Marissa Day (3 page)

Hearing the anger and the warning in her friend’s voice, Jane laid a hand on Georgiana’s arm. “I’m sorry, Georgie, I’m not good company right now and I’m spoiling your night.”

“You are the best of company, Jane.” Georgiana patted her hand. “You are only tired from your travels.” They smiled, each understanding the other saw past their politesse
,
but each silently agreeing it would be best to move back to conversation more proper for a ballroom.

Just then, movement caught Jane’s eye.

“Oh, no,” Georgiana muttered. “It is our
dear
Mrs. Fortesque.”

A woman with a square jaw and square brow overshadowed by a forest of dyed ostrich plumes strode straight toward them through the crowd. Claret crepe encased thin shoulders and an improbably full bosom.

“I’ll distract her, Jane, you make your escape.” Without waiting for Jane’s answer, Georgiana fixed on a brilliant smile and sailed directly into Mrs. Fortesque’s path. “Agnes! I was so hoping I’d find you here!”

Jane did not wait to hear what Mrs. Fortesque replied. She slid out the nearest French door onto the balcony and dodged sideways where she would not be immediately visible from either door or window. The fresh night air that enfolded her was chill, but exceedingly welcome. Jane closed her eyes and raised her chin, relishing the cool breeze as it swept across her skin, and tried not to wish herself elsewhere.

The dinner had been excellent. The music was delightful. The whole of fashionable London, dressed in their finest, swarmed a ballroom hung with French blue, said to be the prince regent’s current favorite color. This was diplomatic of Lady Darnley, Jane thought. In a pinch, either of the Darnleys could argue they had chosen the color to remind the royal duke where their ultimate loyalties lay.

And this was only the beginning. Hyman’s War Triumphant, indeed. Should the Duke of Kent’s babe be born whole and healthy, the nobility would begin jockeying for position in earnest, and Jane as the Duchess’s attendant and presumed confidant would be hauled into the thick of it, whether she wanted to be there or not.

Jane sighed and forced her eyes open. The gorgeously illuminated formal gardens spread out beyond the balcony. Couples strolled to and fro, enjoying the evening. As she watched, melancholy dug its claws into her. No such activity awaited her this night or any other. She was the eyes and ears of the duchess of Kent, and she was the sole survivor of a family that had fallen up to its hips in debt. Love and desire were nothing but the stuff of dreams for Lady Jane, and she must find a way to make her peace with that.

“A pleasant night, is it not?” inquired a man’s deep voice.

Jane straightened at once, snapping open her fan to cover the shock on her face. She glanced wildly about, but saw no one.

“Down here, and I am sorry if I startled you.”

Cautiously, Jane advanced to the balcony’s carved stone rail. There, she looked down onto the shadowed figure of her dream lover.

H
e was little more than a silhouette, half in and half out of the balcony shadow, but after so many nights of intimate imaginings, Jane recognized him instantly. The man who stood below her like Romeo in an amateur theatrical was
her
man, her lover from her dreams.

She must have gone stark white, for he frowned and moved more fully into the candlelight that spilled over from the ballroom.

“I hope, madame, I have done nothing to offend. If I have, I assure you, it was in no way deliberate.”

“Oh, no, sir, indeed you have not.” Jane fluttered her fan and grasped desperately for her manners. The weak denial was clearly not enough to convince him. He frowned and trotted up the broad marble steps, moving with both grace and lightness of foot.

“Come, come, ma’am, you are in some distress. Do let me offer my assistance.”

If any doubt had existed in Jane’s mind as to the connection between this man and her dream lover, it was removed as soon as he reached the top step. Light from the windows fell across bright golden hair pulled back from finely sculpted features and tied in a black ribbon. But it was his eyes that removed all trace of doubt. She could now see them plainly, and they shone as green and compelling as they had in all her dreams.

He was fashionably dressed in a forest green coat embroidered dramatically in black. Similar black work decorated his fawn waistcoat. His breeches and stockings were pure white, and tight enough that she could clearly see the powerful line of his muscled legs.

“May I at least fetch you a glass of punch? Or escort you inside?” He held out his arm politely, but Jane’s gaze drifted to his hands.

The man lowered his arm, genuine consternation creasing his wide, pale forehead. “Perhaps you will permit me to introduce myself?” he suggested. “Sir Thomas Lynne, and I am quite at your service.” He bowed, very correct and formal. Seeing this, Jane found at least some of her polite reflexes still functioned, and she bobbed a curtsey.

“Lady Jane DeWitte, and I do beg your pardon, Sir Thomas. I had thought I was alone.”

Sir Thomas smiled and Jane’s heart thudded against her ribs. Her breasts strained against the confines of her narrowly cut ball gown, as if reaching for his touch.
How would you give yourself to me, Jane?
his heated voice whispered from memory.

“Your servant, Lady Jane.” Sir Thomas bowed once more. “May I join you?”

No, no! I won’t be able to bear it if you come closer.
Because if he came closer she would feel the warmth of him, and be able to see his eyes even more clearly.

Collect yourself, Jane!
“Certainly, Sir Thomas.” She made herself gesture toward one of the balcony’s marble benches. “Shall we sit?”

He bowed again. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Jane’s knees felt weak as water. It took all her concentration to adjust her train so she could settle at the absolute end of the bench. She thought Sir Thomas would come sit down at once, but he stayed where he was, one foot on the balcony, one foot on the stair, watching her carefully. Jane snapped her fan open. She was too warm, despite the chill in the air. The strength of Sir Thomas’s curious regard, combined with her too-vivid memories, brought out the heat of her blood.

“At the risk of being impertinent, Lady Jane,” he said, tilting his head thoughtfully toward her. “I must ask; why do you look at me as if I frightened you?”

“I do no such thing.”

“You do,” Sir Thomas replied, meeting her eyes. “You are doing it now.”

Jane’s gaze darted to the crowded ballroom. But if she went back inside, she would have to face the flock of gossips. They would all see how flustered she was, and she would be very much remarked on. The only other escape from this balcony was the staircase at Sir Thomas’s back. Jane imagined fleeing into the gardens, out the gates and into the streets, to somehow make her way back to Kensington House before it could be learned she had gone as mad as the king. The whole time, Sir Thomas kept a polite distance with his hands folded behind him, prepared, it seemed, to wait as long as necessary for her answer. Ragged clouds passed across the moon overhead. Candlelight, music and talk drifted out of the ballroom at her back, reminding Jane she was part of an ordinary gathering on an ordinary evening. Suddenly, she felt quite ashamed of her fancies. But what could she say to him? She fluttered her fan, trying to think of the most polite lie. Nothing came to her, however, and she found herself left with only the truth.

“I . . . I dare not tell you my reasons, sir,” Jane dropped her gaze and folded her fan. “You will think I’ve entirely lost my wits.”

“I will think nothing of the kind. Please, Lady Jane,” Sir Thomas added softly.
Tell me what you would do, Jane . . .

It was impossible. She could muster no defense against this man who was the very image of her secret desires.

“I . . . I have been dreaming of you.” Jane trembled as she spoke the words. Now he would go and she would not have to look into those green eyes anymore to remember all the promises of her wicked dreams. Now he would go, and she would never see him again.

“You dream of me?” His dark and heavy brows arched.

“Every night these past three weeks.”

Sir Thomas made no immediate reply. His face remained calm, as if they discussed nothing more important than the weather. “Are you sure these dreams are not just of a man with green eyes?” he asked. “They are unusual, I admit . . .”

Whatever else he might be, this Sir Thomas was gallant. His words offered her the chance to pass the whole of the conversation with some pleasantry so their talk could turn to less alarming subjects. But then she would forever wonder what would have happened had she found the courage to speak. In her heart, she understood that an eternity of not knowing would be far worse than any fear she might face here and now.

“No,” she said. “Not just a man with green eyes. You.”

Sir Thomas nodded. For a long moment he gazed out across the illuminated gardens. Jane sneaked a glance at his profile. His face was pale as if sculpted from marble, and as perfectly formed as man’s could be. Yet he was no idle dandy, for under his perfectly cut coat his body was hard and muscled. Her hands itched to touch his shoulders, to caress the planes of that chest so wellclad in silk and linen. She knew her fingers to be clever. She could make quick work of laces and buttons and push that cloth aside and . . .

He turned toward her, one brow arched. A blush blossomed across Jane’s cheeks. He saw. He knew she had been staring. For the first time, Sir Thomas’s impeccable manners slipped ever so slightly and a smile that was both knowing and delightful spread across his elegant features. “And may I be so bold as to inquire what, besides myself, occupies these dreams?”

Pleasure, pleasure from your hands, your body, your devilish words . . .
Jane’s blush deepened.

“I see,” Sir Thomas murmured.

“Please.” Jane opened her fan once more and applied it in a futile attempt to cool her burning cheeks. “Let us say no more about it.”

“We could do that,” he agreed. “If you wanted.”

A fresh shiver shot down Jane’s back. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you want to say no more? Do you want me to go?” He gestured toward the stairs. “Or would you rather I stayed?”

Jane found herself quite unable to breathe. She thought about the violet water in her reticule. She thought about the retiring room, the gardens, the refreshment room, anywhere she might get away from this man. But she didn’t move. “I could not say,” she whispered.

“I think you could. What is more, if this were one of your dreams, I think you would.” Sir Thomas lowered himself onto the bench beside her, still keeping a polite distance. He could not accidentally touch her from there. It would have to be deliberate. He would have to reach out his gloved hand, lace his fingers between hers, guide her hand where he wished it to be, where she wished it to be.

“But this is not a dream,” she reminded him, and herself.
For if this were one of my dreams, I would kiss you here and now. I would beg you to hold me and to touch me in any way that pleased you. I would thrill to hear your voice urging me to bare myself for you.

“No, it is the real world, and we walk in it, you and I.” His green eyes seemed darker now, and unfathomably deep. She could drown in those eyes. “So think carefully of what you say next. Send me away, and I will make my bow and go. But be aware, it is your choice.”

The finality in his words tore at her thoughts. He meant it. If he went now, she would never see him again, in daylight or dreaming. Jane felt weak, as if all the blood had drained from her heart.

There was no one to guide her, and no safe answer to give. There was only him, and her, and she could not trust either one. “What choice would you make?” Jane murmured.

“I?” Sir Thomas said, as if surprised she would ask so simple a question. “I would choose to remain with you. I would especially choose to hear more about these dreams in which I am so prominent a figure.”

Jane knew she should end this madness and tell this bold man to leave her alone. She was not the usual widow, free to kick up her heels as she chose. She had no money, no land, nothing except the income from her position. Her entire inheritance, including her widow’s portion, had gone to pay her father’s debts. If her reputation did not remain spotless, she risked her living.

At the same time, it seemed unbearable that Sir Thomas should go.

“Madame?” Sir Thomas whispered, his voice tender and filled with concern. “Lady Jane?”