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cold, and the gloves that match. Also, please be sure my satin bonnet with the roses is brushed up. The duchess may have errands for me today.”
“Very good, madame.” Tilly bustled off to put away the night clothes and bring out the day apparel. Jane opened the cover of the book at her bedside, and slipped the ribbon inside.
As she sat in front of the dressing table with Tilly brushing her hair, Jane searched her face for any change. Surely the abandonment of every propriety to blatant sensuality must leave some outward sign. But no, that was still Jane Markham DeWitte in the mirror. Jane of the undistinguished brown eyes and reasonably good chestnut hair, the oval face with its skin still clear despite being almost thirty, except for the single obstinate freckle beside her nose.
It was only inside she had changed. For already her mind was drifting to the book and the concealed ribbon, and beyond these, to Sir Thomas and his secret room. Oh, she was Old Jane enough to want to know how any of this had been possible, and she would question him closely as soon as the opportunity presented itself. But more than knowledge, she wanted to be in that room again, where she could receive his touch and his kiss, and play more of the games of desire and pleasure he devised.
Soon, Jane. You will have me again soon.
Jane shivered once. Then, she mustered enough personal discipline to set those hot, nighttime thoughts aside. The day had begun. She had duties that would not wait on her fantasies. Her patrons seldom woke before eleven, but Jane, as the duchess’s lady, had to be dressed, breakfasted, and ready to wait on her mistress as she made her toilet.
Jane found herself to be surprisingly refreshed, as if she had slept a full night rather than just an hour or two after a . . . series of exertions. She also had a tremendous appetite. Consequently, she was very glad when Tilly pronounced her fit to be seen so she could take herself across to the private dining room. As might be expected, the Kensington House staff was very efficient, and a piping-hot breakfast had been laid out on the sideboard. Jane helped herself to a chop, toast and marmalade and a cup of strong coffee. She then took a seat at the otherwise unoccupied table and prepared to enjoy her meal.
But as she tucked in, the door opened again. Jane looked up to see the man who entered, and muffled a small sigh.
“Captain Conroy,” she said, keeping her voice studiously polite.
“Good morning, Lady Jane.” Also studiously polite, Captain Conroy, the duke’s personal secretary bowed. “May I join you?”
“Certainly,” she replied because she had no choice. It would not be reasonable to refuse another member of the duke’s household a seat at the breakfast table.
“Thank you.”
Although she tried to keep her attention on her own breakfast, Jane could not help sneaking glances at the captain as he helped himself to the food. Conroy was a tall man with a long, handsome face. His dark hair was richly curled, but had also begun to recede. He kept his sideburns full, perhaps to make up for this fact. This morning he wore a sober burgundy coat over a waistcoat striped blue and white. The excellent cut of his clothes, the heavy gold chain across his middle and the diamond ring on his right hand spoke of his rank and prosperity. Jonathan Conroy handled all the Duke of Kent’s affairs, which, considering the duke’s ever-growing mountain of debt, took both persistence and delicacy.
The captain had traveled with them all the way to Saxe-Coburg and back, and in all that time he’d never been anything less than polite and correct to her. Despite this, Jane could not find it in her to actually like Captain Conroy. He had a way of watching everyone and everything as if calculating its worth that got into the back of her mind and left her profoundly uneasy.
“So, how does this morning find you, Lady Jane?” Conroy settled himself across the table from her with
“Very good, madame.” Tilly bustled off to put away the night clothes and bring out the day apparel. Jane opened the cover of the book at her bedside, and slipped the ribbon inside.
As she sat in front of the dressing table with Tilly brushing her hair, Jane searched her face for any change. Surely the abandonment of every propriety to blatant sensuality must leave some outward sign. But no, that was still Jane Markham DeWitte in the mirror. Jane of the undistinguished brown eyes and reasonably good chestnut hair, the oval face with its skin still clear despite being almost thirty, except for the single obstinate freckle beside her nose.
It was only inside she had changed. For already her mind was drifting to the book and the concealed ribbon, and beyond these, to Sir Thomas and his secret room. Oh, she was Old Jane enough to want to know how any of this had been possible, and she would question him closely as soon as the opportunity presented itself. But more than knowledge, she wanted to be in that room again, where she could receive his touch and his kiss, and play more of the games of desire and pleasure he devised.
Soon, Jane. You will have me again soon.
Jane shivered once. Then, she mustered enough personal discipline to set those hot, nighttime thoughts aside. The day had begun. She had duties that would not wait on her fantasies. Her patrons seldom woke before eleven, but Jane, as the duchess’s lady, had to be dressed, breakfasted, and ready to wait on her mistress as she made her toilet.
Jane found herself to be surprisingly refreshed, as if she had slept a full night rather than just an hour or two after a . . . series of exertions. She also had a tremendous appetite. Consequently, she was very glad when Tilly pronounced her fit to be seen so she could take herself across to the private dining room. As might be expected, the Kensington House staff was very efficient, and a piping-hot breakfast had been laid out on the sideboard. Jane helped herself to a chop, toast and marmalade and a cup of strong coffee. She then took a seat at the otherwise unoccupied table and prepared to enjoy her meal.
But as she tucked in, the door opened again. Jane looked up to see the man who entered, and muffled a small sigh.
“Captain Conroy,” she said, keeping her voice studiously polite.
“Good morning, Lady Jane.” Also studiously polite, Captain Conroy, the duke’s personal secretary bowed. “May I join you?”
“Certainly,” she replied because she had no choice. It would not be reasonable to refuse another member of the duke’s household a seat at the breakfast table.
“Thank you.”
Although she tried to keep her attention on her own breakfast, Jane could not help sneaking glances at the captain as he helped himself to the food. Conroy was a tall man with a long, handsome face. His dark hair was richly curled, but had also begun to recede. He kept his sideburns full, perhaps to make up for this fact. This morning he wore a sober burgundy coat over a waistcoat striped blue and white. The excellent cut of his clothes, the heavy gold chain across his middle and the diamond ring on his right hand spoke of his rank and prosperity. Jonathan Conroy handled all the Duke of Kent’s affairs, which, considering the duke’s ever-growing mountain of debt, took both persistence and delicacy.
The captain had traveled with them all the way to Saxe-Coburg and back, and in all that time he’d never been anything less than polite and correct to her. Despite this, Jane could not find it in her to actually like Captain Conroy. He had a way of watching everyone and everything as if calculating its worth that got into the back of her mind and left her profoundly uneasy.
“So, how does this morning find you, Lady Jane?” Conroy settled himself across the table from her with
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