The Proud Viscount (19 page)

“True,” she agreed.

“I’d never been here before, though, and it took me a while to find the place. There was no candlelight shining from any room in the house and no movement outside. I couldn’t very well hammer on the door at this hour, so I decided to explore the grounds, keeping an eye out for any indication of trouble.”

“How long ago was this?”

“No more than an hour. I wandered around until I found the pond, then waded in to search for the doll. It seemed to me Parnham would have been foolish to remove it right away, in case anyone was around. He’d had last night to accomplish it, though, so I wasn’t hopeful. But we were lucky. The doll won’t prove anything to anyone else, but it will certainly convince Nancy herself that there’s nothing amiss with her mind.”

“Thank heaven. She’s become quite despondent.”

“So I gathered from her note.” He glanced over at the resting figure and shook his head. “Poor dear. What a dreadful thing to happen to a trusting young woman." He returned his gaze to Jane’s exhausted face. “Let me hasten to the conclusion of my tale so you can get some rest. As I was wading out of the pond, I saw a movement down at the end of. the path and quickly hid myself behind the shrubs. It was impossible to tell what was happening because he managed to carry her only a few yards at a time, so encumbered was he by the mask and cape."

“You mean he had the cape wrapped around her?”

“He was wearing it, but it engulfed her, too. An awkward arrangement. It meant I couldn’t tell exactly what was going on, but it seemed safe enough to wait for him to get where he was headed. Then suddenly, before they reached the pond, there was the sound of a slamming door and your voice crying out. For a few moments he continued on, but as your voice came closer, he dropped her and bolted off across the gardens before I realized what he was about. I would have followed, except that I couldn’t be sure your sister didn’t need help.”

“Of course. You’re not familiar with the place; there are a thousand ways he could have managed to elude you. I’m glad you stayed with Nancy.”

Rossmere brushed a finger against her cheek. Her eyes widened slightly but she didn’t draw back from the gesture. His voice was cautious as he said, “I went to London to get a special marriage license. We could be married tomorrow if your local clergyman is willing to perform the ceremony."

“Tomorrow?” Suddenly her limbs felt weak again. It was difficult to meet his intent blue eyes. “But I hadn’t agreed to marry you."

“It was a precaution. We don’t have to use the special license at all, if you’d rather not.” His whole hand cupped her chin, holding it so that she faced him directly. “I think we should, Jane.”

She moistened her lips and forced a smile, which disappeared instantly. “The tenants at Graywood aren’t moving out until the weekend. Would you... would we live there with Nancy?”

“For the time being.” His hand moved to the back of her neck, where he rubbed the skin under her thick hair. “I can’t take you to Longborough until it’s been repaired. I’ll have to spend the marriage settlement on that. Unless you’d be willing to sell Graywood.”

It was more a question than a statement. Jane mutely shook her head, though which was worse—living at Richard’s home or selling it—was a matter of splitting hairs. She was very aware of his fingers and the friction they caused. Her skin became so sensitive that it carried the message of his touch right down through her body, coming to ignite a heat at her core.

“When... when we move to Longborough,” she said, clearing her throat, “we’ll take Nancy with us?”

“Certainly. We’ve taken responsibility for her, and we’ll continue to do so. I wouldn’t think of abandoning her, Jane. Ever. She can’t come back to this scoundrel, and she’ll probably be more comfortable out of this area after a while, anyhow.”

As he spoke, his hand moved down her back until she felt him exert pressure to push her out of the chair. With his other hand he guided her onto his lap. And she let him do it, because she knew he would kiss her and she wanted to feel the touch of his lips. Tired as she was, upset, vulnerable, she wanted to cling to him, wanted to press against his strong, solid body. The pulse in her throat fluttered wildly as he wrapped his arms around her.

His lips first touched her forehead and her eyelids, her cheeks and her nose before they reached her mouth. Though they were soft as dew elsewhere, on her own lips they were abruptly demanding. She could feel the heat of him, the persistent pressure drawing a heady response from her. While he nibbled at her lips, his hands moved surely against her back, her hips, holding her tight against him.

The ache grew in her, and with it the need for him to touch her. Her nightdress had slid down one arm, and she made no attempt to adjust it. He traced the bare skin it left exposed.

A shiver passed through her body when his fingers came to rest high on her breast. As his lips reclaimed hers, his hands gradually moved lower, curving down past her breasts. Again a tremor ran through her, pushing her breasts outward as her body arched toward him in a perfectly involuntary movement. His mouth pressed firmly to hers and his hands cupped her breasts, the thumbs posed against the fabric over her sensitive nipples. A breathless need moved her. She made small, unconscious noises as his thumbs pressed, circled, teased.

His tongue was in her mouth, deep against the soft palate. She felt a drawing on her, down, down inside. And one of his hands moved from outside the nightdress to underneath it, his fingers against her skin. The ache increased inside her, grew as his fingers rubbed against her. Her heart hammered in her chest, in her throat, echoing the pulsing need further down. His tongue moved in and out of her mouth, slowly thrusting through her trembling lips; his fingers stroked the tip of her breast until it was firm with her inner need.

And in her shaky state it was enough to bring her to a glittering, pulsing release. She cried out against his shoulder. Her fingers dug into his back, clasping him tightly against her. He rained kisses on her face and neck, rocking her gently as her body calmed into a nerveless frame of skin and bones.

“Tomorrow, I think,” he said.

“Yes. Tomorrow will be fine,” she agreed.

* * * *

John Parnham had not put in an appearance before their carriage drew away from the hall. Jane had helped Nancy write a strong note indicating that neither Nancy nor the child William would be returning and that any attempt on Parnham’s part to force them would be met with the strongest resistance by Lord Rossmere and Lady Jane. Nancy held the child firmly and didn’t look back at the house as the vehicle swung from the carriage drive into the lane beyond. Jane kept a reassuring hand on her sister’s knee.

Rossmere rode behind on Ascot. He would have liked to stay and face Parnham with his anger, but until he had married into the family, he hadn’t the right. As soon as he was married to Jane, however, he had every intention of fully executing his plan to protect Nancy for as long as she required his services. It was one of the few things he could do that would help him feel less of a bounder in marrying Jane for her fortune.

Was he? So many other elements had cropped up to muddy the water. Not the least of which was the growing affection he felt for Lady Jane herself. When he’d gotten her note the previous day and realized she’d gone off to Parnham Hall alone, the fear he’d felt had been a revelation. It was not only her sister Nancy that he wished to keep safe. And each time he had held Jane, an absolute fire blazed in his loins.

She would make a comfortable wife, not one of these clinging, featherheaded females who expected their husbands to hang about them every hour to provide their entertainment. Jane had interests of her own and a determination that kept her going when things were difficult. Her physical desires were certainly all a man could hope for, and the attendant behavior not in the least missish or squeamish, both of which attitudes he’d heard were a great deal prevalent these days. Lady Jane Reedness quite obviously had a healthy interest in those intimacies that a husband and wife would share.

Rossmere felt particularly pleased about this. The major difficulty of a convenient marriage, in his opinion, was the necessity for a couple who were not attracted to each other to indulge in such behavior. It could be nothing but unpleasant for either of them, and positively loathsome for the woman, he suspected. That Jane was accepting, even eager, for his caresses was a true advantage to their union. Once it had occurred to him to provide himself with a special license, he had begun to anticipate marriage to Jane with a real interest. If he had used a little physical inducement to encourage her, there was surely no harm in that.

The sun was growing warmer overhead. The rattle of the carriage intruded not at all on his thoughts, and Ascot kept a steady pace without needing a guiding hand. Rossmere was considering what Jane had said to him that morning about her father.

“You know, he might be willing, with the information we can bring him now, to let Nancy stay at Willow End. Even though neither of us actually saw John’s face, it is perfectly obvious that it was he. And then there’s the doll you found. Together we might convince him to protect Nancy. You wouldn’t have to marry me."

“I’m certain that your father would be a halfhearted protector at best, Jane,” he’d said, keeping his voice level with some effort. Didn’t she want to marry him? After what they’d been through, it was a bit of a shock to find her backing down. “He’d always wonder if Nancy wasn’t truly unbalanced, and he’d find it difficult to withstand Parnham’s claims on his own wife.”

“I could help strengthen his resolve.”

“Have you changed your mind about marrying me?” he asked bluntly. “If you have, you need only say so.”

“It’s not precisely that. I simply don’t wish for you to commit yourself and then find there was no reason. It would be most disagreeable for me to be married to a man who regretted it for the rest of his life.”

What an extraordinary woman she was! Rossmere had been somewhat taken aback by her straightforward approach. “I won’t regret it,” he informed her. “I have a great admiration for you that should form a solid foundation for a satisfactory marriage.”

She had studied him for a long moment before nodding. “Thank you. And I’ve come to trust your judgment, Stephen. Let’s continue to be
frank
with each other, as best we can.”

At the time he had thought it a strange qualification, “as best we can.” Riding along behind the carriage, he considered her words again and wondered how much they had to do with her former attachment to Richard Bower. Was she saying that she could not possibly be entirely open with him because she would not divulge the extent of that attachment, or how much of it remained to interfere with her loyalty and affection for him?

Irrationally perhaps, Rossmere wanted Jane to love him. He wanted to be the only man she loved. Richard was dead, after all. It was time for her to let go of her fondness for Richard and transfer it to himself. Obviously this was asking more than she was prepared to give. Her attachment to Richard was of many years’ standing; she had come to know Rossmere in only the last two weeks. On the other hand, there were her gratitude, her trust, her physical response. All these things encouraged him to believe he would win her heart in time.

He urged Ascot forward until he was riding abreast of the carriage. Through the open window he said, “I’m going to ride ahead and speak with the vicar. If I can induce him to perform the ceremony this evening at Willow End, would that be satisfactory with you?”

Nancy stared at her sister. Jane nodded and said, “Invite him to dinner, Stephen. You know when we dine.”

And that was all there was to it. Rossmere tipped his beaver hat at the two ladies and rode off.

Chapter 16

Jane stood alone in front of her looking glass, gathering the necessary courage to descend to her waiting family. For the occasion she had chosen a white lace dress over a white satin slip, with a corsage of pale rose-colored satin, made tight and cut low. She fingered the row of blond lace that fell over the corsage. Not a very demure dress in which to be married, perhaps, but her favorite, and she was feeling far from demure.

White kid gloves rested on the polished oak surface so familiar to her through all her single years. She had determined not to return to this room tonight. If she couldn’t leave Willow End just yet, she could at least have the royal suite prepared for their wedding night, it being unlikely that any royalty would be in need of it for some time.

She drew on the gloves, smoothing them up to her elbows. One would have to be removed when he placed the ring on her finger. The ring. Rossmere had taken her aside just before dinner to confess that he had not had an opportunity to choose one for her, but that if she was willing, she could temporarily wear his signet ring. She dug now in the lacquered box that held her jewelry and took out a ruby ring with a plain gold setting that had been her mother’s. Much more appropriate than wearing his signet ring, and somehow less... entangling. It was an heirloom and she could continue to wear it, without the necessity of their buying another. The thought of his buying her a ring with her own money once they were married held no appeal for Jane.

Time was passing too quickly now. She had sent her maid Tilly and her Aunt Mabel and Nancy away so she might have a few minutes to herself, but it was time to join the others. With an impatient gesture she straightened the white satin toque and fluffed the escaping curls of shining brown hair. She was annoyed, suddenly, that she wasn’t beautiful. There was nothing wrong with her features, of course, except that he would be more likely to adore someone who was beautiful.

Well, this was not a love match, she reminded herself once again. There were many good reasons for their marrying, but being in love was not one of them. Jane clasped the ring tightly in her hand and turned away from the mirror. Odd that she should feel so nervous, under the circumstances. It took a certain amount of effort to move herself toward the door, to open it, to step out into the hall, to walk along to the head of the stairs. Below, the hall blazed with the light of a dozen candles. Winters stood waiting patiently to escort her to the drawing room.