The Lady in the Tower (9 page)

With a shrug,
he did so, pulling a card from the stack and placing it face down on the side
table. “Now what?”

“Now nothing.
Leave it there.”

“But
why—”

“You will come
to my party, will you not?”

He nodded and
she deftly drew him into conversation. By the time he finished his tea and said
his good-byes, Catherine was certain he was the man for Jane.

She tapped a
long, bejeweled finger on the card he’d chosen, still face down on the table.
Thornton’s questioning of Jane’s behavior had been grossly disappointing; she’d
expected him to have more confidence in Jane than that. On the other hand, he
had praised Jane’s abilities quite profusely.

Catherine
suspected that for a man like him, that was far, far more significant.

She stared at
the back of the card he’d chosen and then turned it over.  A pagan male
figure elevated a wand over an alchemy table with the words “The Magician.”

Seeing it, she
took a breath. And smiled.

The day of
Catherine’s party arrived. Jane took greater care with her appearance, insuring
every curling wisp was secured and pinned. Despite the festive occasion, Jane
chose a deep blue gown and elected to wear simple ear bobs. Thankfully, there
remained only the lightest smudge from Thornton’s brand at her throat. She
brushed a bit of rice powder over it and camouflaged it.

After
dressing, she returned to her desk to gather the cleaned copy of her article.
As she collected the pages, her gaze fell on the envelope holding the tarot
card.
Why not?
she
asked herself. She parted
the opened envelope to remove the tarot card.

The picture
showed a brightly colored turret surrounded by thorns and briars at its base.
At the bottom of the card scrawled the words “The Tower.”

Jane frowned.
Of all the things she’d thought the card could have been, this wasn’t it. She’d
been expecting—hoping
?—
for something a bit
more, well, romantic.
A knight on a charger, or a magician,
or even a fool.

But
a tower?
What was she to make of that?

Voices from
the foyer interrupted her musings.
Ah, the cab must have arrived.
She
tossed the card to the desk, and collected her papers and then went into the
foyer. “Jennings, I shouldn’t be late. Don’t wait up—“

Richard
Thornton stood in her foyer. The sight of him nearly knocked the breath from
her as a flood of heated memories flushed over her. “What are you doing here?”

“Escorting you
to the duchess’s party. I wrote this morning and told her I would. Didn’t she
tell you?”

“No.”
What
is Catherine up to
?  

“I see,” he
said, though clearly he was as bemused as she.

“We are
obviously being played like the tarot cards Catherine so enjoys.”

“Apparently
so.”
He rubbed his jaw
,
his eyes
alight
. “We have two choices. We succumb to pride and ride to the
duchess’s house in separate conveyances, or we admit defeat and ride together
in spite of her knowledge. However, before you answer, I had Sam place foot
warmers in my carriage, as well as two extra blankets. You will be much more
comfortable with me.”

“Comfort”
wasn’t a word she associated with Richard, but she turned to Jennings. “I won’t
need the hired cab.” Then, to Richard, she said, “Shall we go?”

He held the
door for her and she moved to step out before remembering. “Wait.” She went to
the umbrella stand in the corner of the vestibule. “Here,” she said, and handed
him his lacquer cane.

He took it,
his smile warm and she knew he was remembering their time together. “Thank
you.”

Face heated,
she turned and led the way outside.

The carriage
ride took longer than usual with the typical evening traffic. For herself, Jane
was glad for the sedate pace. Her stomach was already in knots and she didn’t
need a breakneck pace through Mayfair to make her feel worse. To quiet her
nerves, she deliberately took an interest in the scenery out the window, glad
for the foot warmers and thick carriage blankets.

As they neared
the duchess’s house, Richard tapped his boot with his walking stick. “That
liniment you sent over has definite beneficial properties.”

She felt as if
she were talking to a stranger. “How’s the stiffness in the knee?”

“Better, I
have to admit.”

She smiled
politely. “Good.”

Her knees
nearly touched his where he sat across from her, yet the gulf between them felt
wider than a chasm. Still, she sensed his heat, the way he filled up the space.
The spice of his cologne brought back the sharp memory of her writhing in his
arms. She moistened lips that had gone dry.

And that was
it. With that one, simple gesture, she broke the polite chill that had settled
around them. One moment, she was moistening her lips and the
next,
Richard had reached across the carriage, pulled her into his arms, and kissed
her as if he thought he’d never again have the chance.

Shock held her
immobile, but not for long. Her head swam and desire flared sharp and hot as a
star. His arms crushed her to him. Her breasts ached where they pressed against
his chest. He barely allowed her a breath before seizing her mouth once more.
He was doing it again, taking her over completely. A sense of drowning overcame
her.

No, she
couldn’t do this again, not like before. Steeling herself, she pushed against
his chest.

He broke the
kiss, his breathing harsh. “Why?”

If he could be
direct, so could she. “What’s the point if you’re only going to walk away again
the second we’re through? You
dismissed
me.”

Her accusation
seemed to flummox him. “I would never do that.”

She pinned him
with a look of disbelief. “You left in such a hurry you forgot your cane.”

Richard
scowled. Damn it, he should have realized how his speedy retreat must have
looked. Gently, he brushed his thumb over her kiss-swollen mouth. “It wasn’t a
dismissal. Never that, Jane, not
after.
. . . That was
not my intention.”

“Then why did
you leave so abruptly?”

“What
happened, afterward things became . . . complicated. It seemed best to leave
before they became
more
so.”

Her lips
thinned. “Complicated.
Of course.
That must be avoided
at all costs, mustn’t it?”

He didn’t know
what to say. He only knew what he wanted to
do
. That kiss had been
nowhere near long enough by his reckoning,
nor
satisfying. Indeed, it had just left him wanting more of her.

The thought
irritated him, poked at his already low thoughts like a thorn. His feelings for
her were raw, and he had no idea what to do with them. He tried to dismiss
them, but every time he looked at her, they flooded back, stronger than before.
And while he struggled, she looked coolly collected.

His mood
soured. Where was the infamous Wicked Widow? Why wasn’t she undressing
him
? She seemed to have fewer boundaries
with other men than with him. Here they were together and alone, a perfect
opportunity to explore just how “wicked” she could be, but instead she had
tucked herself into the opposite corner, retreating once more behind that
barricade of hers.

The thought
aggravated him even more. After he’d made love to her, he thought a few of
those fortress stones had been knocked aside. Now she looked as coolly remote
as when she’d first been in his carriage. He found it all intolerable.

“I’ve read
about you in the paper,” he blurted. “They call you the Wicked Widow. There are
many stories. Are they true?”

She sighed and
for a second, a look of utter fatigue washed over her face. “You believe them.”

He met her
gaze. “No, but I wish to know the truth. I want to know everything about you.
The most recent story said you undressed a gentleman in the lobby of a hotel.”

“I
did
undress a gentleman if you consider loosening a gentleman’s absurdly knotted
cravat so he didn’t choke to death an act of ‘undressing.’”

“I thought as
much. What of the incident at
Ranelagh
where you
supposedly stripped bare for all to see to swim in the ornamental lake?”

“That was the
celebration marking Napoleon’s final defeat. A young lady, who’d had a bit too
much to drink, slipped from the footbridge and fell in.”

“And there
were no gentlemen about to help her?”

“
Of
a certainty, but I was closer.”

“And so you
dove in yourself.” He knew now there had been no stripping involved. Why was he
disappointed?

“Waded is more
like.” She shrugged at his look. “Made sense at the time. Besides, she was too
far gone to realize the water came only up to her knees.”

A more
detailed picture of her was beginning to form, a new and more disturbing
thought settling into his mind. “And Vauxhall? Whom did you save from expiring
there?”

“No one. At
least, not directly.”

“I’m afraid to
ask, but I will.”

“A few lads
had set up a dice game that admittedly got out of hand. When I happened upon
them fisticuffs had already started to break out. One of them had a knife.
After I calmed them, I sewed a few wounds.” When she said nothing more, he
scowled at her until she sighed. “Granted, one gentleman had a gash in his . .
. well, his backside. I had to pull his trousers down to properly—”

“Jane!”

“He was
bleeding,” she shot back, defensive. “I fixed it.”

“And I suppose
that’s
when you were discovered.”

“Yes.”

“Good God,
woman. You need a keeper.”

She gasped. “I
need a
what?
”

“You could
have drowned trying to pull someone from a lake, deep or not.”

“She wasn’t
that heavy—”

“Did she fight
you?”

“A little.”

“And at
Vauxhall, you could have been knifed yourself! Even the factotums at the
gambling halls know better than to get in the middle of drunken, armed men!”

“Stop shouting
at me!”

“I am not
shouting!” He was. Gritting his teeth, he rubbed the bridge of his nose and
tried for equanimity. In a calmer voice, he said, “You could have been hurt, or
even killed.” The thought of either formed a tight ball of misery in his chest.

“But I
wasn’t.”

There was such
a look of matter-of-factness on her face he wanted to shake her. Or kiss her.
Or both.

Well, he’d
wanted to know. Now he did, and the knowledge was more than he’d bargained for.

“Are you
satisfied now?”

Nowhere near,
but aloud he said, “Hmm.”

She nodded,
but her mouth turned down at the corners.

“Are you angry
that I asked?”

“No, just
disappointed.” She focused once more on the window scenery. “I’d thought after
working together at your clinic, after what we . . . ” She shook her head. “I
would’ve thought you’d know me better.”

If she’d
kicked him, she could not have wounded him more. Feeling all of two inches
tall, he knew he had to make things right with her. “Jane— ” he began.

But it was too
late. The landau had stopped and a footman was already opening the door.

The duchess
and her friends welcomed them. Jane chatted to the other guests, working her
way around the room, although all she really wanted to do was go home. On a
night where she should be excited to share her findings, she instead felt
low-spirited. Perhaps she was coming down with something.

She prevailed
upon Catherine for a room where she could gather her thoughts before the presentation.
The duchess asked if all was well, and Jane assured her it was, but was deeply
grateful for the quiet of a drawing room Catherine showed her to. Jane removed
her papers from her reticule, and went through them once more. But as the time
approached for her to make her presentation to the small gathering, all she
could think about was Richard.

Had he truly
believed all the stories? Was that why he’d kissed her in the first place? Had
he hoped to find her as immoral and shocking as the gossips wagged? But then
he’d been angry with her about not being safer? How was she supposed to
reconcile the two? Who was the real Richard Thornton? Did she really want to
know?

She shook her
head to dismiss her thoughts, and Richard Thornton as well.
Let him think
what he wants. He’s nothing to me, after all.