The intense look in his eyes as he surveyed her snatched the breath from her throat. Flustered, she faced the sea again and tried to still her racing heart.
Seeking to fill the charged air, she asked, “Did you miss it? This? Home?”
Silence met her question. Only the sighs of the sea and squawking gulls filled the air. For a moment, she thought he would not reply and warned herself not to expect friendly banter from him. He only brought her here because of Julianne. Not because he wanted to spend time with her. Not because he wanted to give her a real honeymoon. Her hands grew damp where they clutched her skirts.
“I missed my family. My sister. My brother,” he answered at last, his voice gravelly and thick with an undercurrent of emotion. “I did not know Albert had died until I returned and found my cousin ensconced at the Priory.”
“It was rumored that you were dead.”
“Rumors put forth by my cousin,” he growled.
“In any case, I was glad to hear the rumors were untrue.”
“Indeed,” he replied, a curious edge to his voice. “And did you think much of me over the years?”
More than a married lady should. More than you will ever know.
Deliberately avoiding the question, she said, “It must have been a shock to return and find Albert dead.”
He snorted. “That I should return home unscathed from years of war to find my brother died in his bed from fever?” He laughed, the sound bitter and caustic, twisting inside her belly. “Yes, you could call it a shock.”
She nodded, staring hard ahead, afraid to look over her shoulder at him again, afraid that he might suddenly stop when he realized he was talking to her. As he used to. As friends. Despite the painful subject matter, she did not want him to stop, to seal himself off when he recalled the nature of their marriage.
“I had received word of my father’s death,” he continued, “but he was lost to me before I ever left.”
Her stomach knotted, well remembering the day he had earned his father’s undying reproach.
Their mounts had jumped that fence countless times. There was no reason to expect any of them would not clear it. No reason for Seth to blame himself for Julianne’s fall. But he did. That much Jane had known as she stood with him outside Julianne’s bedchamber, her hand squeezing his as they waited for the physician to finish his examination. When the earl emerged from the room and struck Seth, her own heart had broken.
“Your father loved you,” she murmured, not entirely convinced she spoke the truth.
“Once,” his voice cracked the air. “He loved me once. Before I ruined Julianne.”
Swallowing, she crossed her arms and faced him, “He needed someone to blame.”
“He blamed me because it was my fault,” he snapped, then, shaking his head, dragged a hand over his face. “Never mind. I did not bring you here to discuss such things. My father is dead. Whether he loved me is not a question I ask myself.”
Dropping his hand from his face, the familiar steel returned to his gaze. “I’m sure you would like to rest in your room before dinner.”
“Of course,” she replied, not the least bit weary.
Crouching, he gathered her shoes and stockings. Before she quite realized what he was about, he was brushing the sand from her foot, each swipe of his fingers a caress that sent a spark of heat up her leg to the core of her. Her stomach quivered and contracted.
A lump formed in her throat as he delved higher beneath the hem of her skirts, his fingers closing around one ankle. Her breath caught at his warm touch on her damp skin.
She looked down at his bowed head. Sunlight gilded the brown strands. Whiskey trapped in cut glass. Her fingers itched to caress the tendrils, to feel the softness against her open palm.
He slid her stocking up her calf, his touch burning a trail toward her garters, fingertips light as a feather stroke on the sensitive flesh of her thighs. Her throat tightened, the lump growing into a painful knot as he turned his attention to her other leg.
By the time he slipped on her shoes, she was a quivering wreck, biting her lip to keep from crying out. Rising to his feet, his gaze snared hers, the centers of his eyes glowing with the knowledge of her arousal.
Without a word, he took her arm and led her back to the house.
Her mind drifted, moving to the night ahead. Would he come to her?
The pulse at her neck shuddered wildly at the prospect. She prayed he would. Her flesh longed to join with his again, to feel with her body what her heart could not.
Gregory rose from bed at the soft knock on his door. Hastily donning a robe, he opened the door, sensing, as he did so, who would be standing on the other side. Yet even knowing, he did not hesitate. Could not stop if his life depended on it. With his heart in his throat, he pulled open the door.
“Julianne,” he greeted, his voice a croak as he drank in the sight of her. The upturned angle of her face, so expectant, so hopeful, so pure, captivated him and made him ache in a way he never had. He clenched his hands at his sides to stop from reaching out and touching her.
With Seth on his impromptu honeymoon and Rebecca visiting relations, he had been thrust into the role of companion, something that had been both a pleasure and a torment. He almost wished he hadn’t suggested that Seth leave him behind. A consummate romantic, Julianne had jumped at the suggestion, insisting that Seth eschew his use for a valet during his honeymoon.
As a gentleman lacking wealth and property, he could never hope for a life with Julianne, yet that was what he had found himself doing. Daring to hope, to want. Imagining them together as only a man and woman could be. He longed to chase the shadow of loneliness from her face.
He should have put a halt to their growing relationship, knowing her brother would disapprove, knowing Seth would in fact see it as a betrayal, but he hadn’t possessed the strength.
“May I come inside, Gregory?”
The question was simple—as his answer should be. Yet the word stuck in his throat alongside his heart. He swallowed. Despite what the blood pumping through his veins urged him to do, he found the strength to utter, “No.”
Her face fell. “No?” she echoed, tightening her night rail about her and stepping back. “I understand.” She shook her head, her unbound mane of auburn hair tossing over her shoulders. “I thought you liked me, Gregory. I thought—”
He caught her wrist. “No. You don’t understand. What I feel for you cannot be diminished to mere liking. It’s because of the way I feel for you that I’m telling you—” He broke off with a growl of frustration, his fine thread of control snapping as he hauled her hard against him for a hungry kiss.
Her hands crept up and wrapped around his neck, the touch of her fingers silk against his nape. She moaned deep in her throat and the sound vibrated through him. Dangerously close to forgetting every reason he could not have this woman, he wrenched free of her, stepping back several paces. “Go,” he rasped. “Leave and never come to my room again.”
Tears sheened her eyes. “Why must you send me away?” She stepped toward him again and he set her back gently.
“Don’t be foolish, Julianne. Nothing can come of this. An earl’s daughter does not carry on with a valet.”
“I don’t care—”
“Well, you should. A woman of your station, your rank—” He broke off shaking his head. “In any case, I care enough for the both of us and I’m ending this now.” He gentled his voice. Unable to resist one more touch, he ran his thumb over her kiss-bruised lips. “It can never be, Julianne.”
Her expression changed, the soft lines of her face hardening. “We’ll see about that,” she uttered before swinging around and striding down the corridor, one hand lightly skimming the wall as she marched off with martial stiffness.
We’ll see about that.
Part of him worried over her words, fearing she would pursue her infatuation with him—pursue him. But there was another part of him, buried deep in his heart where impossibl
e dreams clung, that fervently hoped she would persist and break down his resistance, that what she felt for him amounted to more than one overly sheltered woman’s first foray into love, that it was genuine and lasting and could conquer good sense and the strictures of Society.
Then perhaps he could consider breaking every principle that governed him and spend his life with a woman with whom he was fast falling in love.
Chapter 21
Three nights and Seth had not come.
Jane spent her days alone, discounting the occasional company of Mrs. Lowery. Seth occupied himself with estate business. Presumably the cottage required a great deal of attention. She had gleaned from conversations with Mrs. Lowery that Albert had not given the seaside manor much care over the years, more concerned with the Priory and the profits yielded from the labors of its many tenants. Sound justification for Seth’s absence she supposed.
And yet she spent her nights staring into the dark, waiting, listening, her body hungering for his touch, aching to hear his footsteps in the adjoining room, praying they would cross the threshold into her room.
Jane read the pity in the housekeeper’s eyes and did her best to appear unbothered by Seth’s neglect. She had been duly warned. A practical arrangement, he had said. She should not harbor expectations for anything else. Yet she could not help herself. Longing had wormed its way into her heart.
Her days fell into a pattern. Nausea plagued her in the mornings, leaving her weak and shaken as a newborn foal. On those mornings, she told herself it was best that Seth left her alone. It would only embarrass her for him to see her in such a condition.
She felt improved enough in the afternoons to take lunch. Alone in the dining room, a silent footman hovering in the corner, she picked at her meal, staving off the aching loneliness and disappointment she had no business feeling. Especially understanding full well the sort of marriage she had entered. She was no stranger to loneliness, no stranger to an empty marriage bed.
Walks on the beach were her one solace. She strolled up and down the stretch of pale sand, her pace brisk, as if she could leave herself and the hollowness inside her chest behind with each step. Eventually, she had to stop and return to the house to prepare herself for dinner. Tiresome affairs where Seth sat cold and distant across from her.
Something had happened since the day they arrived. A change had come over him, as tangible as the salt in the sea air that tickled her tongue. He spoke little…looked at her even less. The man she married had become as cold and unrelenting as stone.
Sitting at her dressing table after another grim dinner, Jane brushed her hair until it crackled and shone in the lamplight. Her gaze drifted to the adjoining door. She knew it would not be locked. She knew because she had tested it earlier in the day, when there had been no risk of running into Seth. Curious, she had investigated his chamber, trailing her hand over the brocade counterpane, bringing his dressing robe to her nose for a lingering smell.
Rising from the bench, she rose and approached the adjoining door. Her heart fluttered like a wild bird in her chest as she eyed the thin line of light glowing beneath.
He had wanted her once. Perhaps he could again.
Ignoring the nagging little voice that whispered through her mind, He did not know it was you, she dragged a breath into her lungs and rapped twice.
At his muffled command, she squared her shoulders and swept inside the room.
“Forgive the interruption,” she began, watching as his lean form rose from the bed in one motion. Muscles danced beneath the fine lawn of his half-opened shirt like wind on water. He moved like a jungle cat. Swift and purposeful.
Her mouth dried, suddenly uncertain now that she stood before him.
“Jane,” he acknowledged, his deep voice a drag of silk against her highly sensitive nerves. At her silence, he pressed, “Is there something you wanted?”
Was it not evident? She stood in the midst of his bedchamber in her nightgown, shaking like the sea wind against the shutter. Heat swept up her face. “I thought you may have use for me tonight.”
Use of her? She cringed. Blast it. She made herself sound like a handkerchief to be used and discarded.
“I—I mean to say, I thought you might desire my company.”
The word desire hung in the air like smoke between them.
Crossing his arms, he studied her in brooding silence, his eyes skimming her, from the top of her head to her bare toes peeping beneath the hem of her nightgown. His jaw hardened, the uneven line of his scar stark as ever against his face, leaving no doubt that he understood her meaning perfectly.
“You are familiar with my reasons for wanting a wife.”
Like sand settling to a riverbed, dread sank in the pit of her belly. She braced herself, knowing he would say more and knowing she would not like it, knowing she had been a fool to come to him, to expect more when he had warned her against such longings.
“Indeed.” Her legs trembled beneath her. “You wished for a wife that could care for your sister. Oh, and provide the requisite heir.”
His brown eyes glimmered darkly in the dim room and he gave a quick nod. “Anything more is superfluous.”
Superfluous.
The word blew a chill through her heart.
Instead of fleeing as common sense—pride—urged, she fiddled with the ribbon that tied her wrapper at the front.
His gaze dropped to that gossamer-thin ribbon keeping her wrapper closed. A sudden charge of energy filled the air, raising the tiny hairs at the back of her neck.
His hand lifted with a dreamlike slowness and her breath lodged in her throat. He stepped closer. Eyes wide and unblinking, she watched as his fingers unraveled the ribbon and pushed her wrapper from her shoulders in one smooth motion. It fell to the carpet with a whisper, puddling around her bare feet.
His fingers skimmed the thin cotton of her nightgown, down between the valley of her breasts. Eyes darkening, his touch grew bolder, moving to the outside swell of one breast, tracing the rounded outline with agonizing gentleness.
Her breathing grew ragged, filling the silence. His hand, large and burning through the thin cotton of her gown, uncurled over her rib cage, sliding upward until he lifted her breast higher between his forefinger and thumb.
The harsh rasp of his breath mingled with her own. His thumb shifted, sliding over her nipple, grazing the peak. She bit her lip to stop from crying out.
His thumb moved faster, rotating in small circles over the turgid crest, his touch growing firmer, harder until he finally squeezed, rolling her nipple between two fingers, the sweet pain of it ripping a loud sob from her throat.
As if her cry woke him from a spell, he blinked and dropped his hand. Clearing his throat, he dragged a shaking hand through his hair.
Lifting his glittering gaze, he commanded hoarsely, “Dammit, Jane, go.”
Bewildered, she shook her head. “I don’t understand—”
“Go!” he shouted.
Sucking in a ragged breath, she snatched her wrapper off the floor. With as much dignity as she could manage, she shrugged into it.
In a blink, she was nineteen again, stumbling upon Marcus with Berthe. On that day, she had realized he had no need for her either.
And now, mere days into her second marriage, another husband had turned her from his bed. The humiliation burned at the backs of her eyes.
“I see.” And she did. Perfectly. Resisting the overwhelming urge to lash out at him, to wound as she felt wounded, she spun around to leave.
“Jane, wait.” His hand fell on her arm, hard as granite as he forced her around.
Before he could say anything, words tumbled from her mouth in a furious torrent, “I don’t suppose you shall live as a monk.”
Her frowned, saying nothing.
She snorted, attempting to twist free from his hold. “I know all about the faithfulness of husbands. You shall not be lonely, I am certain.”
Something in the brown of his eyes softened. �
��Was that the way of it, then?”
“No,” she snapped, despising him in that moment. She would not have his pity. The need to hurt, to lash out, burned a fire in her chest, fueling her. Before she could consider the wisdom of her words, she spit out, “We may not share a bed, but don’t expect me to live as a nun. I’ve walked that path before and I won’t again.”
“Tread carefully, dear wife,” he growled, the endearment a foul epithet on his lips as he pulled her closer. “No man will have what is mine.” Despite the softness of his voice, his words fell roughly on her ears.
“Yours?” She struggled against his hold, laughing wildly. “It takes more than the words of a reverend to accomplish that.”
He shoved his face closer, brown eyes so close she could see the countless flecks of amber burning feverishly in the centers. “Don’t push me, Jane.”
“Or what?”
Their rasping breaths mingled. His eyes dropped to her mouth and for a moment she thought he would kiss her—prayed he would. Instead he flung her from him with a stinging curse.
“Look at us.” He laughed mirthlessly. “Days married and already at each other’s throats.”
Yes. And why? Because of her. Because she wanted more. Wanted him. Would she have a child’s tantrum because her husband did not want her in his bed?
Suddenly shamed, she peeled his fingers from her arms. “We won’t fight anymore.”
“We won’t?” he asked, a dark brow arching in skepticism.
“I understand now. I thought I did before. But I didn’t.” Despite her claims, she had harbored hopes that their marriage of convenience might lead to something more. A marriage in the truest sense.
He stared, his jaw flexing.
Moistening her lips, she announced, “You ended up with the wrong sister—”
“Don’t drag her into this,” he cut in.
Her heart twisted. “Do you love her still?” she asked, knowing she sounded jealous and foolish, but she couldn’t stop herself. She had to know if he still loved Madeline. If Madeline would always be there, a wall between them, she best find out now.