The Passionate Love of a Rake. Jane Lark

am happy.”

      She was not, her intonation was thoroughly unconvincing and her movement taut.

      Occupying a chair opposite her, he answered, “Liar,” letting a lilting smile catch his lips to ruffle her feathers.

      A blush painted her ivory cheeks, and her gaze popped up again, the purest emerald cloaked by long, dark lashes. “I am in no mood for your games, my Lord.”

      “Robert,” he snapped, leaning forward in the chair, resting one elbow on his knee. “Do not try to hide behind formality, no matter your feelings. And I am not the one playing games. I took you to my house because you asked to go, and then you changed your mind and I brought you home. I offered you your winnings. You refused to accept them. You asked me to leave you alone at the bookshop, and I obeyed, but you called me back. It is not I playing games, is it, Jane?”

      She was silent as she held his gaze, then she coloured up again and concluded. “I am in a difficult position, Robert. Please, do not make it harder?”

      “She’s vulnerable.” Robert stood with a sudden need to understand her predicament and crossed the room to occupy the seat beside her on the sofa. Then he gripped one of her hands. “Confide in me, Jane. Something is wrong. I am convinced of it today. A problem shared is a problem halved, as I recall. What harm is there in telling me? What is going on?”

      Her eyes met his, saline making them gleam in the bright sunlight streaming through the window, defining the emerald green like the jewel itself.

      He was not, in general, a man of much depth. He did not seek to know people well, and he certainly did not wish to take on other people’s problems. But this was not just any other person. This was Jane. As he waited, earnestly willing her to speak, a sharp pain settled in his gut, the age-old need and longing he felt for this woman. He was like a starving man in her presence. Bloody desperate was what he was.

      Her fingers pulled from his grip.

      Even holding her hand made him lust after her; his groin was heavy. He thought she was tempted to tell for a moment, but then her eyes clouded and her gaze dropped.

      Jane felt the intensity in Robert’s deep brown eyes silently urge her to speak, and daylight caught the lighter shades, turning them gold as she watched him. She couldn’t speak though; it was not fair to drag him into this, she’d hurt him enough once.

      Her eyes dropped back to the magazine. “Nothing is wrong, my Lord.”

      His knee touched hers, and she felt his muscle stiffen. Then he rose sharply and paced across the room. “Liar,” he said again when he stopped and turned back. His tone was sharp and condescending.

      He was angry with her, and she could hardly blame him. She’d told him to leave her alone then called him back and imposed upon him to convey her to Violet’s.

      And, of course, he had no idea she’d only done it to avoid Joshua. She’d told herself she’d invited Robert inside out of common courtesy, but she knew she had invited him in because, despite the fact this man was not her tender-hearted Robert, she still felt safer with him. She simply did not want to let him go yet. She just needed time to feel confident again.

      He was watching her.

      She looked up, her gaze skimming over his sculpted, tailored, slim, athletic figure. He was so infuriatingly handsome, despite oozing anger and arrogance. The magnetic pull exuding from him dragged her awareness towards him as his brown eyes challenged her, seeking every detail of her thoughts.

      “If,” he began, his pronunciation expressing bluntly that he still thought her words a lie, “you think to dangle me, Jane, you are playing with fire, not a fish.”

      He stepped closer, and sensing that he intended to lean over her, Jane thrust the magazine aside and stood, too.

      It brought her up face-to-face with him, and he towered over her, merely a foot away. Her eyes fixed on his mocking smile, and a lead weight dropped from her stomach to the aching point between her legs.

      She said nothing, and his fingers came up and lifted her chin, bringing her gaze to his.

      “You are such a liar, Jane.”

      His tone was no longer angry, but it held a cynical humour, and the pupils in his eyes had widened, large, onyx circles darkening his gaze with long, dark lashes defining it.

      A warm ache settled somewhere in her chest then spiralled to her womb like a rolling penny when his lips lowered to hers, catching at them gently, a soft caress.

      She echoed it without thought. Her eyes closed as he continued to kiss her, and she opened her mouth when his tongue touched her lips. Her very bones melting, her arms reached about his neck, and her body pressed against him, and then he stopped and pulled away.

      Her eyelids lifted. She faced a knowing smile and felt the chill of his desertion.

      “As I thought, a lie, Your Grace, all of it. You do want me. Like it or not, Jane. Admit it or not. You want me. You are found out, my dear.” His eyes narrowed as he continued. “But why not admit it? I cannot make you out. And there I presume is the dilemma which has you so distracted and upset. Whatever it is that prevents you admitting it, I mean.”

      His hand rose suddenly and tapped her under the chin, before dropping again. “Such a tease, Jane. You don’t know me very well, do you? These games do nothing but inspire me to persist.”

      A knock struck the door she’d left ajar. “Tea, Ma’am.” The maid’s voice reached into the room.

      “Come in.” Jane felt a blush rise again, realising the maid must have heard at least part of their conversation.

      Jane turned her back on Robert to hide her embarrassment, then crossed the room and looked out the window.

      She waited there, listening as the maid laid out the tea tray.

      “Thank you,” Jane said, when she heard the maid withdraw, looking down towards the square and the park below.

      Joshua was there, sitting in his curricle.

      He’d positioned it in the far corner of the square and sat with one arm stretched along the back of the double seat while he smoked a thin cigar, looking up at the house. A gloating smirk lodged on his face as he spotted her.

      She stepped back and turned away only to find her path blocked by her other pursuer, the Earl of Barrington.

      Her fingers lifted and rested on the front of his coat, steadying herself and holding him back as she met his gaze. A flint seemed to spark between them then and caught to a flame. She could see it in his eyes and feel it in her blood.

      She did want him physically. She always had. Robert Marlow was a heart-wrenchingly beautiful man. But the problem was, he knew it, and he knew exactly what he did to her, too. She had to stand firm, despite her memories and the feelings which still burned inside her from the old days. He was not her haven against the world. Right now, he was nothing but a wolf in sheep’s clothing, as dangerous as Joshua in his way. But, God forgive her, he made her want to be devoured, no matter how much she knew it could only bring her pain, and clearly he wanted to devour her, because, regardless of the anger still bristling in his eyes, and his right to be aggrieved, his head bent and his hands slid about her waist.

      The embrace was fierce and impassioned. She was breathless in moments, and her heart thumped hard as her fingers clung in his hair, hanging on against the flood.

      His hands slid down over the contours of her body, moulded to the shape of her buttocks, then pressed her to him. A lustful groan slipped from his mouth into hers as she felt his arousal.

      “Huh-hum.”

      Robert let her go instantly, and Jane felt her face turn crimson as she looked across the room and met Violet’s reproachful gaze.

      She stood in the doorway, her hand still gripping the door handle.

      Of course, they had