One Night With You (The Derrings #3)(51)

Her breathing grew ragged, filling the silence. His hand, large and burning through the thin cotton of her gown, uncurled over her rib cage, sliding upward until he lifted her breast higher between his forefinger and thumb.

The harsh rasp of his breath mingled with her own. His thumb shifted, sliding over her nipple, grazing the peak. She bit her lip to stop from crying out.

His thumb moved faster, rotating in small circles over the turgid crest, his touch growing firmer, harder until he finally squeezed, rolling her nipple between two fingers, the sweet pain of it ripping a loud sob from her throat.

As if her cry woke him from a spell, he blinked and dropped his hand. Clearing his throat, he dragged a shaking hand through his hair.

Lifting his glittering gaze, he commanded hoarsely, "Dammit, Jane, go." Bewildered, she shook her head. "I don't understand—"

"Go!" he shouted.

Sucking in a ragged breath, she snatched her wrapper off the floor. With as much dignity as she could manage, she shrugged into it.

In a blink, she was nineteen again, stumbling upon Marcus with Berthe. On that day, she had realized he had no need for her either.

And now, mere days into her second marriage, another husband had turned her from his bed. The humiliation burned at the backs of her eyes.

"I see." And she did. Perfectly. Resisting the overwhelming urge to lash out at him, to wound as she felt wounded, she spun around to leave.

"Jane, wait." His hand fell on her arm, hard as granite as he forced her around. Before he could say anything, words tumbled from her mouth in a furious torrent, "I don't suppose you shall live as a monk."

Her frowned, saying nothing.

She snorted, attempting to twist free from his hold. "I know all about the faithfulness of husbands. You shall not be lonely, I am certain."

Something in the brown of his eyes softened. "Was that the way of it, then?"

"No," she snapped, despising him in that moment. She would not have his pity. The need to hurt, to lash out, burned a fire in her chest, fueling her. Before she could consider the wisdom of her words, she spit out, "We may not share a bed, but don't expect me to live as a nun. I've walked that path before and I won't again."

"Tread carefully, dear wife," he growled, the endearment a foul epithet on his lips as he pulled her closer. "No man will have what is mine." Despite the softness of his voice, his words fell roughly on her ears.

" Yours?" She struggled against his hold, laughing wildly. "It takes more than the words of a reverend to accomplish that."

He shoved his face closer, brown eyes so close she could see the countless flecks of amber burning feverishly in the centers. "Don't push me, Jane."

"Or what?"

Their rasping breaths mingled. His eyes dropped to her mouth and for a moment she thought he would kiss her— prayed he would. Instead he flung her from him with a stinging curse.

"Look at us." He laughed mirthlessly. "Days married and already at each other's throats." Yes. And why? Because of her. Because she wanted more. Wanted him. Would she have a child's tantrum because her husband did not want her in his bed?

Suddenly shamed, she peeled his fingers from her arms. "We won't fight anymore."

"We won't?" he asked, a dark brow arching in skepticism.

"I understand now. I thought I did before. But I didn't." Despite her claims, she had harbored hopes that their marriage of convenience might lead to something more. A marriage in the truest sense.

He stared, his jaw flexing as he waited.

Moistening her lips, she announced, "You ended up with the wrong sister—"

"Don't drag her into this," he cut in.

Her heart twisted. "Do you love her still?" she asked, knowing she sounded jealous and foolish, but she couldn't stop herself. She had to know if he still loved Madeline. If Madeline would always be there, a wall between them, she best find out now.

"She has nothing to do with us."

Not precisely the answer she sought.

"She has everything to do with us. You're punishing me because of her—"

"That's not true."

"No?" She angled her head. "If Aurora had turned out to be another woman, any woman besides me, would you be sleeping alone tonight?"

She waited, her breath lodged deep in her chest.

He stared at her in silence, his eyes dark and unfathomable. A muscle ticked in his jaw, the only sign that she perhaps struck a nerve.

The silence grew, a terrible thing between them, confirming that it was Jane he found objectionable. Finished standing before him, an offering that he would refuse as if foul, she swallowed down the thickness in her throat. Gathering the scraps of dignity left to her, she thrust her chin forward. "Forgive me for disturbing you." 7 won't do so again.

"Jane," he called, but she had already passed through the door. Even knowing he would never cross its threshold, she locked it behind her, collapsing against its solid length, her chest heaving as if she just raced a great distance.

He knocked, the wood reverberating at her back. "Jane, let's talk about—"

"We've talked enough. Good night, Seth."

She held her breath, waiting to see if he would say more, unsure whether she wanted him to or not… knowing she wanted to hear what he could never say.