One Night With You (The Derrings #3)(53)

Heat warmed her cheeks. Jane splayed a hand over her belly and rubbed idly. "Clearly I am not immune to him. He is an attractive man."

"And that's the sum of it, then." Anna smirked, cocking a bushy gray brow. "He's merely…

attractive."

"Of course," Jane said, fighting the wave of emotion that told her she lied. Leaning down, Anna removed the pins from Jane's hair, shaking the heavy mass free. "Rest. All this excitement…" She clucked and shook her salt-and-peppered head in disapproval. "First that rushed business of a wedding—"

"I had a church wedding once," Jane interrupted. "It's not everything."

"Then that ill-conceived honeymoon. You've no business traveling in your condition," Anna continued as if she had not spoken. "You need peace and quiet. Let your mind and body settle." With a decisive nod, Anna shoved to her feet. Jane grabbed her hand, stopping her.

"Anna…" she hesitated, scanning the woman's heavily lined face, needing approval from the woman who had been more of a mother to her than her own. "Have I disappointed you?" Her hand curled over her stomach protectively, almost as if she wanted to shelter the child within. Shock crossed Anna's face. "You? Never." Moving close, she smoothed a chapped palm over Jane's brow. "You're a good girl. Misused by the very people God intended to love you, is the sorry truth. You'll have a child to love now. Who will love you back." Her lips twitched and her eyes twinkled with humor. "And you're with the boy you always loved. You deserve no less." Jane shook her head fiercely, seeing no humor in her present predicament. Anna continued, "You may fool yourself, but I know you. You never stopped loving that boy." Jane fought the sudden, infuriating burn of tears in her eyes, wishing she could deny the claim. Swiping the back of her hand against her eyes, resolve steeled her nerves. She may love him, but she would not torment herself with the hopes that he could love her back. Seth sought refuge in his bedchamber. He needed to greet his sister, but not before he collected himself. Not before he gained control of his raging lust.

Pacing the room's length, he dragged both hands through his hair, cursing when he realized how they shook.

Damn her. And damn him. He couldn't even touch her in the most innocent way without fondling her. How was he to keep his hands to himself?

He had defined the parameters of their marriage. He could not change the rules now. Not without looking a bloody ass. Not without revealing himself weak and without control—precisely the type of man he vowed not to become. He'd lost control before. He would not permit a woman to hold such power over him again.

Not that he needed to worry. Even if he failed and succumbed, she would never give him another chance. Not after he rebuffed her. He'd seen the look in her eyes that night. The utter devastation. The deep hurt. He had felt its echo in his own heart, so much that he almost surrendered. Almost caved and took her in his arms, claimed her body as he yearned.

She hardly looked at him now. And when she did, her gaze flitted over him as if he were nothing—something to be scraped off the bottom of her shoe.

He sighed. At least it kept her from coming to his room in the dead of night garbed in a nightgown that did more to accentuate her curves than disguise.

He could never survive that. Not again. It had killed him to watch her walk away when every inch of him wanted to strip her bare and sink himself to the hilt in her softness, to join with the body that haunted his nights.

If only the woman who drove him mad with desire weren't Jane—weren't his wife. If only he didn't feel his control slip each time he looked at her.





Chapter 22


Jane smoothed her hands over her wide pleated skirts. The blue and yellow striped dimity was heaven to behold. No more ghastly black. She could have wept with elation. It had taken less than a week to outfit her with a new wardrobe. The little Frenchwoman Seth had sent wasted no time, barking orders with military precision. Even Anna jumped to her commands. In a flash, the seamstress had stripped her wardrobe with the clipped command,

"burn them" and began measuring Jane for ball gowns, day dresses, riding habits, nightgowns, filmy undergarments that made her blush. Nothing was overlooked, including future clothing for her confinement.

Pulling on the tidy white cuffs of her dress, she knocked on the door to Seth's office, anxious to see his reaction to her new attire, to show him that she could look the part of a countess—even if a name only wife.

They had not seen each other since he deposited her in her bedchamber, leaving her to Anna's care. His summons today mystified her.

His voice carried through the door, bidding her enter.

Squaring her shoulders, she fixed a neutral expression on her face and did her best to ignore the way her blood rushed at seeing him. He sat behind his desk, papers and ledgers littering the surface. Strands of golden brown hair fell over his forehead. As always her fingers itched to touch his hair, to delve through the sun-kissed mess and push it back from his brow.

"Jane," he greeted, his gaze sweeping over her as he rose to his feet, tossing his hair back with a shake of his head.

Her fingers flew to her clammy cheek, realizing she mustn't look her best despite her lovely new gown. With each day, she felt as if she were being turned inside out. Her stomach a rolling, twisting beast that dictated her actions. Every smell, good or bad, had her covering her nose, fearful to draw too deep a breath lest she become sick.