The Passionate Love of a Rake. Jane Lark

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СКАЧАТЬ observing Violet’s intrigues had stirred new emotions in Jane. She noticed the muscular turn of a man’s calf and his broad shoulders and slender hips far more than she had before.

      “Lady Rimes, you will, of course, allow me to take your hand for the waltz.” Lord Sparks, a third son, a very attractive man, a little older than Jane, bowed over Violet’s hand.

      Jane turned to gaze at the gathering dancers, ignoring the caressing forefinger she had seen him slip inside her friend’s glove beneath her wrist. Jane knew Lord Sparks. He was one of Violet’s long-standing flirts and a man of excessive qualities according to her friend’s indiscreet descriptions.

      His attention turned to Jane.

      He had an unabashed beauty and an impressive figure. The dancing glimmer in his eyes made Jane blush. She dropped a slight curtsy. He took her hand, but his grip was formal, not testing any of convention’s boundaries. “Your Grace, it is a pleasure to see you again. I hope you do not mind if I steal your friend away for a while?”

      Matching his broad smile, Jane answered, “How could I possibly deny either of you? Of course I do not mind.”

      “You are very kind, Your Grace.” He bowed, then turned to Violet and extended his hand. “Lady Rimes?”

      Violet took it and let him draw her away, sending Jane a jovial smile over her shoulder, as if to say she would not be long.

      To give her fingers something to do, Jane applied her black lace fan in a swift sweep beneath her chin and looked up at the call of a new arrival. The footman positioned at the head of the stairs, rapped his staff on the wooden floor and announced the guest whose name was swept away by the tune of the Venetian waltz flooding the room. Yet when the imposing male stepped forward, Jane’s heart stopped, as did the movement of her fan.

      Lord Robert Marlow, the eleventh Earl of Barrington, was the last person on earth she wished to meet. Or perhaps – her heart set up a wild and anxious rhythm – he was the person she most wished to. But not like this, not in her blacks, when she did not look her best.

      Blushing and lifting her fan a little, hiding the lower half of her face, Jane set it back into motion, cooling her hot skin and peering over its top, unable to tear her eyes away from him. She had not seen him for years, not since they had both been young, innocent and naïve. He looked different, more confident, stronger, more handsome too, and taller, and broader.

      He surveyed the gathering from his vantage point at the top of the stairs as though he assessed and judged everyone.

      She’d considered this meeting thousands of times in the years since their last and she’d pictured herself armoured in sophistication, someone he would respect and admire. Yet, now, she felt completely the opposite: unworthy and unsure.

      The gulf he’d left in her life ripped open wider. He was magnificent – she insignificant. If he’d been attractive as a nineteen-year-old youth, he was a demigod as a man in his late twenties. His physique was muscular, yet lean and athletic.

      His hand rose and swept long fingers through his chestnut-coloured hair, swiping a loose lock from his brow. A gesture she had seen him do a hundred times as a child.

      Still, he did not move, just looked, watching, appearing self-absorbed.

      His confidence had not been there in the zealous youth, full of adventure and expectation.

      She felt tears in her eyes and an ache in her chest, inspired by the could-have-beens and if-onlys which had haunted her throughout her married life.

      It was a long time since Robert Marlow held her dear. In the intervening years, he’d toured the continent, establishing a reputation in the vices of a gentleman. His prowess in the sexual arts was renowned. He was no longer the young man she’d adored. He was a very different beast, one whom she’d no experience or knowledge to understand.

      When he’d returned to claim his father’s estate a few years ago, his reputation had endured. He was one of, if not the most, profligate rakes in the ton.

      She’d never been able to stop herself seeking his name in the gossip columns of the papers Hector left lying on the breakfast table.

      Robert’s gaze passed across the dancers and reached towardss her. Jane turned, covering her face with the fan, hiding. She needed to regain command of her wits.

      Her feet led to the refreshment room, where groups and couples stood with glasses in their hands, and servants hovered around the tables bearing the giant bowls of punch and orgeat. The sweet scent of almond and orange blossom permeated her senses as a footman held out a silver tray and offered her a glass. She refused, waving a hand and walking on towardss a door in the far wall.

      She knew it opened into the hall. She would go to the ladies’ retiring room. She was in no state to face the ghost of her past when she had yet to master the demon of her present.

      “Oh!”

      As if summoned, when she stepped through into the hall, the very man she had come to the capital to escape was there, blocking her path.

      “Jane, are you going somewhere? Perhaps I could accompany you?” He posed it as a question, but she knew he meant to give her no choice, as the oppressive size of the current Duke of Sutton, Joshua Grey, her stepson, presented a solid barrier.

      She stepped back so she could look him in the eye, rather than face his cravat, and used the moment to assess her situation. Two footmen stood by the front door, and the hall was a thoroughfare for a number of gossiping women, passing to and from the retiring room.

      She met the silent, venomous anger in Joshua’s eyes and swallowed her inner panic. “I do not recall giving you permission to use my given name, Your Grace.”

      “I did not ask your permission, Jane.” His fingers gripped her elbow, and although she discreetly tried to pull away, his strength was beyond hers. There was nothing she could do but follow his lead, unless she kicked and screamed, and she did not wish to make a fuss; it was better for appearance’s sake that her fear went unnoticed. Joshua would not attempt violence in a public place.

       Would he?

      He drew her through an open door beside them, into the shadows of the Duke of Weldon’s library. Then he shut the door and pressed her back against it, his hands gripping her shoulders, his thumbs and fingers incredibly close to her neck.

      “Did you think you’d escaped me, Jane?”

      No, she’d known it was only a reprieve. “I have no need to escape you, Your Grace. I am merely visiting a friend.” The defiance in her voice was entirely at odds with her racing heartbeat, and he knew it; the pad of his thumb caressed the pulsing vein in her neck. But she refused to let fear paralyse her. She had endured enough years of this. She would not suffer any more. She would not give in.

      His gaze dropped, descending to her cleavage.

      She felt her breasts press against the low neckline of her gown as she snatched a sharp, deep breath. But before he had the opportunity to react, she stole the chance of his distraction and twisted free, slipping beneath his arm.

      She could not escape the room; he stood before the door. Instead, she backed away, watching him all the time, setting about ten feet between them.

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