laughing at her.
Jane had known, by the shock on the earl’s face, that she was a disaster. But for once he was kind. He hadn’t said a thing, he was treating her like an adult, he had even cut Amelia to the quick. But still, it was too late. Jane wanted to cry. She was a skinny, hopeless thing, and she could not compete with the lush beauty of his mistress. She wanted to run to her room and hide. But she would not.
She was not going to leave them alone together. Not if she could help it.
She could not eat. She didn’t even try. The wine alleviated some of her misery. It started to soothe the hurt. She found that she could not take her eyes off of the earl’s handsome profile. He was magnificent. Looking at him thrilled her. And he was kind. He had been kind tonight. He had been kind to her.
Then, after the main course, Amelia broke the silence and began flirting with the earl. It sickened Jane. It brought back the misery, and something more: jealousy. The earl did not respond. His answers were monosyllabic, more grunts than anything else. That did not stop Amelia, who laughed and chattered gaily, as if he had not practically called her a whore to her face. She stroked his hand, he removed it. She pushed her breast against his shoulder. This time he did not move away, but responded to whatever nonsense she was asking him. Jane wished lightning would strike her plumed headdress and sizzle every hair off of her red head. Leaving her bald.
“Amelia,” Nick finally said curtly, “I do not care about the goddamn Arlington’s ball.”
Amelia was silent.
He looked at Jane, to find her studying her full plate. He scowled. If Amelia was not there he would have cut her off from the red wine a long time ago, but he didn’t want to treat her like a child in front of the other woman. Not after what she’d done. He hoped she wasn’t drunk. She didn’t seem drunk. And, thank God, she was no longer making calf’s eyes at him.
“Shall we adjourn?” he asked, rising.
Amelia touched his hand with a laugh. “That’s my line, darling.”
He ignored her. He watched Jane stand and saw her sway slightly. She moved unsteadily away from the chair, bumped into the table. Amelia was watching too, wide-eyed and definitely gleeful. “Nick! She’s—”
The earl clapped his hand over Amelia’s mouth before she could utter another word. “Go to the drawing room, Amelia, and await me there,” he said softly.
She stared at him.
He wondered if he should throw her out now, or if he should use her to alleviate some of his own physical distress and then throw her out. He took Jane’s arm. “I’ll see you to your room.”
Jane gazed up at him with those big blue eyes, filled with infatuation. She smiled. It was beautiful and sweet and she was beautiful and sweet and Nick felt the terrible stabbing in his heart. “Awright,” she said, slurring softly.
They started to walk and her hip bumped his. He pretended not to notice. They moved past Amelia, who was red with anger. Jane was very unsteady on her feet. In the doorway she tripped on the Persian rug. The earl instantly did what his instincts had been clamoring for him to do: he swept her up into his arms. She weighed nothing.
She gazed at him.
He pounded up the steps. She was soft and warm and she smelled fresh and sweet. She clung to him. Her hair was spilling from its coif. He felt it tickling the back of his hands, softer than silk. Nick would not look at her. He didn’t dare. Another glimpse of her lovestruck eyes and he would be lost …
He was getting hot. His groin was aching, swelling. Just from the feel of her in his arms … he was in serious trouble.
Not that he would ever touch her.
He nudged open her door with his shoe and laid her atop the white, lacy covering of her bed. As he did, his gaze fell to her face. Her eyes were half closed, lidded with the sensuous look of a woman about to be bedded. She was as aroused from being in his arms as he was excited
Jane had known, by the shock on the earl’s face, that she was a disaster. But for once he was kind. He hadn’t said a thing, he was treating her like an adult, he had even cut Amelia to the quick. But still, it was too late. Jane wanted to cry. She was a skinny, hopeless thing, and she could not compete with the lush beauty of his mistress. She wanted to run to her room and hide. But she would not.
She was not going to leave them alone together. Not if she could help it.
She could not eat. She didn’t even try. The wine alleviated some of her misery. It started to soothe the hurt. She found that she could not take her eyes off of the earl’s handsome profile. He was magnificent. Looking at him thrilled her. And he was kind. He had been kind tonight. He had been kind to her.
Then, after the main course, Amelia broke the silence and began flirting with the earl. It sickened Jane. It brought back the misery, and something more: jealousy. The earl did not respond. His answers were monosyllabic, more grunts than anything else. That did not stop Amelia, who laughed and chattered gaily, as if he had not practically called her a whore to her face. She stroked his hand, he removed it. She pushed her breast against his shoulder. This time he did not move away, but responded to whatever nonsense she was asking him. Jane wished lightning would strike her plumed headdress and sizzle every hair off of her red head. Leaving her bald.
“Amelia,” Nick finally said curtly, “I do not care about the goddamn Arlington’s ball.”
Amelia was silent.
He looked at Jane, to find her studying her full plate. He scowled. If Amelia was not there he would have cut her off from the red wine a long time ago, but he didn’t want to treat her like a child in front of the other woman. Not after what she’d done. He hoped she wasn’t drunk. She didn’t seem drunk. And, thank God, she was no longer making calf’s eyes at him.
“Shall we adjourn?” he asked, rising.
Amelia touched his hand with a laugh. “That’s my line, darling.”
He ignored her. He watched Jane stand and saw her sway slightly. She moved unsteadily away from the chair, bumped into the table. Amelia was watching too, wide-eyed and definitely gleeful. “Nick! She’s—”
The earl clapped his hand over Amelia’s mouth before she could utter another word. “Go to the drawing room, Amelia, and await me there,” he said softly.
She stared at him.
He wondered if he should throw her out now, or if he should use her to alleviate some of his own physical distress and then throw her out. He took Jane’s arm. “I’ll see you to your room.”
Jane gazed up at him with those big blue eyes, filled with infatuation. She smiled. It was beautiful and sweet and she was beautiful and sweet and Nick felt the terrible stabbing in his heart. “Awright,” she said, slurring softly.
They started to walk and her hip bumped his. He pretended not to notice. They moved past Amelia, who was red with anger. Jane was very unsteady on her feet. In the doorway she tripped on the Persian rug. The earl instantly did what his instincts had been clamoring for him to do: he swept her up into his arms. She weighed nothing.
She gazed at him.
He pounded up the steps. She was soft and warm and she smelled fresh and sweet. She clung to him. Her hair was spilling from its coif. He felt it tickling the back of his hands, softer than silk. Nick would not look at her. He didn’t dare. Another glimpse of her lovestruck eyes and he would be lost …
He was getting hot. His groin was aching, swelling. Just from the feel of her in his arms … he was in serious trouble.
Not that he would ever touch her.
He nudged open her door with his shoe and laid her atop the white, lacy covering of her bed. As he did, his gaze fell to her face. Her eyes were half closed, lidded with the sensuous look of a woman about to be bedded. She was as aroused from being in his arms as he was excited
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