Chapter Eleven #2
“Lord Dalton ... Jonathan, of course, I am quite reconciled to our marriage.” She paused.
“Only reconciled to it, Jane? I hope to have you change your attitude.” His voice was gentle and teasing, but his mouth had formed a moue of disappointment.
In the same teasing vein Jane replied, “I’m certain I’ll be far happier soon, when you have our contract for me to sign.”
His face became shuttered. “Of course, within a few days.”
Elizabeth interjected. “I’m sure you wish to discuss things and be alone for a while. I have some letters to write, if you will excuse me.” She left the room without waiting for their acquiescence.
Jonathan squeezed her hands. “Well, Jane. It is good to see you in my house again. This time I would like to show you around so you are familiar with your future home.”
“Yes, where shall we start?” she said, happy to encourage his change of conversation. Anything to overcome their awkwardness with each other.
“I think the picture gallery would be a good place, and we can work our way downward.” He opened the door for her and ushered her up the next flight of stairs to a mezzanine floor, where portraits of his ancestors were hung.
“These are only the title holders. Fathers and heirs, separately and together. The family paintings are at Everslie Park in Hampshire. You will see them at Christmas.” He halted and turned to her.
“You and your family will stay with us for Christmas, won’t you?
You don’t have another engagement? I’ll send you in my carriage. ”
“We would be happy to join you. Anna has two weeks’ leave as a holiday from the Marchmere children, so she can accompany us.”
“Of course. She works for Marchmere, you say?”
“Yes. Do you know the family?”
“I know Lord Marchmere, of course. He is a staunch Tory.”
“She seems to like Lady Marchmere, but she hasn’t mentioned his lordship.” Jane smiled. “The children take after their mother apparently, which is to their great advantage, I’m told.”
He laughed. “Quite probably. He resembles a bulldog and has the tenacity to match.” They walked a little closer to the first portrait, a small painting of a Tudor scoundrel smirking out from a dark background.
“Now here is the first Marquess of Dalton. We suspect he made some of his money through piracy and was favored by the queen.”
“Will I see a trend develop as I view the succeeding ancestors?” She waved her arm towards the gallery. “Will they all be smiling rogues in different costumes?”
He laughed. “You have our measure.” He tucked her hand through the crook of his arm and led her around the collection, giving a brief and humorous character sketch of each ancestor.
Half an hour later, the portrait tour was completed. Instead of leading Jane down to the public rooms on the next floor, Jonathan said, “The bedchambers are on this floor also. I will show you your future suite of rooms, and you can tell me whether new paper and drapery should be ordered.”
They approached a door down the nearest corridor, and Jonathan it opened to reveal the most beautiful wallpaper, depicting yellow chrysanthemums intertwined on a delicate blue background.
The bed drapes were akin with a smaller pattern of flowers, while the carpet echoed the pale blue.
The furniture was similarly light and elegant in design.
“It is quite beautiful,” said Jane. “Did your mother decorate this room?”
Jonathan looked pleased. “Not at all. It has been decorated recently—after I came into the title.”
Jane was curious. “Did you hire a well-known decorator to refurbish your new home?”
“This is the only room which has been refurbished. I felt that if there was to be a new marchioness then she should have a new room, not one dictated by her predecessor. Of course, you may change it in any way you wish.”
Jane was adamant. “Nothing should be altered. It is exquisite.”
Jonathan smiled again. “I am very glad that you are pleased by my choices.”
“You chose the paper, hangings, and furniture?” Jane was surprised. “You had no assistance?” His choices displayed both sure use of color and pattern and insight into her character.
“Not at all. I had a vision of what might please you and chose everything myself. I have no experience to draw upon, so it must have been sheer beginner’s luck to have chosen so well.”
She smiled, possibly her first genuine smile for him. “You are extremely modest.”
“Perhaps I have missed my vocation and should have been an architect. I could have been the next James Nash?”
They had wandered into the room, and Jane released Jonathan’s arm to run her hand down the silken bed curtains.
He followed her and ran his hand not down the curtains, as hers had done, but down her back, from shoulder to buttock in one long, tingling sweep, before rising to her waist. “Could you be happy here?” he asked softly.
She looked over her shoulder at him. “Yes.”
His eyes, deep and warm, held her gaze. “I created it for you. Only you.”
Stunned, she whispered, “How did you know what I would like?”
“I didn’t. I guessed. I imagined what you would choose based on your dress, your home, your interests.”
Her mouth formed a silent “Oh.”
His other hand slid around her waist, turning her into his embrace.
His lips teased the tender skin of her neck, trailing up to her mouth.
He drew her closer still as his mouth found hers.
Jonathan gradually eased her backward one step at a time until she leaned against the bedpost. His hard chest pinned her there while the silken curtains slithered around her ankles.
“Jane, Jane. How I want you,” he whispered.
She sighed in response, her own lips seeking to give as well as receive.
His hands moved to hold her face as his lips tantalized and demanded a response from her.
His fingers slid into her tight bun, causing pins to cascade to the floor around Jane’s feet.
Her hair slumped onto her shoulders before tumbling down her back.
“Promise me you will marry me.” There was urgency in his voice.
“Yes, I will,” she breathed. It was so easy to agree when he made her feel like this.
“Then lie with me, Jane, and make the dream real.” Jonathan lifted her into his arms and deposited her on the bed. He followed her there, still kissing her mouth, one hand on her cheek while the other caressed her thigh through her black wool dress.
Cool air swirled around her legs as his purposeful hand drew the dress upward. Soon, long fingers were gently stroking her inner thigh, causing heat to flood through her. His questing fingers reached their goal.
“Ah... mmm.” She gasped in surprise, then sighed in delight. His tongue tangled with hers as his kisses deepened, and his magic stroking hand had her hips lifting off the bed in rapture.
Jonathan’s clever fingers tantalized her one last time, and he smacked a hard kiss on her mouth. Exquisite, tortuous tension exploded into a thousand sparks in her head. As if from a distance, she heard herself let out a moan of release.
“More,” she groaned. “Give me more.”
Jonathan unfastened the fall of his trousers and braced himself above her. He stared down into her eyes, then... stopped. “Hell! What am I doing?” He spun off the bed, stumbled, and grabbed the mantelpiece to steady himself.
Jane drew deep breaths, trying to regain her composure as she lay spread-eagled across the bed.
Jonathan stood braced upright against the fireplace while he fumbled to redo his buttons.
He tilted his head toward her. He wore a tortured expression.
“I am so very sorry, Jane. That was completely unplanned.”
Jane flushed hot with embarrassment and struggled off the bed, pushing her dress into place. What had she done? Allowing such liberties! She drew more than one steadying breath before she could answer him. “I do not blame you. If there is any fault to apportion, I am as much to blame as you.”
“I hope you won’t find my actions unforgivable.” His look beseeched her forgiveness.
She shook her head. “No, but we must be more careful of being alone together if we can’t trust ourselves to keep our basest urges under control.
It would be a pity for either of us to be trapped in this engagement by our actions while we decide whether to marry.
” A shudder ran up her spine at the thought.
“Yes, of course. Thank you for your understanding.” He turned away to rearrange the rest of his clothes.
Jane knelt to retrieve her hairpins with shaking hands. “I will sit by the window for a little while until I regain my savoir faire,” she said, walking on jellified legs to a small writing desk set before the window.
A few minutes later, she had calmed her flushed and needy body and restored her hair to order. Jane looked around her, contemplating how it would feel to wake up in this room every morning. “I can see myself here, pen in hand, writing my next pamphlet.”
“Will you persist in writing pamphlets, Jane? Will there be any point? Will you have any time?” asked Jonathan.
“Of course there will be time. There was time while I was raising my siblings. There must be time. I will ensure there is. I will insist upon it.”
“What of your other duties?” He was standing tall and immaculate again beside the fireplace, completely recovered and looking formal and inflexible.
“Which ones will I be performing at dawn when I usually write?” Jane asked.
“Perhaps your wifely ones?” he answered.
“Morning, noon, and night?” she taunted. “Will there be no rest from sating your needs?”
“It is not a matter of sating my needs, as you put it, but perhaps you will find it a better, no, more pleasurable use of your time.” He winked.
“That remains to be seen.” Jane didn’t want to concede anything.
“Oh, I think you have seen, or rather felt, what it can be like.”
Heat flooded her cheeks again. When would she stop blushing? “I don’t think it will mean that I never want to express my opinion in writing again though. Are you going to forbid me from writing?” Jane demanded.