from carrying her. He was stunned. Slowly her head fell back to the pillows, her darkened gaze on him, lips parted, wet and full. His hands were still beneath her. It was reflexive—his glance roamed down, and he froze. Her bodice had fallen, revealing her breasts.
He couldn’t move. She was fuller than he’d imagined, actually voluptuous for a petite girl, each breast round and high and a perfect handful. Her nipples were the pink of a virgin. Pink and pointed, tiny and tight. She moaned, her head going back, offering him her lovely throat and lovelier breasts.
He wanted to touch her. He didn’t.
She turned her head to look at him, nostrils flared, eyes hot and bright. She lifted a hand, imploring. “Please,” she said throatily.
“Damn,” the earl croaked, leaping up from the bed. He had to get away from her. Because if he didn’t, he would touch her, kiss her, take her.
“Oh, God!” Jane cried, her hand flying to her forehead. “Don’t move like that!” And then she leapt up herself, her face green now, sliding to the floor and staggering to the chamber pot. She began retching.
Desire fled, sympathy and concern welled. Nick found himself beside her, kneeling, supporting her. When she had finished vomiting all the wine, she started to weep.
“Are you in pain?” he asked anxiously. “Let me take you to the bed.”
She shook her head, sobbing.
He thought she was finished, so very, very carefully, he lifted her and carried her to the bed. “Jane, don’t cry,” he ordered helplessly.
“Oh, God, how could I make such a fool of myself …” She rolled onto her stomach.
She kept crying. He wanted to touch her but was afraid to. Not because of desire, for he was now under control. Still, she was just a child, little different from Chad. He ignored the image of her young, ripe breasts that immediately taunted his mind. Shakily he reached out and tangled his hand in her hair. He gasped from the sheer pleasure of it.
“How quaint,” Amelia said through gritted teeth from the doorway.
Nick withdrew his hand as if he’d been burned, standing.
“Are you blushing?” Amelia asked incredulously.
The earl knew he was. He spoke quietly to Jane’s back. “I’ll send up Molly with water and some toast. It will be here on your bed table. You will probably be thirsty and hungry in a few hours.”
There was no reply. She was asleep. The earl turned away, to his mistress, who was waiting.
11
Jane felt miserable.
Somehow she had dragged herself out of bed and had managed to get dressed. It was just past noon. She was suffering from acute nausea and a headache and, worse, complete recollection of the night before. In the act of brushing her hair, tears welled in her eyes and she could not fight them. They spilled down her cheeks.
She had shown him just what a child she was.
The humiliation was unbearable.
The purple gown that Sandra had worn with such aplomb lay draped on the chintz chaise. Jane hated it. She wasn’t her mother, didn’t even look like her mother, would never be her mother. Her mother had been stunningly beautiful and perfectly curved. Her mother had had hundreds of men dying for her love. Her mother had been an actress … Jane was nobody.
She crumpled onto the chaise. She would never forget the look of malicious delight on Amelia’s face when she had seen Jane in her mother’s finery; worse, she would never forget the earl’s shock. And she had thrown up while in his arms!
When she had been determined to gain his attention, she had never meant to do it like that!
She could not, would not, face him.
Jane made her way to the nursery where Chad and Governess Randall were having lunch. The odor of baked cod turned her insides upside down. The little boy leapt up to greet her with a squeal of delight. Jane patted his shoulder. She could not eat. She needed air.
Then she became aware of his presence.
Before Jane even turned to look at the doorway, she knew he was there,
He couldn’t move. She was fuller than he’d imagined, actually voluptuous for a petite girl, each breast round and high and a perfect handful. Her nipples were the pink of a virgin. Pink and pointed, tiny and tight. She moaned, her head going back, offering him her lovely throat and lovelier breasts.
He wanted to touch her. He didn’t.
She turned her head to look at him, nostrils flared, eyes hot and bright. She lifted a hand, imploring. “Please,” she said throatily.
“Damn,” the earl croaked, leaping up from the bed. He had to get away from her. Because if he didn’t, he would touch her, kiss her, take her.
“Oh, God!” Jane cried, her hand flying to her forehead. “Don’t move like that!” And then she leapt up herself, her face green now, sliding to the floor and staggering to the chamber pot. She began retching.
Desire fled, sympathy and concern welled. Nick found himself beside her, kneeling, supporting her. When she had finished vomiting all the wine, she started to weep.
“Are you in pain?” he asked anxiously. “Let me take you to the bed.”
She shook her head, sobbing.
He thought she was finished, so very, very carefully, he lifted her and carried her to the bed. “Jane, don’t cry,” he ordered helplessly.
“Oh, God, how could I make such a fool of myself …” She rolled onto her stomach.
She kept crying. He wanted to touch her but was afraid to. Not because of desire, for he was now under control. Still, she was just a child, little different from Chad. He ignored the image of her young, ripe breasts that immediately taunted his mind. Shakily he reached out and tangled his hand in her hair. He gasped from the sheer pleasure of it.
“How quaint,” Amelia said through gritted teeth from the doorway.
Nick withdrew his hand as if he’d been burned, standing.
“Are you blushing?” Amelia asked incredulously.
The earl knew he was. He spoke quietly to Jane’s back. “I’ll send up Molly with water and some toast. It will be here on your bed table. You will probably be thirsty and hungry in a few hours.”
There was no reply. She was asleep. The earl turned away, to his mistress, who was waiting.
11
Jane felt miserable.
Somehow she had dragged herself out of bed and had managed to get dressed. It was just past noon. She was suffering from acute nausea and a headache and, worse, complete recollection of the night before. In the act of brushing her hair, tears welled in her eyes and she could not fight them. They spilled down her cheeks.
She had shown him just what a child she was.
The humiliation was unbearable.
The purple gown that Sandra had worn with such aplomb lay draped on the chintz chaise. Jane hated it. She wasn’t her mother, didn’t even look like her mother, would never be her mother. Her mother had been stunningly beautiful and perfectly curved. Her mother had had hundreds of men dying for her love. Her mother had been an actress … Jane was nobody.
She crumpled onto the chaise. She would never forget the look of malicious delight on Amelia’s face when she had seen Jane in her mother’s finery; worse, she would never forget the earl’s shock. And she had thrown up while in his arms!
When she had been determined to gain his attention, she had never meant to do it like that!
She could not, would not, face him.
Jane made her way to the nursery where Chad and Governess Randall were having lunch. The odor of baked cod turned her insides upside down. The little boy leapt up to greet her with a squeal of delight. Jane patted his shoulder. She could not eat. She needed air.
Then she became aware of his presence.
Before Jane even turned to look at the doorway, she knew he was there,
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