The Passionate Love of a Rake. Jane Lark

make it home safely with this on your finger? No, Jane. I will get you a carriage. No one has ever accused me of being inconsiderate. Perhaps that is why you think you can be so cruel to me? Perhaps you believe the rest of us are as heartless as you?” As he glared at her, one eyebrow tilted as though waiting for some response, and his lips twisted in a sneer.

      What could she say? This was beyond an apology. It was not about what had happened just now. It was about what had happened between them years before, and she wouldn’t apologise for what had not been her fault.

      She lifted her chin and held his gaze, unflinching, just as she had faced Joshua earlier, determined not to bow or bend. She had done enough of that in her life.

      He turned away, growling again, then launched into a stream of what she knew must be obscenities, but not in English. He grabbed his shirt before storming from the room.

      Her heart hammered as she rushed to dress. Why had she thought she could do this? It did not take her much to find the answer. It was because Joshua had made her angry. That was a part of it. She’d wanted to spite him, yes, but mostly because it was Robert. She would not have even considered it with any other man. But he wasn’t her Robert. She didn’t know this man. He was a stranger in so many ways. Not the youth who’d loved her, but a man who’d mastered seduction and sex, and played with sensual feeling solely to use and discard women.

      Tears in her eyes, her fingers shaking, she struggled to secure the buttons of her dress. She’d made a mess of things again. She’d never be like Violet. Perhaps she ought to just stop trying to emulate her friend.

      “Let me do it,” he barked from across the room, his sudden reappearance making her jump, but his temper seemed to have cooled a little, at least.

      Her hands dropped as he crossed the space between them, and her eyes lifted to his face.

      His hair fell forward on his brow as his head bent, and he looked at her buttons. They were secure in a moment.

      He’d roughly tucked his shirt into his breeches while he’d been away, and now, his back to her, he picked up his evening coat. He did not put on his neckcloth or his waistcoat and left his evening coat undone. He looked back at her.

      “Are you ready?”

      She nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat.

      His arm lifted as if to encourage her forward, and it somewhat surrounded her as she passed him, but he did not touch her. They left the room in silence, and when they reached the hall, she saw the butler below. He also looked as though he’d dressed quickly, and he frowned when he passed her cloak to Robert.

      She stood still as Robert slipped it on her shoulders, but she could not stop herself from shaking. She made no comment, knowing if she did, the only thing that would erupt would be tears.

      Robert did not speak, either, but once her cloak was on, his hand touched her back and slipped to her waist. It only made her wish to cry more.

      They left the house and faced his groom, who held the carriage door open, struggling to hide a yawn.

      Robert gripped her elbow when she climbed the step, then followed her in.

      They sat on opposite sides in the furthest corners as they’d done before.

      Once the door had slammed shut, Robert knocked on the roof, and the carriage stirred sharply forward.

      She stared out the window again as they raced across town through the dark streets, never looking at Robert.

      When they reached Violet’s a short time later, Robert shifted quickly, rising, opening the door, and kicking the step down himself before the groom was even on the pavement.

      She accepted Robert’s hand to descend. There was nothing intimate in his touch now. It seemed cold, and she felt bereft of him.

      He let go the moment her feet touched the pavement.

      She wished she could thank him for sharing with her the things he’d done. It had felt good in the moment. He’d been gentle and kind, despite her desertion. But, instead, she fought against the lump in her throat, held back her tears and ran up the steps to Violet’s front door, expecting him to go.

      He did not. He followed her up and stood beside her again.

      “Do you have a key?”

      She shook her head.

      He sighed before lifting the knocker with a resigned air.

      It seemed ages before there was any sound. Then, finally, she heard footsteps.

      A sigh escaped her throat, but on her inward breath, it became a slight sob as pain welled in her chest, and she bit her lip.

      Then, as they heard a bolt draw back with a sharp, metallic scrape, his fingers touched her shoulder, turning her to him, while his other hand tucked beneath her chin and lifted her face. Then his lips touched hers briefly.

      “I am sorry I shouted at you,” he whispered when he pulled away.

      He must think it was that which had upset her.

      The door opened.

      “Your Grace?” the young night footman questioned.

      “Forgive me.” It was all she could get out as she stepped inside without a word to Robert. She could not even look at him.

      Immediately, once she was in, she swept across the hall and up the stairs in as close to a run as she could discreetly manage. When she reached her bedchamber, she shut the door behind her, and, leaning against it, slid to the floor and wept.

       Chapter Four

      The next morning, Jane walked into the day room where Violet took breakfast, knowing she did not look her best.

      Meg, Jane’s maid, had tried to hide the ravages of a late, tearful night, but with little success.

      Jane was tired, and her thoughts were a tangled muddle as images of Joshua and Robert tormented her.

      Her body was still alive with the sensations Robert had taught her last night, and her heart ached for impossibilities.

      She felt exhausted and fragile.

      The wonderful aroma of freshly ground coffee and chocolate instantly restored her appetite, though, and a blue sky beyond the windows mocked the unsettling regrets in her thoughts.

      Jane liked this bright room. The morning sun always reached in through the bank of windows facing the garden, and its cream and yellow decoration was a cheery choice, distinctly Violet. The mahogany table was laid for breakfast, covered in a starched, cream cloth and laden with coffee, tea, chocolate, hams, cheeses and sweet cinnamon rolls.

      “Ah, my dear.” Violet smiled and beckoned Jane forward. “You must be starving.”

      Jane smiled and took the seat that a footman withdrew, facing Violet.

      “Coffee, please,” Jane ordered. She needed something to get her thoughts in order. The footman poured it.

      “And now, Daniels, disappear. I am sure Jane will be happy to serve herself.” Violet waved him off with a flick of her hand.

      Jane’s fingers trembled as she reached for her cup and, yet again, she remembered the things Robert had done last night.

      He’d dislodged her sanity. Her tingling senses just kept stirring memories in her head, of his kisses and his touch. The image of his predatory stare in the ballroom hung in her mind, too, and the conversation she’d overheard.

      He knew how to capture a woman’s interest. He knew how to speak his intention without words. He knew how to make a woman feel special. No wonder he was infamous.

      She thought of his room, of the props set out for Lady Baxter, not her. Yet,