One Night With You (The Derrings #3)(21)

She had envisioned the future where they might meet again, imagined his varying reactions. From mild enthusiasm to polite indifference. Yet in all the scenarios, he had never looked as he did now, with fire gleaming in his eyes. Fire for her.

The same fire—a ruthless voice inserted in her head—he had shown for Aurora. Confused, she wiggled free of his hold. This time he did not stop her as she stepped past him.

"I shall call on Julianne again," she promised.

He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes fierce and glowing. His fingertips rubbed together idly at his side, almost as if he still caressed her.

"She would like that very much," he replied at last, the muscle feathering along his square jaw belying the mildness of his response.

She glanced away, staring at the cuticles of her neatly trimmed nails. Nodding, she murmured, "You care for your sister a great deal." Perhaps too much, she silently added. Before she could think better of it, she added, "I understand you're looking for a bride."

"Do you now?" He stepped nearer, an encroaching wall of heat. "What precisely did my sister tell you?"

Her mind thought back to all Julianne had told her, recalling the slump to her shoulders as she had confessed her brother's intention to wed… and his sole criteria in selecting a wife.

"She said you're marrying because of her. To see that she is protected." Jane hesitated at sight of his scowl. "Admirable of you, to be certain… but such a sacrifice weighs heavily on your sister." He stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest, all warmth gone from his eyes as he bit out,

"You know nothing of what you speak."

"Oh? Then you're not venturing to Vauxhall tonight to take measure of a potential bride?"

"Julianne speaks too freely."

"Your sister has no wish to be the reason for your marrying anyone. It's unfair to place such a burden on her—"

"You presume too much," he ground out, "to think your opinion matters here." Stung, she swallowed back the sudden lump in her throat. "Perhaps I spoke out of turn, but I'm only thinking of your sister."

Not myself. Not the knot of discomfort in my belly at the thought of you marrying.

"You mentioned needing to be off, my lady," Seth said, cold, implacable, a man cut from stone, the thrilling intimacy of moments ago gone. "Do not let me keep you a moment more." He sketched a quick bow.

She watched his rigid back stride away before she moved down the corridor to the entrance hall. A footman appeared with her cloak, bonnet, and reticule. Accepting her things, she forced herself to walk steadily outside. Inhaling the crisp air, she blinked several times to quell the moisture that gathered in her eyes, reminding herself that she had survived years without Seth's affections. The lack did not matter now. She would not revert to childhood, would not long for what could never be.

And when news reached her that the Earl of St. Claire had married, she would not feel a thing, would not feel that same stab in the region of her heart that she had felt the day in the orchard when she realized Seth would never love her.

It was not until she sat safe in her carriage that she allowed the tears to fall.





Chapter 11


Jane braced herself upon entering the Guthrie townhouse. Holding her breath, she stood in the foyer and listened with her head cocked. Blessed silence. No walls crashing down. No frenzied servants. No girlish screams reaching her ears.

She expelled her breath, feeling some of the tension ebb from her neck. No doubt she would face unpleasantness for leaving her nieces with Anna and daring to partake in a fragment of the social niceties that had once filled her days, but she was glad for the respite and would not regret her time with Seth.

However impossible their flirtation, his attentions, his mouth on her neck, the way his gaze burned through her, would be something she clung to in the years ahead. A throat cleared behind her and the tension returned, streaking through her shoulders. Turning, she eyed the butler. A stone-faced sentry, Barclay wore his usual mask of civility. His stare impassive, he intoned, "Mr. Billings awaits you in his study, my lady." She tugged free her gloves, despising the way her hands shook at the mention of Desmond. His study. Even the butler considered Desmond lord and master now. Forget that she was the viscountess. Forget that Matthew was the true viscount. One widow lacking a jointure and a boy halfway across the country did not command respect.

Jane twisted her gloves in her hands, her mind racing, searching for a way to delay, if not avoid the meeting altogether.

As though reading her mind, Barclay added, "Mr. Billings said I was to direct you there at once. Personally."

Jane dropped her gloves on the hall table and smoothed moist palms over her skirts. "Is Mrs. Billings at home?"

"No, my lady."

She inhaled thinly through her nostrils. With their last encounter fresh in her head, she had no wish to see him alone. True, he did not know she had been the woman he accosted at Madame Fleur's, but she knew. And her skin still crawled at the memory.

"Would you send for Anna?"

"Mr. Billings sent Anna on an errand, my lady."

She narrowed her gaze on the butler. Errand indeed. Since when did Desmond use Anna for errands? The wretch clearly wanted her to himself.

Squaring her shoulders, she advanced to the study, determined to present a brave front. In broad daylight, in a house full of servants, he would surely behave himself. Stopping before the tall double doors she rapped twice, waiting for his command to enter, trying not to fidget.