Elizabeth Mansfield (23 page)

She'd been seated no more than five minutes when, to her surprise, the Viscount came in. "Good evening, Miss Douglas," he said, taking his seat.

She hadn't expected to see him ever again. She had hoped to be gone by this time. She didn't want to speak to him. But circumstances seemed to be subverting her at every turn. "Good evening," she said reluctantly, averting her eyes.

"I realize that I'm in your black books," he said, "but I hope you will not object to my dining here."

"It is your house, my lord," she said, rising. "I'll take my dinner downstairs."

"Don't leave, Miss Douglas," he said, jumping to his feet. "If my presence is so repugnant, then I'll be the one to go. I'll take my dinner on a tray in my bedroom."

She couldn't help giving a sardonic little laugh. "A tray in your bedroom, indeed! As if Mr. Parks would even permit—"

"Then let us sit down like two civilized people." And he came round and held out the chair for her.

"Very well, if I must," she said and slid into it.

There was a long silence. Parks came in carrying the wine and the first course. He looked at each of them for a moment, served the food without a word, and withdrew.

"I was thinking, ma'am," Luke said as he poured out two glasses of wine, "that you must be wondering how to occupy your time for the rest of the month of your stay here, now that it is obvious I've failed my probation."

Jane didn't know what to say. She did not want to inform his lordship of her departure beforehand. She wanted simply to disappear without argumentation. "I am never at a loss as to how to occupy my time," she said evasively.

"I suppose that's true, great reader that you are. My father's library can provide many diversions. But I wish, ma'am, that you'll keep up your attempts to educate me in finances. Even if I won't be master of my inheritance at the end of the month, I shall be someday. Therefore, I can still benefit from your advice. You can continue to reorganize the books and show me ways to reduce expenditures. It's never too early to learn, isn't that so?"

"Good heavens, my lord," she said in mock amazement, "I can hardly credit my ears. Can this be Lucian Hammond, Viscount Kettering speaking? The same Lucian Hammond who declared that attention to finance was turning him into a spineless jellyfish? The same Lucian Hammond who found me, not two days ago, to be a bad influence?"

"Very well, ma'am, have your fun. Attack me with my own words. I deserve it." He held his glass up to the light of the candle and peered ruefully at the ruby glow of the wine. "I don't suppose you believe that I can change."

"Not for a moment," she said flatly.

Parks came in with the second course. While he served, they sat in silence, but as soon as he left, Luke resumed his questioning. "Why don't you believe it? People can change."

"Only if they want to," she said.
 

"You don't believe I want to?"
 

"No, I don't. I think you like yourself the way you are."

"Then why do you suppose I am saying all this to you? Am I not, figuratively at least, groveling at your feet?"

"I think, my lord, that you're doing what you always do when you're caught like a child with his fingers in the cookie jar—using your boyish charm to avoid reproof. But I've told you before that, although your boyish charm is considerable, I am not susceptible to it." And, to underline her words, she got up to leave.

He rose quickly and blocked her way.
"Is
it considerable?" he asked, looking down at her with a glint in his eyes she found disturbing.

"What?"

"My boyish charm." He lifted her chin and made her look at him. "Is it considerable... to you?"

Her heart jumped up to her throat. The glint in his eyes flared up into flame, and one corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly into an off-center smile. It was the look of a man who was very sure of himself. "Is it, ma'am?" he asked again, his voice low and husky.

She gulped. Her voice seemed to be gone. His smile broadening, he lowered his head, and one of his arms came round her. As his face came closer to hers, and she felt the tingle of excitement begin to bubble inside her, she wondered how many times he'd begun a seduction in just this way. He seemed so practiced, so confident, so sure of her response. She, however, was not at all sure what her response would be. She wanted to feel his lips on hers again, but she did not want to be seduced. Not so easily. Not by him. "If you're going to kiss me, my lord," she said, shutting her eyes and lifting her head toward his, "do get it over with. But I warn you, it will not make me any more susceptible than before."

A laugh burst out of him. "No?" he asked, tightening his hold. "You, Jane Douglas, are the most provoking, devilish creature it's ever been my misfortune to know. How can I kiss you when you tell me to 'get it over with'?"

She opened her eyes. His face was so close that the slightest movement would have brought their lips together. "In that case, you may as well release me," she said, but the tremor in her voice belied her words.

"I suppose I should," he said, but he promptly made that slight movement and kissed her, intensely, hungrily. The passion of it awoke in her a surge of pure joy. It seemed to her as natural as breathing to respond. They clung together, and for a while she forgot who she was, where she was, and why she was leaving. The room spun round, the candle-flames whirled about in the air, and the ground evaporated beneath her. Her whole body seemed made up of little sparkles of excitement. It was only when he let her go that the walls righted themselves and the ground solidified under her feet.

Both his arms were around her now. She could feel them trembling. He was staring down at her in astonishment. "Oh,
God,
Jane!" he muttered.

She was as astounded as he by the powerful effect of that embrace. But now that it was over, thoughts came streaming back into her mind, logical, reasoning thoughts that she'd evidently banished from her mind the moment he'd touched her. Suddenly her head was full of reminders... reminders of who she was, who he was, what she'd planned to do, and why. This was Luke Hammond, gambler, wastrel, and lecher. Just yesterday he'd tossed away a thousand pounds. Just yesterday he'd closeted himself in the morning room with his paramour for hours. How could she have kissed him—and in such a way!—after all that?

She drew a shaking hand across her mouth as if to wipe away a stain. "I suppose that proves that, given provocation, I can be as degenerate as you."

"Degenerate?"
The word seemed to strike him like a blow. "Jane!" he exclaimed, appalled. "You
can't
believe—!" He dropped his hold on her and shook his head in disbelief. "I know you think me a wastrel, but that hardly makes me a degenerate."

"It can't matter to you what I think," she said.

"Obviously, it does."

The look of hurt in his eyes astounded and touched her, but her reasoning mind warned her not to continue this conversation. The kiss, she knew, had little significance to him, but it was devastating to her. Her emotions were dangerously close to the surface. "Please, my lord, no more," she begged. "I'm too discomposed to speak logically."

He made a gesture with his hand as if he wanted to hold her there, but then he expelled a breath of defeat. "Very well, ma'am. Go if you must. We'll talk tomorrow."

But there won't be a tomorrow,
she thought. To prevent breaking down before his eyes, she said a quick "Good night, my lord" and ran from the room.

At the bottom of the stairs she met Joseph. "Mr. Fitzgerald ain't home," the footman whispered conspiratorially. "I asked 'is man. 'E's gone to Devon."

Jane put a hand to her throbbing temples. "I don't understand," she said, trying to concentrate. "How could he have gone away? Where's Adela?"

Joseph lowered his eyes uneasily. "The fellow thinks that a young lady wuz with 'im."

"What? Are you saying they ran off together? An
elopement?
"

The footman shrugged. "If I wuz to elope, Miss Jane, it wouldn't be to Devon. It'd be to Scotland."

"Of course," Jane agreed. "Gretna. Then, why—?"

"Dunno. But Mr. Fitzgerald's man did say that 'is mother lives in Devon."

"His mother?" Jane's eyes widened. "Good God! He's taken her to his mother!" She sank down on the stair. "What on earth am I to do now?"

TWENTY-NINE

Degenerate? Is that what she thinks of me?

Luke stood at the morning room window, peering out at the moonlit garden with unseeing eyes. That one word had pierced him like the unexpected slash of a knife blade from a cutthroat on a dark road
I
,
degenerate?
he asked himself repeatedly. A degenerate was someone guilty of severe moral decline. How could she think it of him?

He was a wastrel, that much was true. But there was no
moral
infraction in his gambling; it was his own wealth he was dissipating, not someone else's. He was no worse man most of the men in his class in that regard... in fact, he was rather typical. And typical, too, in his attention to dress and in his enjoyment of sport. His interests might be considered trivial by someone as serious-minded as Jane Douglas, but they were not immoral. In fact, most of his peers would say that his standard of behavior was quite high. He was affectionate toward his mother, kind to his servants, loyal to his friends. He was, he believed, a pretty good fellow, all things considered. Where was the degeneracy?

The fact that he'd kissed her (twice!), after declaring that he wasn't the sort to accost a female living in his own home, was probably a lapse, but certainly not degenerate. He'd been impelled to kiss her, not from lust, but from a deep, overwhelming attraction that seemed almost... well, pure. It was a very different thing from the sort of urge that he'd felt when he kissed Dolly—

Dolly!
That was it—Jane had seen Dolly yesterday!
That
was why she'd called him degenerate. In Jane's eyes that connection was undoubtedly reprehensible. The realization gave Luke a sense of relief. The problem was not that he was degenerate but that Jane was unsophisticated. Clever as she was, in these matters she was a naif, a rustic, an innocent. She didn't understand that most men in his circle had such connections. In truth, almost every fellow he knew had a fancy piece. Jane could hardly consider most male members of the
ton
degenerate, could she?

He gave a mirthless laugh.
Yes,
he said to himself,
she probably could.

But it didn't matter. Now that he understood her, he could make it right. He could explain. He could tell her that he'd ended his liaison with Dolly. He could make her see that Luke Hammond was not such a bad fellow after all.

He strode out of the morning room and down the hall to the foyer, hoping to catch her. But the only person in view was Parks. "Have you seen Miss Douglas?" he asked the butler.

"I believe she's retired, my lord," Parks said, lowering his eyes.

"Retired? It's not yet eight o'clock."

"Yes, my lord, I know. But she..." He lifted his head and looked the Viscount in the eye, but he couldn't hide the quiver of his chin. "... she told me she's retiring early."

Luke knew his butler well enough to recognize that the quiver was a symptom of the man's inner discomfort. "Come now, Parks, don't be evasive. I can see that you're hiding something."

"I, my lord?" Parks was the picture of offended innocence. "Hiding something?"

"Yes, damn it! I can tell when—"

A knocking at the door interrupted him. Parks breathed a sigh of relief. "Shall I see to the door, my lord?" he asked.

Luke threw up his hands. "Yes, go on. It's probably Taffy, wishing to accompany me to the club."

But it wasn't Taffy. To his surprise, the caller at the door was Ferdie Shelford. The fellow was dressed in the most formal of evening wear, complete with top hat, cape and cane. "Good evening, sir," Parks said to him with proper formality. "Did you wish to see his lordship?"

"Ferdie!" Luke said, coming up behind the buder. "Come in. What on earth brings you here dressed to the nines?"

"To tell the truth, Luke," Ferdie said hesitantly, stepping over the threshold, "I didn't come to see you." "No? Then who—?"

Ferdie colored in embarrassment. "Well, you see, I..."

"You've come to call on Miss Douglas, isn't that so?" Parks said, his tone excessively innocent.

Luke was too startled to notice his butler's mischief-making interjection. "Miss Douglas?" he asked, gaping. "You can't mean it.
Jane
Douglas?"

"What's wrong with my calling on Miss Douglas?" Ferdie demanded defensively.

"I regret that she unavailable," Parks said, throwing a gloating glance at his employer. "She's retired."

"Oh, blast!" said the disappointed Ferdie. "I wanted to ask her to accompany me to the opera."

Luke gawked at him in disbelief. "You wanted to take my Jane to the opera?"

"What do you mean,
your
Jane?" Ferdie asked.

"Well, I only—" Luke put a hand to his forehead in confusion. Had he really said
my
Jane? "It was a slip of the tongue," he muttered in hasty apology. "I only meant the Jane Douglas who works for me." But
was
that what he meant? Had he begun to think of Jane as
his?

"There's nothing wrong in my escorting her to the opera, is there?" Ferdie persisted.

Luke was nonplussed. "No, I suppose not. I just... didn't know you even knew her."

Ferdie put up his chin belligerently. "I've met her."

"You have? When was that?" Luke wanted to know.

"Well, I don't exactly remember," Ferdie mumbled, "but I don't see—"

"It was last week, I believe, my lord," Parks put in, barely able to hide his amusement. "The day Miss Douglas went riding."

Luke eyed the butler with one eyebrow cocked. "Providing entertainment for you, are we, Parks?"

Parks's lips twitched. "I beg pardon, my lord. If you have no further need of me, I shall withdraw."