The Passionate Love of a Rake. Jane Lark

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СКАЧАТЬ his own aims. He was not, in general, a man led by his emotions. His desire for women was a mental game. The pumping organ in his chest was a cold and empty thing. Women, in general, did not affect it. He crossed his arms over his chest and watched Lady Baxter walk away.

      Yesterday, he would have welcomed her fawning as a mark of his success, but today, it was cloying.

      She had not accepted his desertion last night gracefully though. She’d been angry this morning, but despite that, the woman was not to be set off lightly. She was blatantly throwing herself at him now because she’d divined his interest was fading. More fool her. She’d clearly learned nothing about him. It would only put him off. It also convinced him that her previous disinclination had been a foil. She’d taken two weeks to woo, but now, he suspected, she’d never been disinclined, only hoping to snare him for longer than a brief affair. A game he was learning to be wary of.

      He did not deliberately avoid long-term relationships. On the continent he’d had several.

      A smile pulled at his lips when he remembered the opera singer in Rome. Then there was his widow in Venice. They’d taught him much of women. He’d learned many skills in his dissipated years abroad. It had changed him from a naïve and greedy youth, hungry for everything and anything that filled and fuelled his violently empty soul, to a connoisseur who liked to savour stimulation. Gluttony was no longer to his taste. He enjoyed relishing every morsel. Sadly, he just hadn’t found a woman who held his interest in a while. His eyes strayed towards Sparks’s box. And no woman had ever truly filled the void. Not since Jane. That damn woman had tainted everything beyond her, and now he’d seen and savoured an appetizer of the original woman he judged all others by, he’d lost his hunger for anything else again. He wanted her.

      His stare reached to where she sat and caught her gaze. Instantly, she looked away in an obvious attempt to pretend she had not been watching. Her face now hidden behind the broad rim of her black bonnet, he turned fully in her direction and rested his gloved hands on the rail, making no secret of his contemplation.

      Her slender, black-clad figure was tense. She was, perhaps, nervous. She probably knew he was still looking. Well, she deserved a little discomfort. He smiled.

      When she’d suggested their assignation, he’d assumed she was fast, and she’d be eager, but in his chamber, she’d seemed hesitant. Yet her responses had been beautiful, real, honest, and open in a way he was unused to.

      She’d let her defences fall last night. It had been all he’d anticipated.

      He leaned forward onto his elbows and tipped the brim of his hat a little lower, hiding his gaze.

      She was peeved because his attentions had been planned for Lady Baxter, yes, but from the way she’d looked at him just a moment ago, he would make a fair guess she was jealous, too. Well, jealousy was a useful tool.

      She’d changed. But then, so had he. What to make of it? That was the question. All he knew at this moment was she piqued his interest, and he was unwilling to simply let her shrug him off. When he’d first seen her last night, the anger, which had driven his desire for self-destruction in the early years of his life after Jane, had fired up again within his gut. But equally, there had been a deep-seated need for her.

      She had been everything to him once. He couldn’t say if it made him glad to have her so close, or if he wished to see her suffer by his hand in exchange for the harm she’d done him. Tangled emotions had disturbed his sleep and still tormented him, conflicting tumultuous and dissipated desires.

      Jane was the only woman who could make his heart pump harder, and the one thing he knew was she could hurt him. He could not dispel her from his mind now any more easily than he had been able to dispel her from his heart years before.

      He stood up again with a self-deprecating sigh, and his fingers touched the betting slip in his pocket. He had an excuse to call on her. Perhaps he would explore what he felt for her. He’d learned to enjoy the pleasure of the wooing as much as the winning, the art of it and the power in persuasion. That was his true vice. He liked very much to feel a woman succumb and submit and mould to his will. Once she was tame, usually his interest waned. But there was still a lot of pleasure to be found in Jane, no matter which direction this led.

      Jane knew he was watching her. She could sense his gaze like a dagger piercing between her shoulder blades.

      Her fingers pressed to her temple as she tried to quell the ache in her head, and her heart would not cease racing.

      She’d seen him pull Lady Baxter loose and the woman walk away with another gentleman. Even from a distance, Jane could tell from Lady Baxter’s movements she had not been happy.

      Why had Robert cast off Lady Baxter?

      Had he done it because he’d known it was upsetting her?

      Jane tried to watch the next race, but felt too angry to pay attention. She should not care what the villain did. He was not for her. No man was. Her future life was solitary. That was what she longed and prayed for, just some peace. Robert would not even wish to be a part of it.

      Still she sensed him staring, and a long breath escaped her lips.

      She felt so out of control. She’d held so many hopes for her life after Hector. She’d imagined she could, at last, do as she willed. All she wished for was a simple life, friendships, and mundane pursuits. Normality was a treasure she’d ached for for years. She’d thought Hector’s loss would release her from her loneliness, but even in Violet’s company, the loneliness had not abated. There was that stupid Robert-shaped hole in her life again. She had enough to worry over, fending off Joshua. She did not need to become embroiled in Robert’s games as well. The only thing she was certain of regarding Robert was he was trouble.

      Jane endured two more races, refusing to look in Robert’s direction again, the ache in her head intensifying with every moment.

      Then Violet commented on her silence.

      Jane gave up the pretence. The headache was unbearable, and she could not go on.

      When she asked if they could leave, Violet was all concern, and Jane felt awful for dragging her friend away.

      On the drive home, Lord Sparks and Violet chattered merrily as Violet gripped his arm, and Jane pretended to sleep.

      When they reached Violet’s, Jane retired immediately and curled up on her bed. She felt so alone. She had been alone for so many years, from the moment she’d watched Robert ride away. But it had never cut her as deeply as now.

      Unable to cry because coping was too ingrained, yet unable to sleep either, her thoughts reeled with recent and distant memories of Robert.

      The longing in her heart was for a home, somewhere safe and comforting she could retreat to, but nowhere was safe, thanks to Joshua. There was nowhere to hide away from the pain of meeting Robert again. Oh, she just wished she could die, but then that would let Joshua win, and what she wanted most of all was to fight back against the Suttons. The last Duke had stolen half her life. She would not give the other half to his son. She would suffer anything to ensure Joshua did not win. That was the one decision she could make. It was the only control she had. She would not run, and nor would she let him win, which meant she must also keep coming face-to-face with Robert.

      ~

      Looking in the mirror, Robert admired the cravat his valet, Archer, had deftly tied, and smiled, a mocking twist СКАЧАТЬ