Chapter 28
Jane was not able to sleep all night. Her thoughts were filled with him.
She lay awake staring at the ceiling, waiting, listening, for the sound of a carriage or a horse. Her chest was so tight it hurt. She was so stiff she hurt. She was sure he would come after her.
But he didn’t.
Just as he hadn’t come after her two years ago.
At first, panicked in the darkness, she was sure the only reason he could have had in coming to see her after all this time was Nicole.
But how had he found out? No one knew about their daughter, no one except herself and Molly and Gordon, and Jane trusted the other two with all her heart.
Yet she did not underestimate the earl, not for a second.
He was shrewd. He certainly wasn’t coming to say hello—or take up where they had left off.
She refused to acknowledge the bitterness that rose.
Only one thing became clear: He could not know.
She grew calmer as dawn approached. No, he could not know.
But he had been so angry. She had heard it in his voice.
Yet she recalled only too well that the earl was an angry man.
It took so little to light the fires that burned within him. Such dark fires.
She would not feel compassion.
Today she did not play outside in the yard or sit on the pink swing with her daughter. They stayed inside, just in case he did come. Hiding. Despite the voice of logic, she was afraid.
Holding Nicole after breakfast, Jane debated what to do as her daughter explored the ribbons in Jane’s hair.
If she were a true mother, she would quit the Criterion and take Nicole away and just disappear.
But Jane didn’t think she could do this, not yet, not unless there was absolutely no other choice.
Maybe she should send Nicole and Molly to Brighton for a short vacation, just until things died down.
She could confront the earl, demand what he wanted, surmise if he knew about Nicole—yes! This was what she would do.
Leaving Nicole playing in the parlor for a moment, Jane hurried into the kitchen, just next door. “Molly, pack up a few things. I want you to take Nicole to Brighton for a week.”
Molly’s eyes widened, then she squealed with delight, having developed a fondness for travel once she’d discovered it. Jane explained why, and the two women walked out of the kitchen together, making plans.
A man filled the doorway of the parlor, his back to them. He was rigid.
Jane froze, hands clutched to her breast. “Jon! How did you get in!”
He whirled, eyes wide, stunned. “The door was open, wide open.”
Jane hurried past him to her daughter, who was sitting and playing with a silver box she must have somehow knocked down. She knelt, sweeping Nicole into her arms.
“My God,” Lindley said.
Rising, holding her daughter fiercely, Jane said with outward calm, “Molly, please close and lock the front door.”
Molly was red. “I’m sorry, mum. When the milkman come, I must have left it ajar.”
“It’s all right,” Jane said, her gaze bonded with Lindley’s.
Lindley stared at Nicole. Jane kissed her hair, rubbing her cheek there. “I think you should go, Jon,” she managed. She felt it, her world beginning to cave in. She was trembling.
“I had to see you today,” Lindley said stiffly. “I had to see you. I couldn’t sleep all last night, thinking about what happened at the Criterion yesterday. Thinking about how afraid you were to see him. Do you know he broke the door down?”
Jane said nothing. Tears slipped down her cheeks, and she closed her lids tightly.
“Now I know why. It’s his, isn’t it?”
Jane held the toddler closer. “No.”
“She has black hair, almost as black as his. Her skin isn’t dark, but it’s not as fair as yours.
And her eyes are not blue and not gray, but somewhere in between.
But you know what the giveaway is? Her cheekbones.
High, wide—like his. How old is she? Let me think—thirteen months?
” Suddenly his face went hard. “That bastard!”
Jane felt the panic. “Please! Please, Jon, if you care at all—you mustn’t tell him!”
Lindley stared. “He doesn’t know.”
“If he finds out he’ll take her away from me, I know he will!”
Lindley said nothing, not moving a muscle.
Jane put Nicole down, wiping her eyes, but the tears kept coming. “Please, Jon, he has Chad, and —I love Nicole. Please don’t tell him. I’m so afraid. I won’t have a chance if he knows, even if I run away to India. Please.” She sobbed, her control breaking.
Lindley went to her and swept her into his arms. She wept upon his shirt front, and he held her, stroking the hair at the nape of her neck. “Don’t cry, Jane, please. I won’t say a word. Shh.”
Jane clung to him, shaking. She lifted her tear-stained face. “Promise me?”
Lindley felt the swift stabbing of doubt, and Jane saw it. Her face crumbled. Lindley groaned, hugging her harder, burying his face on the top of her hair. “I promise,” he said harshly, knowing he would regret it.
And then he forgot about regrets. Jane was soft in his arms. Her breasts were crushed against his chest. She smelled of lilies.
Her hair was silk. Not for the first time, he was assailed with desire, the heat building rapidly in his loins.
“Jane,” he said harshly. He should move away, yet he could not.
“You are so good.” She sniffed, her face buried in his shirt. “So good, so kind.”
“Damn kindness,” Lindley said. He tipped her chin up and kissed her, hard.
Jane froze. Lindley’s mouth moved voraciously over hers, testing, tasting, demanding.
When he prodded her lips with his tongue, she opened slightly, enough for him to thrust in.
He realized through a hot-red fog that she was not responding, just allowing him to kiss her.
He was so thick against her belly he wanted to explode.
Somehow he pushed himself away from her. He gave her his back to regain control.
When he turned again Jane was watching him, a squirming Nicole protectively cradled in her arms.
“I’m sorry,” Lindley said. “But you know I want you, Jane.”
“I thought we were friends,” Jane said softly.
“We’re friends, but I want more.”
“I can’t give you more.”
“Because of him?”
Jane shook her head. “No. Because I don’t love you.”
“Do you love him?”
She didn’t hesitate. “No.”
Lindley shoved his hands in his pockets. “I suppose that makes me feel a bit better.”
“Jon.” She came to him and touched his cheek. “I need your friendship. I’ve come to count on it. Don’t—don’t walk away, please, not now.” Her voice was tight and high.
“God, Jane, I wouldn’t!” He touched her hair, and felt his need again. “But I’m a man, Jane, and I won’t lie to you anymore. Do I have a chance?”
“What do you want?” she asked sadly. “A tumble? A mistress? I know you don’t want me as your wife.”
He felt ashamed, and reddened.
“I thought so,” she said softly. “Once I thought I loved someone and I gave myself to him freely. If I ever love again, I will do the same, but not until then—not for sport and not for gain.”
His shame increased, and maybe it was then that he started to fall in love with her. “I will always be here for you,” he said. And he knew, as he said it, that it was the truth.