Chapter 54
He had come to New York to find Jane, but he had never expected to find her in his brother’s house. For one long moment he could not speak or move, he could only stare.
Jane rose nervously to her feet, clutching her gown in her fists, her eyes as big as saucers, her face whiter than a ghost’s. It was then that Lindley came forward from the tall, draped windows, his stride hard, his face set. He moved toward Jane, as if to protect her.
The earl didn’t think. He rushed forward, swinging.
Lindley ducked, and the earl’s blow, containing enough power to kill, merely glanced off his temple.
But it knocked Lindley off balance and to his knees.
The earl went after him like a maddened bull, dragging him up by his suit lapels.
Grace cried out in protest clutching the wide-eyed Chad.
Rathe was rushing to them, grabbing his brother from behind and trying to tear him from Lindley. “Nick! Damn it, stop!”
Jane stood frozen, hands clutched to her breasts.
Nick burst free of Rathe’s hold as Lindley backed warily away, panting. ‘I’ll kill you if you’ve so much as touched her, you son of a bitch!” Nick roared. His face was red, the veins standing out rigidly in his temples, his throat corded. “I will kill you, do you hear?”
Rathe grabbed him again. Furious, Nick spun free. “Stay out of this,” he warned his brother, who instantly stepped back, not out of fear, but out of sudden understanding and respect.
Chad broke free of Grace’s grasp to run to his father. “Papa! Papa!”
The earl caught him. “It’s all right,” he said firmly. “Go with your aunt Grace. Jane and I have something to discuss.”
Chad was reluctant, but Grace came forward to take his hand and lead him out, despite his many backward glances.
The earl moved to Jane, fist raised with frustration, but clearly not raised at her. “Did he touch you? Are you sleeping with him? Are you?”
Jane shrank back. “No.” It was a barely audible whisper.
“You’ve done enough,” Lindley shouted from behind them. “Leave her alone—can’t you see that you’ve practically destroyed her?”
The earl whirled, but Rathe was between the two of them before further violence could erupt. Jane swallowed. “He is only my friend,” she managed, her voice quavering.
Jealousy was red and hot, a haze blinding him now that he had found them together. “How good a friend, Jane?” he demanded. “How good?”
“He is not my lover!” she cried, a flush rising to her face. “How dare you even ask! How dare you —when you have Patricia running your household and warming your bed!”
That froze the earl, and he stood there panting, his shoulders straining the seams of his jacket, sweat beading at his temples. Jane was panting too, facing him, her breasts rising and falling rapidly above the low, lace-edged bodice of her gown.
“Jon,” Rathe said quietly, yet there was authority in his tone, “let’s leave them alone.”
“You knew he was coming,” Lindley hurled. “Yet you didn’t tell us!”
“He is my brother—and the father of Nicole.”
“I am not moving,” Lindley stated. “Jane, we don’t have to stay here and take this abuse. Let’s go back to the hotel.”
Jane bit her lip, tears coming to her eyes, and she nodded. But she only took a step before the earl grabbed her, hauling her to him. “You lied to me! You told me you were going to the house on Gloucester Street! Instead you left me!” His voice broke, agonized. “Damn you, Jane, how could you?”
“How could I not?” Her voice quavered. “How could I not? You expected me to remain with you as your mistress and send you home to Patricia every night? This I could not, and cannot, do!”
He stared, then he shook her. “Did I ask you to be my mistress?” he shouted. “Did I?”
“You said there was an obvious solution!” she cried back. “You said you would take care of me! Did you or did you not?”
He released her, incredulous. “You fool! Do you know me so little? Jane, I—” He stopped, unable to continue.
He wrenched away and wiped the sweat from his brow.
And Jane stared at his back, hope so plainly etched on her face that Lindley allowed Rathe to lead him from the salon, closing the doors on them both and leaving them alone.
Jane waited, unmoving.
He turned to face her. There was a suspicious film on his eyes. “I didn’t just come here to bring Chad to his grandparents,” he said, low.
She swallowed. She gulped down tears.
“I cannot let you go from my life, Jane. I cannot.”
“I will not be your mistress,” she said, and then her face collapsed and she moaned. “Oh, damn you, Nicholas! Why couldn’t you let me go? Why?”
She sank onto the couch. “Leaving you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but staying with you will surely kill me, a little bit every day.
” She stared at him out of glazed eyes. “But you know what?” Her voice quavered.
“I would rather die a little bit every day with you than live without you in a world that would be frozen and barren and lifeless.”
She closed her eyes, his widened. “All right,” she said heavily, her voice breaking. “You win. I love you too much, you see. I will return with you, I will be your mistress. For as long as you want me, I will be yours.”
He cried out and dropped down beside her, wrapping her in his arms. She began to cry. So did he. “Jane, you fool! I am getting a divorce! How could you think anything otherwise?”
“What?” She pushed a bit away, blinking, cheeks tearstained and nose as red as a cherry.
“It will be final very shortly. Patricia already knows. How could you not have understood what I meant when I said there was an obvious solution?”
“A divorce?” She gasped.
“Jane—did I hear you right?” He brushed hair from her cheek. His hand trembled. His own cheeks were as damp as hers. “Did you say you love me?”
“I’ve always loved you, Nicholas,” she said simply. “From that first moment when we met in the parlor with Aunt Matilda.”
He crushed her to him, hard, his power raw and agonized and so immense, Jane knew, in that moment, that he loved her too, with an intensity she had never dreamed of.
“Will you marry me?” he whispered humbly. “Jane, please, will you be my wife?”
“Yes, Nicholas, oh, yes.” She wept, clinging.
They rocked each other for a long time, his lips pressing against her cheek and temple and hair again and again, until she turned her mouth up to his, and blindly, their lips met in mad desperation. It was a long, hot, hard kiss filled with the power of love.
“I love you,” he finally said. “Jane. Jane, God, I love you.”
She understood what it cost him to say it, she could hear it in his low, barely audible, strained tone. He cupped her face to look at her. “Jane, I’ve never said it before, not to Patricia, not to anyone.”
“I know,” she said, attempting to stall the tears.
He fought himself too. “I—I never felt this for her, it wasn’t like this. What I feel for you—I can’t live without you,” he managed, raw.
She sniffed, brushed a tear from his eyes, while finally letting her own flow unchecked. “Does this mean you forgive me for my stupid impulsiveness once again?”
He laughed through the blur of his vision. “Darling , I can forgive you anything—as long as you never stop loving me.”
She smiled then, impishly. “Stop loving you? That, Nicholas, would be impossible.”