mother’s evening gowns, which she had never even considered throwing away. She would wear the bold purple, the most elegant, expensive one of the lot. And she would have Molly put her hair up. No more braids for her! And a bustle, she would have to find a bustle. And he would look at her and be stricken by her beauty and …
Jane smiled. She ran to the door, flung it open, and yelled for Molly.
When the earl saw that three places were set in the dining room, he actually smiled. Then, of course, remembering their meal together at noon, remembering his purposeful rudeness, he felt a tide of shame rising.
“Who is joining us?” Amelia cried in dismay.
“I am” came a sweet voice from behind them. They both turned. Amelia gasped, and for an instant, the earl’s mouth hung open.
What in hell had she done?
Jane’s hair was piled high on top of her head. She was so small and fragile and she had so much hair that the effect was unbalanced and ridiculous. She wore a vibrant purple gown, sleeveless and low-cut. The color was all wrong for her—she was too pale, she should be wearing pastels. And the gown and oversize bustle were meant for a woman built like Amelia. On Jane it didn’t just reveal that she was slender, in fact, it made her look breastless and hipless when Nick knew damn well she was not.
Amelia started to giggle.
The earl shot her a look with imminent murder on his mind. Her smile vanished. Nick said, “This is the Duke of Clarendon’s grandaughter, Jane. She is my ward.”
That truly shut Amelia up. She stared, eyes narrowed now.
The earl turned to Jane. She was staring up at him with such a hopeful look that he had the urge to lift her in his arms, carry her away on a white horse, and be her knight in shining armor. Which was, of course, impossible. He was no knight in shining armor. He would not carry her away to a happy fairyland, he would ruin her and hurt her and toss her aside. After all, he was a depraved son of a bitch. Even his wife, whom he had once stupidly loved, had thought so.
The earl gestured for both women to precede him in. He saw Jane’s fallen look. What had she been expecting? Him to tell her she looked beautiful while swooning at her feet? He started after them. Amelia paused so she could cling to him as they rounded the table. He saw Jane surreptitiously tugging up the bodice of her dress, which looked to be in imminent danger of falling to her waist. I will have to get her some clothes , he thought grimly.
Amelia whispered loudly, “You must do something about that poor child’s wardobe, darling. Perhaps I can be of assistance.”
The earl froze. Jane, of course, had heard. Calmly he said, “But I don’t want her dressing like a whore.”
Amelia gasped.
Jane had frozen, and she was white, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.
Nick wished fervently that he was anywhere but there. He found himself taking Jane’s arm, his grip firm but gentle. He seated her. He knew she was surprised at his sudden manners, but what wrenched at him was how damn fragile she appeared, how bravely she was fighting the tears. Her mouth trembled. He wanted to kiss her wildly.
Amelia was clearly furious. Nick didn’t care. She was a bitch for what she had done. He refused to seat her, standing instead, impatiently waiting for her to take her seat or leave. She finally accepted defeat and sat. Nick signaled to Thomas, indicating he should pour Jane’s wine first. He knew she was gazing at him gratefully, adoringly, so he ignored her.
Supper was a silent affair.
And Jane was kicking herself for coming.
She had known the dress was wrong the instant she had looked in the mirror, hadn’t she? But Molly had encouraged her. Molly had watched, wide-eyed, awed by the expensiveness of the garment. Molly had told her she looked elegant. What did a maid know? She didn’t look elegant, she looked like a clown, or a little girl playing grown-up, which was worse.
His mistress had been
Jane smiled. She ran to the door, flung it open, and yelled for Molly.
When the earl saw that three places were set in the dining room, he actually smiled. Then, of course, remembering their meal together at noon, remembering his purposeful rudeness, he felt a tide of shame rising.
“Who is joining us?” Amelia cried in dismay.
“I am” came a sweet voice from behind them. They both turned. Amelia gasped, and for an instant, the earl’s mouth hung open.
What in hell had she done?
Jane’s hair was piled high on top of her head. She was so small and fragile and she had so much hair that the effect was unbalanced and ridiculous. She wore a vibrant purple gown, sleeveless and low-cut. The color was all wrong for her—she was too pale, she should be wearing pastels. And the gown and oversize bustle were meant for a woman built like Amelia. On Jane it didn’t just reveal that she was slender, in fact, it made her look breastless and hipless when Nick knew damn well she was not.
Amelia started to giggle.
The earl shot her a look with imminent murder on his mind. Her smile vanished. Nick said, “This is the Duke of Clarendon’s grandaughter, Jane. She is my ward.”
That truly shut Amelia up. She stared, eyes narrowed now.
The earl turned to Jane. She was staring up at him with such a hopeful look that he had the urge to lift her in his arms, carry her away on a white horse, and be her knight in shining armor. Which was, of course, impossible. He was no knight in shining armor. He would not carry her away to a happy fairyland, he would ruin her and hurt her and toss her aside. After all, he was a depraved son of a bitch. Even his wife, whom he had once stupidly loved, had thought so.
The earl gestured for both women to precede him in. He saw Jane’s fallen look. What had she been expecting? Him to tell her she looked beautiful while swooning at her feet? He started after them. Amelia paused so she could cling to him as they rounded the table. He saw Jane surreptitiously tugging up the bodice of her dress, which looked to be in imminent danger of falling to her waist. I will have to get her some clothes , he thought grimly.
Amelia whispered loudly, “You must do something about that poor child’s wardobe, darling. Perhaps I can be of assistance.”
The earl froze. Jane, of course, had heard. Calmly he said, “But I don’t want her dressing like a whore.”
Amelia gasped.
Jane had frozen, and she was white, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.
Nick wished fervently that he was anywhere but there. He found himself taking Jane’s arm, his grip firm but gentle. He seated her. He knew she was surprised at his sudden manners, but what wrenched at him was how damn fragile she appeared, how bravely she was fighting the tears. Her mouth trembled. He wanted to kiss her wildly.
Amelia was clearly furious. Nick didn’t care. She was a bitch for what she had done. He refused to seat her, standing instead, impatiently waiting for her to take her seat or leave. She finally accepted defeat and sat. Nick signaled to Thomas, indicating he should pour Jane’s wine first. He knew she was gazing at him gratefully, adoringly, so he ignored her.
Supper was a silent affair.
And Jane was kicking herself for coming.
She had known the dress was wrong the instant she had looked in the mirror, hadn’t she? But Molly had encouraged her. Molly had watched, wide-eyed, awed by the expensiveness of the garment. Molly had told her she looked elegant. What did a maid know? She didn’t look elegant, she looked like a clown, or a little girl playing grown-up, which was worse.
His mistress had been
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