Chapter 45
As sleep faded, Nick reached for Jane.
His hand found only the warm space on her side of the bed, and it lingered there, while his consciousness returned.
With it came recollection of the night before and that morning, when, a few hours earlier, he’d awakened her with his hands and mouth, to make love to her again.
The first time had been frantic, the last soft and easy.
He was stirring now. Amazingly, he could not get enough of her and he wanted her again.
He opened his eyes to look up at the peach silk tenting of the canopy above his head, listening for her, for the sounds of her return.
A smile lazily appeared, softening his features, easing the harsh lines around his mouth.
He didn’t think he’d ever felt so wonderful, so calm and relaxed, so replete.
Hurry back to me, Jane, he thought. I want you, darling.
He closed his eyes. Was he brave enough to tell her how much she meant to him? That without her there was only darkness and despair? That she was the sunshine and laughter in his life? That he loved her?
He was a coward. He was afraid to let her know the enormity of his feelings for her.
And then he heard the distinct sound of retching.
The earl was already out of the bed as the harsh sound came again from the water closet. Grim and concerned, he rushed forward, to find Jane on her knees, hugging the bowl, her face pale and tinged green.
“What is it?” he cried, acute panic knifing him. He knelt beside her, taking her into his arms, and she leaned against him wearily. “Jane, you’re ill!”
“It will pass, I think,” she mumbled into his chest.
He stroked her hair, then froze, as the significance of her morning illness struck him.
Morning illness. He separated himself from her to stare at her, tense and hard now, sick and furious.
Didn’t women become ill like this a month or so after conceiving?
Not within a few days. She suddenly dove for the bowl again, retching.
He steadied her and, after she had finished, helped her rise.
He watched her as she rinsed her mouth and washed her face and hands.
For once he was, impossibly, immune to her naked body, so slim and slender, yet so perfectly curved.
She turned to him, with an embarrassed smile, then saw his expression and froze. “Nicholas? What is it?”
He smiled, but it was only a bitter twisting of one side of his mouth. “Maybe you had better tell me”.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, anxiety in her tone. She touched his arm, he jerked away. “What is it!” she cried.
“You’re pregnant,” he said flatly, eyes cold and emotionless. “And it certainly isn’t with my child.”
Jane stared.
“Whose is it?”
“My God,” she said, touching her chest, and then she started to smile.
His frown became a scowl. “Who is the father, Jane?”
“I am not pregnant,” she told him. “It’s an impossibility—unless the child is yours.”
“You seem pregnant to me, and you wouldn’t have this morning sickness so quickly from my seed!”
“You ninny!” she cried. “I told you, it’s impossible that this is morning sickness. There has been no one but you, Nicholas. I have a flu, that’s all.”
His heart clenched. He gripped her shoulders. “What are you saying!”
She touched his face. “There’s been no one but you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’ve never been with another man, Nicholas, ever.”
He stared, swallowing hard, stunned.
She smiled beautifully, touching his face again. “If I am pregnant, darling, it’s from the past few days or that time in the library. It’s that simple.”
“God.” Nick groaned. “Jane, this is the truth?” He was hoarse, barely able to function.
“Yes.”
She had never been with anyone but him. Never given herself to anyone but him. Had been loyal to him. He swept her into his arms and held her fiercely, rocking her, while hot tears stung his eyes. I love you, he thought. God, I love you!
But he could not say the words.
And then he wondered if she loved him. His heart beat painfully, exuberantly. She must! Why else would she have been faithful to him all these years? God, she must!
And suddenly he was no longer damned, but blessed.
Nick buried his face in Jane’s hair, clinging to her.
“Nicholas,” she whispered, her hands roving his back. “What is it?”
He couldn’t speak. So he just held her.
Two evenings later, the earl made his way backstage to his wife’s dressing room. Once again he had sat in the nearly empty theater through her entire performance, unable to take his eyes off her. She mesmerized him as she performed, and he knew he was sorely infatuated with her.
A dark man with spectacles was just leaving her room as Nick entered.
He was the Criterion’s manager, and he nodded abruptly at him.
Gordon was with Jane, looking somber, but the earl had eyes only for his wife.
She sat on the sofa, pale and taut, surrounded by hundreds of white roses, which filled the dressing room.
His white roses, and he smiled at the thought.
“I’ll leave you two alone,” Gordon said. “Good night, Jane, Shelton.”
“Nicholas,” she cried intensely after he’d gone.
Instantly he came to her, took her hands, kissed them. “Darling, what is it?”
“You won’t have to send me any more flowers,” she said simply.
“You’re closing?”
She nodded, her eyes large and luminous.
He hugged her, and she rested in his embrace, eyes closed. “There’ll be other shows, Jane. And you were wonderful. I can personally vouch for that.”
She sighed. “I think you’re not exactly objective.” The brief smile faded. “It’s just so sad when the show closes. It’s almost as if someone has died.”
He stroked the hair at her temple. He had wanted nothing more than to take her and their children to Dragmore, but now he changed his mind. “We will stay in London,” he said. “We won’t go to Dragmore.”
“What!”
He smiled gently. “I’m realizing how much acting means to you. Find another show. It’s all right. Forget that lousy agreement we made. You’re as wonderful a mother as you are an actress, and you’ve certainly proved you can be both at once.”
Tears filled her eyes. She clung to him and started to cry.
“Jane.” He was numb. What had he done? He’d only wanted to make her happy. “Darling, if I’ve done something wrong …”
She shook her head, sniffing, nose red now. “You are an angel, Nicholas,” she said softly. “Your offer is superb. You are superb.”
He tried to hide his pleasure at the compliment, and failed. “Well.” He shrugged, but he was smiling.
“I happen to want to go to Dragmore,” Jane announced, stroking her finger along his jaw. “I want some time alone with you and the children. Do you mind?”
“Mind?” He nearly shouted. He laughed, swept her against him. “Jane,” he said, low. “No one’s ever called me an angel before!”