The Rebel (32 page)

Jane stared at his rugged, handsome profile.
He looked away and murmured a name under his breath. She drew his
chin back to her.

“Would you care to repeat that?” she said,
brushing a kiss against his cheek.

“Stanmore.” He spoke more clearly this time,
giving her a grudging half-smile. “He is my oldest friend. And I
did poke my nose in his private life last year when I had my doubts
about the woman he was set to marry.”

“I see. And what happened?”

“The woman turned out to be innocent of all
suspicions. They’ve since married. And now, I’m happy to say,
Rebecca and I are the greatest of friends.”

Jane wrapped her arms around him and hugged
him fiercely. “You see…given time, you and Henry could end up
friends, too.”

“I doubt it.”

“Oh, you foul-tempered, bull-headed…” She
gave up on the words, drew his face down to her, and put all her
frustrations and passion into a kiss.

As she kissed him, Jane felt the carriage
come to an abrupt halt, and she found herself pulled onto
Nicholas’s lap. His mouth slanted over hers with a kiss deep and
hot enough to set her entire body on fire.

“I want you,” she whispered raggedly when
his mouth left hers.

His lips touched and teased the fevered skin
of her throat, and his hands were already beneath the cloak,
caressing her breasts.

“I want to make love to you, Jane.”

She thought for a moment that the meadow
they were crossing would serve them as well as any bed, and then an
idea dawned on her.

“How long can you be patient?” she asked
with a smile, scrambling off his lap and taking up the reins of the
carriage herself.

“Where are you taking me?”

“You shall find out.”

“Very well. Then you be sure to pay complete
attention to your driving, for I shall be otherwise engaged.

As the phaeton raced across the countryside
at the breakneck speed, Nicholas’s mouth and hands continued their
teasing play. Jane thrilled to the feel of his attentions until the
pressure in her body was so overwhelming that she thought she would
lose her mind if they didn’t arrive at their destination soon.

The ruined stone castle sat high on a ledge
looking over the Blackwater River. Deserted by people and time,
Jane—as Egan—had many times taken shelter there against the
weather.

“I thought we’d never get here,” Nicholas
said, reluctantly withdrawing his attentions as the edifice came
into view. “Where are we?”

“Just a little place I keep in the country,”
she joked, urging the horses up a slope toward the castle wall.
“They call it ‘Cuchulainn’s Seat.’”

Nicholas gazed up at the impressive rise of
the walls and then at the rolling valley. The two ducked their
heads as she maneuvered the carriage through the narrow, ancient
gate and brought the horses to a halt.

“Are you coming?” she asked, stepping down
from the carriage and taking the basket of food Mrs. Brown had sent
along with her. She backed toward the door of a square tower that
formed most of the western wall.

The intensity of Nicholas’s blue gaze on her
made Jane shiver with anticipation. She saw him take a blanket from
the seat and start across the courtyard after her. It was dark in
the spiral stairs leading up to the upper story of rooms that had
surely been inhabited at one time by the lord of this castle and
his family. Near the top, she stumbled once, nearly losing the
basket of food, but Nicholas was beside her in an instant. As he
set her back on her feet, he claimed a kiss for his efforts.

She led him to the only room on the upper
floor that still had a part of a roof and three standing walls. The
wall facing the valley, though, had long ago crumbled to the
riverbank.

“This is one of Egan’s secret hiding
places,” she said quietly, watching the room fill with Nicholas’s
presence as he walked in. “You mention it to anyone, and there will
be a price to pay.”

His silence only made her skin burn hotter.
When he dropped the blanket to the ground and approached her, she
realized that this was to be nothing like the experience she’d
shared so many years ago with Conor. That was simply the discovery
of passion’s fires by two innocent youths. What she was facing now
was a man. And Nicholas Spencer was a man who’d spent his life in
the company of worldly women. She was certain there was little he
did not know about the ways of love. Fears and insecurities cast a
shadow across her mood, but he was quick to hold her close.

“Stay with me.” He growled against her lips
as his hands undid the tie of her cloak. The garment pooled at her
feet. He turned her in his arms and had her lean against a wall
while his hands started undoing the buttons on the back of her
dress.

“I am frightened,” she whispered, pressing
her forehead against the cold stone.

“I am, too.”

She felt the air, so cool on her skin, as he
spread the back of the dress.

“I want so badly for this to be right. For
me to be able to show you…how much I love you.”

Stunned by his words, Jane turned in his
arms, only to be overwhelmed by the depth of emotion she found in
his blue eyes.

“Nicholas…” The words caught in her throat.
Tears burned her eyes.

“It is true. I love you, Jane.” He kissed
her deeply, thoroughly, while his hands peeled the dress to her
waist. The feel of his hands holding her breast through the
thinness of the chemise made her arch her back for more. Her
breathing stopped altogether when he slipped the straps of the
chemise, as well, down her arms. When he drew back, she saw his
eyes darken as he gazed at her breasts before returning to her
face.

“You are so beautiful.”

She gasped out loud as his mouth lowered and
he took her flesh into his mouth. There was no longer a doubt, but
only need in her soul. She felt herself melt, become moist. Her
arms wrapped around him. Her body was ready, eager to accept him.
Drawing her down onto the blanket, he pushed her clothing down over
her hips, helping her to extricate her legs.

He quickly shed his own clothing, and a
moment later the walls rang with her cry of ecstasy at the joining
of their bodies. She felt the sky wrap around them, lifting them
both up on a cloud of infinite blue.

I love you.

His whisper echoed in her mind again and
again, but Jane tried to blot it out, trying for once to lose
herself in this one miraculous moment.

All rational thoughts soon fled and only the
throbbing pulse of the love dance was left. Even time hung
suspended, counted only by the beat of their bodies pounding
together as two souls rose up to that joyous moment of release.

Later, as she lay in his arms, Jane thought
again of the declaration she could not make. No matter what she was
feeling, ‘love’ was a word she could not say.

Love, she thought, dashing a tear away, was
something their world would never allow.

***

Patrick found his man in Cork City’s old
Butter Market. The young fellow, organizing the goods on his cart
before the ride back to Woodfield House, spied him and dropped a
crate of tea onto the cobbled ground.

Under the pretense of helping him lift the
crate back onto the cart, Patrick whispered the message that had to
be delivered to Egan before nightfall. “…to meet at the same time
and place as the last. Liam says Egan should come early. Finn is to
be there. Be sure to tell her.”

Casually rising to his feet, Patrick picked
up his youngest son. The lad had lagged behind a little to stare at
a brilliantly painted gypsy wagon. He lifted the boy onto his
shoulders, pleased that the message had been delivered without any
trouble.

As father and son started off toward the
river, though, Patrick failed to notice the two dragoons watching
carefully even as they followed at a safe distance behind.

***

Clara shifted a little, forcing herself to
sit straighter in the chair. The sharp end of one of the French
stays was digging mercilessly into her flesh. It had taken two
maids, working under her mother’s supervision, to squeeze her into
the undergarment. Surely, some cruel woman-hater must have devised
the insidious thing.

Frustrated, she glanced down at her breasts
propped up like pillows by the stays. Her nipples were barely
concealed by the dreadfully low neckline of the dress. She was
certain that if she were to reach forward even a little, or allow
anything to tug even faintly at the dress, and she would be
spilling out of her gown like spring water over the dam.

And for what? she thought, the warmth rising
in her cheeks. The baronet had not spared her a glance.

Clara wasn’t blind. Since sitting down to
dinner, Nicholas’s attention had been focused on Jane. Jane and her
high-collared black dress, so conservative that it didn’t reveal
even an inch of skin. Jane, who had managed to show up for the
second time today to a meal. Jane, who actually participated in the
conversations at table and even seemed not to take offense at
anything their parents said. Jane, who actually smiled at an
attempt at humor on the part of Sir Thomas.

Clara found herself disliking this Jane a
great deal.

“Lady Spencer, you have been very
mysterious, today, spiriting your daughter to Cork City and
back.”

Clara shifted again, trying to ignore the
pressure on her ribs. This was the second time her mother had asked
this question tonight.

“Not at all,” their guest replied
cheerfully. “I just thought it would be good for Frances to see
what your shops had to offer. Of course, we couldn’t help picking
up a little of this and a little of that while we were there. Fanny
picked out a lovely bonnet.”

“Well, if you would like to go again, I
should love to accompany you. I know of the dearest little
milliner’s shop, not far from the new Butter Exchange.”

“That would be lovely.”

“But how about you, Sir Nicholas?” Lady
Purefoy turned her attention to the baronet. “Tell us which little
corner of our countryside you were exploring today.”

“I went to Ballyclough with Miss Jane.”

His blunt response drew every eye in the
dining room. Lady Spencer and Frances exchanged a quick look. Sir
Thomas, his glass half way to his lips, grunted and downed the wine
before sitting back in his chair. Catherine gaped for a moment
before recovering herself. Clara thought that it might be the first
time in her life that her mother had been struck speechless. The
color had risen in Jane’s face, and her gaze was now fixed on her
plate.

Clara began to seethe, and she shot darts
with her eyes at her sister. For most of the day, she’d been
brooding on the fact that Jane was going more and more to
Ballyclough. She didn’t like it, not one bit.

Henry had never wanted Clara herself to come
and visit him everyday. Henry had never asked
her
to join
him on his visits to the parishioners. Henry never shared his
thoughts or his plans with her. Clearly, it just came down to
this—Henry was infatuated with Jane.

And so was Sir Nicholas.

Obviously, having a tarnished reputation was
what a woman needed to attract attention these days.

Her own malicious thoughts shocked and hurt
the young woman, and her chin sank to her chest.

But the bitterness continued to eat away at
her. The thoughtlessness of her sister to want to take away
both
men was appalling…unfathomable. For all her talk of
having loved only
one
man in her life—of her devotion to
Conor, of the grief she still carried—all of it was nothing more
than a lie. Jane was just looking for sympathy. And attention. And
obviously, Clara thought, she had succeeded.

“I…suppose…we should leave the men to their
port and their cigars.” Lady Purefoy finally managed to get out.
She rose to her feet, and everyone else followed suit.

Clara’s eyes remained on Jane. There were
silent messages passing between the baronet and her older sister.
Even as an observer, she could feel the heat in the air between
them. When Jane left the room ahead of the rest of the women, Clara
saw the scarcely concealed desire in the man’s eyes.

She was quick to follow her sister out. She
was riled and resentful enough to say something while the women
crossed to the Blue Parlor. But as she made her way along, Clara
saw Jane disappear up the stairs.

Her brutish Shanavests must be calling, the
young woman thought. Going into the parlor with their guests, Clara
already began planning her talk with her sister. It was time
someone advised Jane about the futility of her attempts.

It was time someone told Jane that she
didn’t have a chance…with either of these men.

***

Though Sir Thomas had wanted to toast
everyone in London society individually, Nicholas had excused
himself before the second bottle of port appeared.

She hadn’t said anything to him, but
Nicholas knew that she’d be gone. A trip to the stables had
confirmed it. Queen Mab was not in her stall.

Strolling back up the hill toward the house,
Nicholas could think of nothing more tiring than joining everyone
in the parlor. It seemed he could think of nothing else but Jane.
Hell, he didn’t
care
to think of anything else but Jane.

Visions of their lovemaking this afternoon
played again and again before his eyes. The haunted look in Jane’s
eyes when he’d confessed his love was an image he would never be
able to blot out.

Nicholas glanced up at the dark lines of the
house and tried to guess where her workroom might be. He wanted to
be surrounded by nothing but her.

“I thought I might find you out here.” His
mother’s voice drifted out of the shadows of the arched entryway.
“I am disappointed, though, to find you alone.”