The Passionate Love of a Rake. Jane Lark

sensed her look towards him as he negotiated the turn.

      “Nothing is wrong. I didn’t sleep well, that is all.”

      Why would he swear she had picked that moment to respond simply because she knew he would be distracted? There was something more. He was certain of it. More to the point, he did not think it was anything to do with him, otherwise, why would she have suddenly requested his escort?

      Glancing across at her, he saw she was facing forward again.

      “You know, Jane, if there is anything wrong, you only need tell me and I would help.”

      She looked at him then, meeting his gaze and appearing uncomfortable, and yet desperate, as though she wished to believe him but did not.

      Reluctantly, he broke the silent communication, turning his eyes back to the street.

      The next moment he had chance to look across, she was facing forward again, her thoughts, he would swear, somewhere beyond him and the street.

      He made no further effort to break the silence, concentrating on the short drive to Lady Rimes’s address.

      As the phaeton traced about the iron railings enclosing Grosvenor Square’s central garden, Jane finally piped up, “I suppose I should at least offer you some refreshment for your kindness, my Lord.”

      Robert glanced at her before pulling up. “Not if it is purely out of obligation.”

      Once the groom had taken the reins, Robert climbed down and came about the phaeton to help her descend. When her fingers gripped his, they were no longer shaking. It was only more evidence that he had not disconcerted her, but something else had.

      It was a strange feeling that transferred from the senses in his hand to his gut as he helped her down – compassion, longing, need. Or just pure hunger? He had no idea. It was nothing he’d felt before.

      Once she was on the ground, her fingers gently tugged for freedom.

      He did not let go, waiting for her to lift her face so he could see beneath her bonnet.

      She did not.

      Quite deliberately, he would guess.

      After a moment, he let her go.

      Without a word, she hurried up the steps, deserting him, but then she stopped as the door opened, and looked back as though she’d just remembered he was there. “You are welcome to come in if you like?”

      A mocking smile broke his lips. There was absolutely no predicting the woman. Well, he was willing to take whatever crumbs she threw him today. “For a moment only. If you are certain?”

      She gave him a sharp nod and went inside.

      Robert told his groom to wait with the horses then jogged up the steps and lifted his hat from his head.

      “Your Grace. Sir.” The butler bowed to them both then held out a hand for Robert’s hat as Jane untied the ribbons of her bonnet.

      She handed it to the butler then undid the buttons of her spencer.

      In a gallant mood, Robert took the garment from her shoulders, his fingers accidentally brushing the skin above the neckline of her gown.

      She shivered as she’d done the other night.

      It sent a sharp knife-thrust of desire into his groin.

      Ignoring it, he handed the garment to the butler.

      All this black was trapping the vibrant Jane he’d known beneath it, sucking the colour out of her. She was a mere shadow of the real Jane. If he could peel it all away, as he’d done the other night, would she be free of what bothered her?

      “Selford, Lord Barrington and I would like tea,” she ordered of the butler. “We’ll take it in the drawing room. Is Lady Rimes at home?”

      “Her ladyship is, Your Grace. Lady Rimes retired to her chamber an hour ago.”

      “Thank you, Selford. Do not disturb her on our account then,” Jane acknowledged before moving on. “My Lord.” The call was for Robert to follow.

      Watching her in a place she felt at home was different again, but Robert felt like a bloody lapdog trailing after her. Still, he could enjoy the view, the slimness of her bare arms beneath the short, puffed sleeves of her day dress and the snug fit of her black muslin bodice. The way the material hugged the curve of her breasts and waist. Her black hair was simply dressed in a neat coiffeur, pinned back from her face, apart from a few wispy curls which had escaped to brush her brow.

      She led him upstairs and along the hall to a pink room, heavily perfumed by a vase of roses in full bloom, then pointed to a chair. “Do sit down, my Lord. Is tea suitable? Or would you prefer something stronger? I could ring if you’d prefer brandy.”

      He took a step towards her. “Nothing, Jane, except to know what I’ve done to upset you. Why were you hiding from me today? You have no right to hold a grudge, you know. I admit, I may have pressed you a little fast the other night, but … ” He left the sentence there, prompting for her explanation.

      Her expression slipped from diplomatic Duchess to the new wary, vulnerable Jane, and her fingers clasped together before her waist. She glanced towards the window when she spoke. “You have not upset me.” When her gaze returned, the Duchess was back. It hit him with the strength of steel. “It is just that … ” She stopped, swallowing back her words, then began again and threw her words at him instead. “For heaven’s sake, Robert, it is hardly five weeks since Sutton died.”

      His eyes scanned her face wondering what the hell was going on, and his hand touched her arm.

      She moved back.

      “But you are in London, regardless, Jane, and attending entertainments.” She could hardly claim to be really mourning Sutton, no matter her blacks. She was flouting convention. How did she expect him to take that explanation? Her behaviour hardly said she had been devoted to the man.

      She turned away and walked across the room. “I am visiting a friend, nothing more. I did not come here for the season or the entertainments.”

      He caught a glimpse of her figure through the loose folds of her gown as she moved, the fabric brushing her hips and thighs. When she turned back his eyes lifted first to her bust, then to her face.

      “So you do mourn him then?” he pressed, not moving, letting her run if that was what she wished. Taming her would be like training a mare to the saddle, a step forward and then withdraw. Giving her time to grow accustomed to each stage.

      She sought refuge behind a sofa across the room, her fingers gripping its back. “In a fashion. But it is none of your business.”

      “No?” He did step forward now.

      “No, Robert.” She held her ground.

      “Then explain exactly why you came home with me the other night, and why you then changed your mind?”

      She sighed as if irritated by his question.

      He continued walking forward.

      She did not move, although her eyes followed him with a steady look.

      “I did not change my mind. I had not intended to … ” She stopped, blushed and glanced upwards, as though the ceiling, or God, could give her the words. Clearly, something had as she refocused her gaze on him, the hardened Duchess again, daring him to challenge her and argue. “All I wished to do was talk. I did not mean to hurt you then or now, but I do not want to commence a flirtation with you. The other night was a mistake.”

      “So you told me yesterday.” His voice was a mocking growl. He was annoyed despite himself. “But I think you are unhappy, and I do not believe you are grieving. So why are you miserable?”

      She blushed harder and leaned to pick up a copy of La Belle Assemblée from a low table, before dropping into a seat on the sofa.