The Heiress Effect (Brothers Sinister #2)(64)

The silence seemed soft as velvet and yet darkly dangerous. “What might we have been?”

They both knew the answer to that. But if he spoke it aloud, he’d give it life. He’d make it real. He’d change it from an insubstantial wish into a solid possibility.

Instead, he set his finger against the divot at the base of her neck. Her breath caught as if snagged by his touch. Then he dragged his fingertips up, up, up the smooth expanse of her throat. He felt her swallow.

By the time his thumb reached her lips, he ached all over. That possible future he refused to acknowledge aloud filled him. It pushed against his skin, clamoring to be let out.

“This,” he whispered, and leaned in. “This, impossible girl.”

She made an inarticulate sound in her throat as their lips touched.

He couldn’t change her past. He refused to let go of his future. That left only the present: the warmth of her kiss, that sweet taste of something that might have been…and the bitterness of a love that would not be.

She kissed him back, lips to lips, and then tongue to tongue. She kissed him until he wasn’t sure who was kissing and who was kissing back. The kiss took on a life of its own, roaring through his blood. As if somehow, if he kissed her hard enough, he could avoid the past and the future altogether. He might stay in the present forever.

He pulled back before that impossible future became all too probable.

Jane looked up at him with wide eyes. “I hate your future wife,” she said simply.

“At the moment, I’m not much in charity with her myself.”

She set her hands on his shoulders and kissed him again. This time, though, the kiss didn’t overwhelm. It reminded. This was the last time he’d feel her lips, the last time he’d taste her breath. It was the last time he’d trade his body for hers, nibble by nibble. This was the end, and they both knew it.

He finally drew away.

“If you ever need me, Jane…” Those words came out a little hoarse.

She let out a short, sharp breath. “Thank you. But I won’t. I’m stronger than that.”

“I know. But…” He swallowed and looked away. “Nobody should feel alone. Even if you don’t need me and won’t ask for me, you should know that I’ll come. That no matter how difficult things are or what you must bear, you’re not alone. I can’t change anything else.” He reached out and drew a finger down her cheek. “But that much,” he said, “I can give you. The sure knowledge that if you need me, you need only send word.”

“Care of the Tower in London, Mr. Cromwell?”

She was trying to make a joke of it, but her voice shook.

“Care of my brother in London. The Duke of Clermont.” He leaned his head against hers. “I can’t give you anything else, Jane, but I can give you that. You’re not alone.”

Chapter Fifteen

A lamp shone in the entry of the house, and a glimmer of light echoed from down the hall, marking her uncle’s study. Other than those feeble hints at illumination, though, the house seemed cold and empty. Colder and emptier now than it had been a month ago. Oliver had transformed everything, and now he was gone.

She’d done the count in the carriage on the way home. Four hundred and fifty-three days remained.

But she was stronger now. She was more. She had the memory of a kiss to sustain her through the hardest times.

Jane handed her wraps to a yawning footman, rang for a maid to help her undress, and then started up the stairs. She’d made it halfway up before she heard footsteps in the hall below.

“Jane?” a voice called.

She bit her lip and looked upward in entreaty. The last thing she wanted to do tonight was to talk to Titus.

It wasn’t as if she had a choice. She waited, trying to disguise her impatience, hoping that he wouldn’t be able to tell that she’d wept earlier.

He plodded forward into the dim circle cast by the lamp. “I must speak with you.” He scrubbed his hand over his head. “Come to my office.”

She would much rather be in her room. She wanted to be in her bed, surrounded by a fortress of blankets, hidden safely under covers. She could block out the world until she forgot all about Oliver Marshall. Following her uncle to his office for a late-night chat sounded like an absolutely horrid thing to do.

“Of course,” she said dutifully.

But his eyes glimmered, and he frowned at her. “None of your sass.”

Maybe she hadn’t spoken as dutifully as she’d intended. She bit her tongue and followed him anyway.

He pulled out a chair for her, and then settled himself ponderously into the leather-backed seat on the other side of the wooden desk. He didn’t look at her, not for a long while. Instead, he beat his fingers against the tabletop as if he were trying to imitate the sound of raindrops.

Finally, he heaved a sigh.

“This is very important,” Uncle Titus said. “How long have you known that your sister was leaving the house during the day?”

He’d caught her off guard, or she would have done a better job of lying. But Jane was tired. She was victorious. She was heartsick. She was glorious. This night, she’d won and then she’d lost. All her energy had been devoted to maintaining her calm in front of her uncle. And so instead of the confusion she might have mustered at any other moment, there was a moment when the truth shone guiltily on her face.