that I shall be always grateful. But our friendship is also one of short duration,
signor,
and therefore perhaps open to a misinterpretation.’

His hand closed into a fist over his heart, as if to contain his anguish. ‘How have I misunderstood? Did you not come to me when you feared for your welfare at this man’s hands?’

‘I was not so much fearful as uncertain.’

‘It is the same,’ he declared firmly. ‘The English duke made you unhappy.’

‘I never said that,
signor!
’

‘But you did,
cara mia,
’ he insisted. ‘Not in words, perhaps, but surely in your tears. I saw them in your eyes, you know. Can you deny your unhappiness when I found you wandering in the Piazza San Marco?’

Jane winced, remembering. ‘At that time, I was unhappy, yes. But my unhappiness was more my own fault than any suffering caused by his Grace.’

‘Do not excuse him, Miss Wood!’ he said fervently. ‘He showed neither regard nor respect for you as a woman, nor has he—’

‘
Signor,
please.’ Why didn’t Richard return? What servant’s errand could have kept him away so long? ‘I must ask you to stop. Nothing will be achieved by pursuing this conversation further.’

‘Nothing, and everything,’ di Rossi said, his voice dropping lower. ‘I know in my heart you wished to join me here tonight, alone in my company. I know he forced you to write that letter rejecting me. That they were not your words, but his.’

Jane’s gaze darted past him to the door, willing Richard to return. ‘I expect his Grace at any moment,
signor,
and I am sure he will be honoured to make your acquaintance.’

‘I care only for you, Jane Wood, not for him,’ he said, as if she’d not spoken at all. ‘Come with me,
cara mia
, before he returns.’

‘Forgive me for speaking plain,
signor,
but it’s not appropriate for you to call me
“cara”
,’ she said, an edge of panic beginning to undermine her firmness. Now she recalled how forward he’d been in the chocolate shop, lavishing her with compliments that she’d not wanted. At the time, she’d been so preoccupied with Richard that she’d let it pass, leaving her to wonder if he’d taken her lack of protest as encouragement. ‘Our friendship is based entirely on an appreciation of art. I’ve never pretended anything beyond that. For you to believe I sought such attention would be most ungentlemanly of you.’

In the half-light of the box, di Rossi’s eyes were nearly as black as his clothing.

‘Then you have never met a true gentleman,’ he said, sweeping his hand through the air with an elegant flourish. ‘Permit me to show you how a
gentleman
admires a woman. Let me introduce you to the rarest of raptures, and let us discover together joy such as you’ve never imagined.’

He took another step closer, and Jane scuttled backwards, knocking over one of the chairs before she braced herself behind another.

‘There will be no such discoveries made with you, Signor di Rossi!’ she exclaimed warmly. ‘Pray recall who
you
are, sir, and who
I
am, and—’

The door flew open, and Richard loomed in the sudden splash of light from the hall like an oversized silhouette.

‘I tell you, Jane, you will not believe the nonsense I’ve had to endure for—what the devil is this? Who are you, sir?’ He gaze shifted from Jane to di Rossi, and back again. ‘Jane, what’s this about?’

Relief swept over Jane. Her first response was to throw herself into Richard’s arms, but almost instantly she realised the folly of so open a display. She’d no wish for di Rossi to see the intimacy that had risen up between her and Richard and to spread the news wickedly as gossip about Venice, not if she hoped to find a new place as a governess here. Given the Venetian’s unexpected misunderstanding of their own relationship, she could only imagine how wrongly—and hatefully—he’d interpret any sign of open affection between her and Richard.

But that wasn’t the only worry that raced through her thoughts in that half-second. First came the sword that di Rossi wore beneath his cloak, second was Richard’s notoriously quick temper when he believed he’d been wronged, and third determining how best to keep both under control.

So instead of giving way to her fears and sinking tearfully into the reassuring comfort of Richard’s embrace, she drew herself up straight, her hands clasped before her to personify capability and calm, and pretended that nothing, absolutely nothing, was wrong.

Only she would know that her hands were trembling.

‘Be at ease, your Grace,’ she said, curtsying to him in the old way. ‘There’s nothing amiss. This is the Venetian gentleman of whom I have spoken to you, the gentleman who has been so very helpful to me in my visit to this place.’

‘Helpful, you say,’ Richard muttered sceptically, his gaze raking up and down di Rossi. ‘To you, eh?’

‘Anything to please a lady,
signor
,’ di Rossi said. He drew himself up very straight to try to lessen the differences in their heights. ‘Though perhaps that is something an Englishman would not understand.’

Richard’s answer came as an ominous, wordless rumble, like some great, cross beast roused from his sleep. In return di Rossi’s right hand was hovering near to where his cloak masked the hilt of his sword, and at once Jane stepped between the two men to make a proper introduction.

‘Your Grace, may I present Signor Giovanni Rinaldini di Rossi, an esteemed gentleman of this city,’ she said swiftly, relieved that she’d been able to recall the
signor’
s entire name. ‘
Signor,
his Grace the Duke of Aston.’

Di Rossi made one of his most elegant bows, low over his leg, yet taking care, too, to flick his black cloak to one side to show his sword.

Richard, being Richard, made only another grumbling growl of acknowledgement.

‘Signor di Rossi came to our box to pay his compliments to you, your Grace,’ Jane prompted, feeling every bit the governess forcing good manners upon two balky charges. ‘Signor di Rossi was expressing his hope that his Grace was enjoying the play.’

‘It’s rubbish,’ Richard said curtly. ‘Rubbish and nonsense.’

‘Your Grace!’ Jane exclaimed with dismay. ‘That’s hardly—’

‘He is entitled to his opinion, Miss Wood,’ di Rossi said, adding a disdainful sniff for emphasis. ‘Most likely an English duke has been entitled to whatever he pleases his entire life, yes?’

‘Damn your impertinence, sir!’ Richard thundered, so loudly that Jane was sure the very actors on the stage must have heard him. ‘No Englishman should stand for such slander from a foreigner, nor should I—’

‘Nor should you, indeed, your Grace, since we are leaving.’ She snatched up her belongings and took Richard’s arm to try to steer him away, no easy feat when he seemed so stubbornly determined to stand his ground. ‘Pray recall that you’d already decided the play was not to your taste.’

Richard frowned down at her. ‘You are certain you wish to leave, Jane?’

‘I am, your Grace,’ she said, exerting as much pressure as she could on his arm, for all that it felt as if she were trying to lead a bull. ‘Please excuse us,
signor,
and a good evening to you.’

‘A good evening to you as well, Miss Wood,’ he said, bowing again. He began to reach one more time for her hand, but Jane ducked behind Richard, leaving di Rossi to scowl at her, too.

‘Your Grace,’ she said, urging Richard forwards before he noticed the other man’s attentions. She smiled up at him, silently pleading as hard as she could. ‘If you please, your Grace.’

To her amazement, it worked.

‘Very well,’ Richard said gruffly, and without acknowledging di Rossi any further, he walked with Jane through the theatre and outside, to where a line of gondolas for hire waited. Not expecting any custom until the performance was done, the gondoliers had gathered to smoke their pipes and pass a bottle at the far end of the piazza. As soon as Richard’s imposing figure appeared, one of the men hurried forwards, and within minutes of having left the box, they were gliding safely along the canal, and away from Signor di Rossi and his silver-hilted sword.

Jane knew she should be relieved, even blessed, to have escaped such a scene. Without much more tinder, matters between the two men could have sparked and flared into a quarrel, a scuffle, a fight, and a tragedy. She’d done the proper thing by removing Richard when she had and she knew it. Yet since they’d left the box, Richard in turn had not spoken a word to her.

Not one single word.

She sighed forlornly, wondering if she dared to take his hand. He was sitting as far apart from her as was possible on the gondola’s narrow seat, and he was staring steadfastly out across the starlit water. She knew he wasn’t
seeing
it; he was clearly too angry still for that. What she wasn’t sure of was if that anger was somehow directed at her.

‘I trust the message that came for you wasn’t of importance?’ she cautiously asked. It would be easiest to let him stew, but his silence was so painful for her that she’d rather risk having him rage at her than endure it any longer. ‘It wasn’t—’

‘There was no damned message,’ he said with blistering disgust. ‘No message, and no messenger. The whole business was trumpery and lies, contrived to make me go traipsing downstairs and up again on a fool’s errand.’

‘But who would contrive such a wicked trick?’