One Night With You (The Derrings #3)(50)

Chapter 21


Three nights and Seth had not come. Jane spent her days alone, discounting the occasional company of Mrs. Lowery. Seth occupied himself with estate business. Presumably The cottage required a great deal of attention. She had gleaned from conversations with Mrs. Lowery that Albert had not given the seaside manor much care over the years, more concerned with the Priory and the profits yielded from the labors of its many tenants. Sound justification for Seth's absence she supposed.

And yet she spent her nights staring into the dark, waiting, listening, her body hungering for his touch, aching to hear his footsteps in the adjoining room, praying they would cross the threshold into her room.

Jane read the pity in the housekeeper's eyes and did her best to appear unbothered by Seth's neglect. She had been duly warned. A practical arrangement, he had said. She should not harbor expectations for anything else. Yet she could not help herself. Longing had wormed its way into her heart.

Her days fell into a pattern. Nausea plagued her in the mornings, leaving her weak and shaken as a newborn foal. On those mornings, she told herself it was best that Seth left her alone. It would only embarrass her for him to see her in such a condition.

She felt improved enough in the afternoons to take lunch. Alone in the dining room, a silent footman hovering in the corner, she picked at her meal, staving off the aching loneliness and disappointment she had no business feeling. Especially understanding full well the sort of marriage she had entered. She was no stranger to loneliness, no stranger to an empty marriage bed.

Walks on the beach were her one solace. She strolled up and down the stretch of pale sand, her pace brisk, as if she could leave herself and the hollowness inside her chest behind with each step. Eventually, she had to stop and return to the house to prepare herself for dinner. Tiresome affairs where Seth sat cold and distant across from her.

Something had happened since the day they arrived. A change had come over him, as tangible as the salt in the sea air that tickled her tongue. He spoke little… looked at her even less. The man she married had become as cold and unrelenting as stone.

Sitting at her dressing table after another grim dinner, Jane brushed her hair until it crackled and shone in the lamplight. Her gaze drifted to the adjoining door. She knew it would not be locked. She knew because she had tested it earlier in the day, when there had been no risk of running into Seth. Curious, she had investigated his chamber, trailing her hand over the brocade counterpane, bringing his dressing robe to her nose for a lingering smell.

Rising from the bench, she rose and approached the adjoining door. Her heart fluttered like a wild bird in her chest as she eyed the thin line of light glowing beneath. He had wanted her once. Perhaps he could again.

Ignoring the nagging little voice that whispered through her mind, He did not know it was you, she dragged a breath into her lungs and rapped twice.

At his muffled command, she squared her shoulders and swept inside the room.

"Forgive the interruption," she began, watching as his lean form rose from the bed in one motion. Muscles danced beneath the fine lawn of his half-opened shirt like wind on water. He moved like a jungle cat. Swift and purposeful.

Her mouth dried, suddenly uncertain now that she stood before him.

"Jane," he acknowledged, his deep voice a drag of silk against her highly sensitive nerves. At her silence, he pressed, "Is there something you wanted?"

Was it not evident? She stood in the midst of his bedchamber in her nightgown, shaking like the sea wind against the shutter. Heat swept up her face. "I thought you may have use for me tonight."

Use of her? She cringed. Blast it. She made herself sound like a handkerchief to be used and discarded.

"I—I mean to say, I thought you might desire my company."

The word desire hung in the air like smoke between them.

Crossing his arms, he studied her in brooding silence, his eyes skimming her, from the top of her head to her bare toes peeping beneath the hem of her nightgown. His jaw hardened, the uneven line of his scar stark as ever against his face, leaving no doubt that he understood her meaning perfectly.

"You are familiar with my reasons for wanting a wife."

Like sand settling to a riverbed, dread sank in the pit of her belly. She braced herself, knowing he would say more and knowing she would not like it, knowing she had been a fool to come to him, to expect more when he had warned her against such longings.

"Indeed." Her legs trembled beneath her. "You wished for a wife that could care for your sister. Oh, and provide the requisite heir."

His brown eyes glimmered darkly in the dim room and he gave a quick nod. "Anything more is superfluous."

Superfluous.

The word blew a chill through her heart.

Instead of fleeing as common sense—pride—urged, she fiddled with the ribbon that tied her wrapper at the front.

His gaze dropped to that gossamer-thin ribbon keeping her wrapper closed. A sudden charge of energy filled the air, raising the tiny hairs at the back of her neck. His hand lifted with a dreamlike slowness and her breath lodged in her throat. He stepped closer. Eyes wide and unblinking, she watched as his fingers unraveled the ribbon and pushed her wrapper from her shoulders in one smooth motion. It fell to the carpet with a whisper, puddling around her bare feet.

His fingers skimmed the thin cotton of her nightgown, down between the valley of her breasts. Eyes darkening, his touch grew bolder, moving to the outside swell of one breast, tracing the rounded outline with agonizing gentleness.