One Night With You (The Derrings #3)(22)

"Come in."

Sucking in a breath, she entered the room, noticing as she did that it smelled of leather and cigars—the smell she still associated with Marcus over a year later. Desmond reclined in her late husband's chair, feet propped up on the mahogany desk, one of his brother's imported cigars clamped between his teeth.

"Jane, m'dear, I was beginning to worry."

Spine rigid as a slat of wood, she eased into the chair across from the desk, not fooled by his display of solicitousness. "I left word of my whereabouts."

"Yes, you called on Lady Julianne. Blind, isn't she?" He shook off his cigar into an ivory ashtray.

"How charitable of you." His gaze grew shifty, speculative as he brought the cigar back to his lips. "Word is her brother's in the market for a wife," he said around the moistened end. Jane carefully schooled her features to reflect none of her surprise. It appeared Seth's intention to take a bride was already public knowledge.

"I wouldn't know about that," she lied, lacing her fingers together in her lap.

"Ah." Desmond dropped his feet to the floor with a thud, surveying her gray gown until she felt as though he had stripped her of every last stitch of fabric. "Chloris thinks it unseemly for you to engage in Society so soon after Marcus's death, and I must convey my agreement."

"It has been over a year. Enough time—"

"On the contrary. Given the shocking nature of Desmond's death—"

"You mean dying in the bed of his mistress?" Jane lifted her chin, seeing no point in skirting the reality of matters. "Not so shocking, that." Especially considering Marcus spent most of his time in other women's beds.

Desmond rounded the desk, shaking his head ruefully. "Perhaps not. But an unfortunate bit of scandal, nonetheless. And your insistence at rejoining Society so soon after such scandal has most distressed Chloris. And Chloris unhappy—" He broke off to shake his head. "Well, let us just say that an unhappy Chloris can be a bit of a trial for anyone."

"Then perhaps it would be in everyone's interest if I left," Jane suggested, doing her best to keep the ring of hope from her voice.

Immediately following Marcus's death, she had not pressed on the matter of leaving, believing Matthew needed one friendly face around when he came home on holiday, someone to stand as a buffer between him and Desmond's bullying. But Jane had reached a point where her instincts demanded she look to herself.

"Perhaps," he murmured, his gaze trailing over her lazily.

"I can retire to the dower house," she recommended. "As many expected I would, following Marcus's death."

"But Jane, dear." He clucked his tongue and reached out to brush his knuckles against her cheek.

"I enjoy having you underfoot."

She flinched and pulled away from his touch.

He scowled. "Does my touch repulse you so? I daresay someone in your position should not be so particular."

"My position?"

"You are without funds. And seeing as your family has no interest in claiming you, you are at my mercy. Even the clothes on your back belong to me."

"No," she countered, heat stinging her face. "They don't belong to you." He grimaced and then sniffed, flicking a hand at his lacy cravat. "Yes, well. Your clothes belong to an eleven-year-old boy that I happen to hold dominion over."

"You take perverse pleasure in having me beneath your thumb," she accused, "using me as you would a servant."

"Oh, Jane." His gaze raked her in a way that made her feel soiled and in need of a bath. "I want you beneath more than my thumb."

Quivering with indignation, she pushed to her feet, ready to flee the room. "You're disgusting." His hands seized her arms. "Jane," he murmured, his gaze prowling her face as though searching for a point of invasion. "You must know I'm mad for you. Since Marcus married you, I've wanted you."

"Let me go or I shall call for help."

He released her, his bottom lip protruding in a sulk that reminded her of his daughters' when denied a treat.

She moved back several paces, putting distance between them. "If you're so concerned with your wife's happiness, let me assure you that molesting me will not garner her favor."

"I can give you what you want, Jane. A house of your own again. Beautiful dresses. The freedom you crave—"

"As your mistress?" She snorted. "That sounds like a prison sentence."

"No one need know. We can be discreet." He paused, motioning to her person. "How long can you live like this? The pathetic relation dressed like an old crow?" Jane shook her head in disbelief. "You think a few pretty dresses will convince me to become your mistress?"

"We'll see how long it takes you to change your mind." His lip curled back against his teeth. "I'll have you yet."

With as much dignity as she could manage, she turned for the door.

"Oh, I almost neglected to tell you."

Jane glanced over her shoulder, unease trickling down her neck at his strangely amiable tone.

"I've taken the liberty in seeing your wardrobe relieved of anything save black. I've also acquisitioned your jewelry since you have no need of it while in mourning." Apprehension fluttered low in her belly. Had he found the necklace among her things? She had hid it, but who knew how thorough his search of her room.