Marissa Day (16 page)

He nodded. “Again, I could not blame you. But what I remember was when you turned toward the house and I saw how lovely, and how sad, you looked . . .”

No, it had been more than that. Jane DeWitte had been a vision in the moonlight; proud and beautifully formed. Thomas had been in the presence of glamour-made perfection for centuries, but the sight of this mortal woman froze him in place. He hadn’t even needed to resort to his magics to understand her. When she’d looked up at the house, the loneliness in her showed plain as day. He’d felt a powerful urge to go to her, to find out what was wrong, to tease and joke with her, or to do whatever else he could to bring a smile to that lovely visage.

It had been a long moment before he had been able to gather enough composure to ease open his perceptions and catch hold of the thoughts drifting from her. Those escaping thoughts told him she was leaving with the Duke of Kent’s party. Thomas had been unable to believe his luck. The woman he wanted was also the woman he needed.

Thomas turned that phrase over in his mind uneasily. Because since that day, it had only become more true. He had only been with Jane in the flesh a few times now, but they had walked together in dreams for over a month. In those dreams, lush with sensuality and filled with seduction, he had found a merry woman, a spirited woman, an intelligent, graceful, proud woman. He had spent hours detailing in his mind what he would do when he held her in truth, and twice now she had destroyed his plans because desire for her had driven him beyond all control. His need to experience the fullness of her body and her passions had overridden his mission, which was to enslave her desires to him. And tonight . . . he’d meant to spank her, perhaps make her wear his chains, but she had been so tired and afraid when she came to him, he was seized by the need to bring her ease. It had been gratifying to feel her relax underneath him, to rub the tension and worry from her. It was power and trust of an entirely new kind, and he’d relished it more even than he had issuing her orders.

“You might have introduced yourself at Carleton House.” Jane pursed her lips in an admirable imitation of a pout.

Thomas traced her jawline with his thumb. She smelled of sandalwood and love. “I could have made the introduction, but you were so stern, and so beautiful. Perhaps I was shy.”

“You? Now you are teasing me.”

“A little.” He drew his fingers down her exposed shoulder and smiled when she shivered. “But when I asked about you, I learned you were leaving in the morning, and no one knew how long you’d be gone. It seemed hopeless to attempt an acquaintance. After that though, I couldn’t leave off thinking of you. I felt a connection a . . . destiny is a grand word, but yes, a destiny.” A grand word. A dangerous word, because no one ever understood what their destiny meant until it was upon them. “When you deal in magic, you learn not to ignore such feelings. Then, I dreamt of you, and I knew the connection was real.”

“You dreamt of me?” Jane’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. Thomas found himself both surprised and impressed. She was dealing with this new knowledge with levelheaded tenacity. True, surrounded by his glamour, belief would come more easily than at other times, but he had still expected her to balk at what he said, perhaps even dismiss it out of hand. But no, Jane DeWitte knew the truth when she heard it.

This understanding sent an unfamiliar chill through him, carrying with it the fear of all the things he had not said.

“I dreamt of you running down a long corridor with an unlit candle in your hand,” he told her, leaving out how he had followed her to the inn where the ducal party had rested before boarding their ship at Dover. “You were frightened and angry, and searching for someone. You kept calling and calling, but you got no answer.”

“Oh.” Jane pressed back onto the pillows, as if trying to make herself smaller.

He cocked his head toward her. “You know this dream.”

“It is a nightmare I’ve had since my father died. No, that is not true. I’ve had it since I found out about his debts. In the dream I’m lost and I can’t find the way out. I’m sure my father knows the way but he will not answer when I call, and the corridor gets smaller and smaller until it becomes a cell and I’m trapped in the dark . . .”

“I know,” he said gravely. He shared her fear and outrage, and the horror of the walls pressing in. “I wanted to comfort you.” That was a gross understatement. He’d wanted to fly to her rooms, to hold her close and wake her gently to kinder thoughts. It was not right that this lovely woman should be so tormented as well as so alone.

He had not thought much of the strength of his response then. But sharing dreams, like sharing thoughts, was an intimate magic and that tenderness, that concern lingered in him still. He found himself wondering if the nightmare had receded for her. And if it had, he wanted to know that he had been the cause.

“I hadn’t even thought of the connection,” Jane said. “Both begin in corridors . . . but the moods of the dream are so different.”

“I reached out in the only way I could,” Thomas told her. “I used my magic to reshape your nightmare.” This was the truth, as far as it went. Thomas wished he could wipe away the sick feeling that invaded him. He was doing his duty, nothing more. The truth would not only hurt her, it would ruin his queen’s plan. Why did it seem so difficult to skirt around it now?

“Should I apologize, Jane?” He smoothed her hair across her shoulders and lower, allowing his fingers a tantalizing brush against the curving tops of her breasts. “It was not right of me to do so much without permission, but you were so afraid, and there was nothing else I could do.”

Jane lay silent for a long time, but she did not pull away, so he held his peace, and only continued to stroke her gently, soothingly.

“No, you do not need to apologize,” she told him at last. “I am not sorry.” Jane lifted her eyes to his, and what he saw there stopped his heart.

Trust. Entire and absolute.

Thomas bent and kissed her. He could do nothing else. Her lips parted easily for him and she sighed with contentment as his tongue moved inside to probe and to tease. He felt her nipples tighten underneath the silken sheet she’d wrapped around herself. She was a marvel of responsiveness, this woman. He knew instinctively that if he reached down and pressed his fingers into her slit, he would find her pussy was already damp. His cock twitched and swelled, seeking the warmth between her thighs as she pressed closer, her tongue urging him onward. Did she understand how very demanding she was, even in her surrender? He wanted to answer each and every demand, beginning this very moment.

“Oh, my dear, sweet Jane,” he breathed against her cheek. “We cannot. The sun is almost up. I must send you back to your own bed.”

“I know.” But neither of them moved away from the other. “It is very strange to feel so much in such a short time.”

He made himself smile playfully at her. “Passion has its own magics, my dear, and one of them is the enhancement of emotion. Now.” He frowned at her in mock sternness. “Remember obedience. I tell you, you must dress.”

She sighed. “Yes, Master Thomas.”

Thomas had to stifle a curse. Just hearing those words sent a fresh pulse of blood to his hardening cock. Jane climbed from the bed, displaying her gloriously naked back and ass. It took every ounce of control to refrain from grabbing her shapely waist and tossing her back onto the bed where he could pin her down once more and fuck her until she screamed his name.

And if he did not stop thinking like this, he was going to be in real pain soon.

You will accomplish nothing if she’s caught sneaking through the corridors,
he reminded himself as he reached for his small clothes and breeches.

Jane slid back into her chemise. Thomas found her discarded nightdress and bowed as he held it out for her. Assuming a haughty air, she lifted her arms so he could draw the garment over her head.

“Get some rest,” he told her as he kissed her in farewell. “You’ll need your strength.”

He saw by the flash in her eyes she understood him. Within a heartbeat, however, her face softened. “Thomas . . . do you think we should? At least until we can find out which members of the household Conroy has spying for him . . .”

His heart constricted. “You think I should not come to you anymore?”

“It is not what I want.”

“I understand, Jane. But you must also understand, I am not leaving you alone with that man after you.”

She smiled, an expression of tenderness that nestled warm in his heart and mind. “It is just for a little while.” She reached up to brush her fingertips across his mouth. “I meant what I said,” she murmured.

“What was that, my dear?”

“There is only you. You are the only one who could bring such . . . such response from me or with whom I have ever acted with such freedom.” Her lips brushed his and she backed away. “Thank you.”

She whisked from the room and closed the door behind her, leaving Thomas quite alone.

T
he next week passed quickly for Jane. But the nights dragged into eternity.

It had been decided that the duchess needed to hold a formal reception at Kensington House. “Our friends expect it, my dear,” said the duke as they sat together playing piquet after supper. It was the first night no party was being given in honor of their return, and despite his complaints of the constant noise and crush, it was clear the duke was bored. “Several of them have asked when we shall be hosting.”

Jane sat by the fire, struggling halfheartedly with some fancy work on a christening gown she knew very well would never be used. Each stitch reminded her of Thomas and his explanation of magic, which only served to remind her of the contentment of lying wrapped in silk beside him where she could feel his warmth and savor every aspect of his face and form.

“They wish to inspect the royal belly for themselves,” Her Grace replied testily. “But, my lord, there is not time to do the thing properly.”

“But there must be something. We cannot appear mean, or as if we were hiding you. You know what kind of talk that will breed.”

They did. Georgie had written Jane that rumors were abroad that the child was not actually the duke’s. They were absurd rumors, but it was not the rumors that were the trouble. The trouble was that the rumors were coming from the prince regent.

“I understand,” the duchess laid down the ten of diamonds. “Very well. We shall hold a . . . a drawing room to content them.”

“You were the first to point out how important appearances are.”

“There are consequences to being right.” The duchess sighed and selected another card. “Don’t worry, my lord. With my Lady Jane and your Captain Conroy, we shall accomplish all things.” She beamed at Jane, who managed a smile in reply.

“Capital. I leave it all to you then.” The duke displayed his confidence in his wife and staff by taking the trick and tallying up his points.

The result of this decision was that Jane’s days became immediately and entirely absorbed in planning. She drew up the guest lists, discussed shifting estimates of staffing requirements with the housekeeper and butler, and wrote out the most important and personal invitations. She also found herself sitting across tables from Captain Conroy for hours at a stretch, going over yet more lists of provisions, musicians and all proposed expenditures, while the duchess directed matters from a soft chair with her feet up and Frau Seibold hovering at her shoulders.

At first, Jane tried to watch Conroy to see if he lingered with one member of the staff more than any other. But that only served to make her head hurt. She began imagining dozens of contradictory meanings in the charming smiles he bestowed on everyone from the duchess to the parlor maid.

If the days were difficult, the nights were torture. Though Jane fell exhausted into her bed, sleep always eluded her. Some nights she remained awake until dawn, clutching the black ribbon she kept inside the book beside her table. Her mind strained to hear Thomas’s call, even though she knew it would not come. Her body demanded his touch and gave her no peace, even if she resorted to rubbing herself until a kind of release came. No such solitary activity could slake her thirst, for when it was over and the meaningless spasms eased, she was still empty and alone.

She had penned a short answer to Mrs. Beauchamp’s invitation, explaining she was required to assist with preparations for the duchess’s drawing room, and regretting she could not possibly visit until after that time. She’d sealed the message with her head turned sideways so there was no risk of a tear falling onto the page. She detested the drama of her feelings. The intensity was beyond all reason, but it remained real nonetheless. Whatever her mind might have to say on the subject, her heart and body were united. She needed Thomas, and she herself had told him to stay away.