between, who is neither servant nor equal—"
Jane
could not withstand the sweet sympathy in his voice, the warm comfort
of his hands on hers. To her complete disbelief, a single hot tear
broke free from her control to roll down her face. Why? She had no
such burden! She was Lady Jane Pennington, without a care in the
world.
And
yet, until that moment, she had never before realized how truly alone
she was. Lost between—yes, that was precisely how she felt. Few
women in her world were her equal, either in status or in competence.
Her own mother used to look at her as if she were not quite sure
where her daughter had emerged from. Everyone looked to her when
difficulties arose, but no one ever paused to wonder if she had any
difficulties of her own.
Men
knew not what to make of her, for her very competence seemed to turn
them away. She was unfeminine, unwanted except for her wealth, which
was more of an ironic joke than she'd ever dare admit.
Mr.
Damont liked her… but Mr. Damont didn't know her. She let her
hand relax within his warm ones. He took her glass away, setting it
beside his. His eyes shone with sympathy for the plight of the shy
governess. If she spoke now, revealed herself, he would—
What
would he do? She found him entirely unpredictable. He was by turns
charming and caustic, kind and cynical. He obviously had no love of
the aristocracy.
Therefore
it was very unlikely that he would continue to like her, to talk to
her, and certainly not to hold her hand so comfortingly in his large
warm ones.
She
had no right to that comfort. It was undeserved and unwanted. She
tried to pull her hand from his.
His
fingers tightened gently about hers. "Shh," he soothed.
"Don't be vexed. One tear does not an ocean make." He
reached to brush his knuckles down her cheek, drying the path of that
tear with a single caress. Jane nearly started. When had anyone ever
touched her like that?
He
flicked his fingers open in the air. "See? It never happened. No
one will ever know. Besides, no one else exists tonight, remember?"
Jane
nodded slowly, unwillingly charmed by the notion. That way she would
not have to wonder, What was Lady Jane Pennington doing sitting in
the dark with a common gambler, drinking his wine and holding his
hand?
The
door to the house opened, shattering the moment. "Ah, Lady Jane,
here you are," the footman standing there said. "Her
ladyship is seeking you."
Jane
went quite cold. Her gaze shot to meet that of Mr. Damont. He dropped
her hand and stared up at her as if she had suddenly turned blue.
Jane
stood, never taking her gaze from Mr. Damont's shocked one. "Thank
you, Robert. Tell her ladyship I will join her shortly."
When
the obviously curious footman shut the door and left them in the dark
once more, Jane clasped her hands before her. "Do please forgive
my deception, but it was necessary to ascertain whether you were the
sort of man to expose the embarrassing incident the other night—"
"You?
That was you?" He seemed most distressed. "In the tree?"
His eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"
Jane
lifted her chin. "I am Lady Jane Pennington, daughter of the
late Marquis of Wyndham."
Mr.
Damont shot up from the bench. "You're a bloody actress, that's
what you are! What sort of game is this?" He was indignant and
angry, which she'd expected, but also visibly hurt, which she had
not.
Jane
took a breath. "I had no intention of misleading you, sir—"
"The
bloody hell you didn't!" He ran a hand over his face, obviously
reaching for control. "See here, Lady Jane, do you have any idea
what sort of trouble a bloke could get into for trifling with a woman
like you?"
Oh,
dear. That possibility had never crossed her mind. "I've—I've
no intention of making trouble for you, Mr. Damont."
He
turned away, shaking his head. "I thought you were someone I—"
He turned back angrily. "I suppose now we're going to play 'Call
the magistrate, I've been assaulted,' am I correct?"
Jane
drew back. "Of course
Jane
could not withstand the sweet sympathy in his voice, the warm comfort
of his hands on hers. To her complete disbelief, a single hot tear
broke free from her control to roll down her face. Why? She had no
such burden! She was Lady Jane Pennington, without a care in the
world.
And
yet, until that moment, she had never before realized how truly alone
she was. Lost between—yes, that was precisely how she felt. Few
women in her world were her equal, either in status or in competence.
Her own mother used to look at her as if she were not quite sure
where her daughter had emerged from. Everyone looked to her when
difficulties arose, but no one ever paused to wonder if she had any
difficulties of her own.
Men
knew not what to make of her, for her very competence seemed to turn
them away. She was unfeminine, unwanted except for her wealth, which
was more of an ironic joke than she'd ever dare admit.
Mr.
Damont liked her… but Mr. Damont didn't know her. She let her
hand relax within his warm ones. He took her glass away, setting it
beside his. His eyes shone with sympathy for the plight of the shy
governess. If she spoke now, revealed herself, he would—
What
would he do? She found him entirely unpredictable. He was by turns
charming and caustic, kind and cynical. He obviously had no love of
the aristocracy.
Therefore
it was very unlikely that he would continue to like her, to talk to
her, and certainly not to hold her hand so comfortingly in his large
warm ones.
She
had no right to that comfort. It was undeserved and unwanted. She
tried to pull her hand from his.
His
fingers tightened gently about hers. "Shh," he soothed.
"Don't be vexed. One tear does not an ocean make." He
reached to brush his knuckles down her cheek, drying the path of that
tear with a single caress. Jane nearly started. When had anyone ever
touched her like that?
He
flicked his fingers open in the air. "See? It never happened. No
one will ever know. Besides, no one else exists tonight, remember?"
Jane
nodded slowly, unwillingly charmed by the notion. That way she would
not have to wonder, What was Lady Jane Pennington doing sitting in
the dark with a common gambler, drinking his wine and holding his
hand?
The
door to the house opened, shattering the moment. "Ah, Lady Jane,
here you are," the footman standing there said. "Her
ladyship is seeking you."
Jane
went quite cold. Her gaze shot to meet that of Mr. Damont. He dropped
her hand and stared up at her as if she had suddenly turned blue.
Jane
stood, never taking her gaze from Mr. Damont's shocked one. "Thank
you, Robert. Tell her ladyship I will join her shortly."
When
the obviously curious footman shut the door and left them in the dark
once more, Jane clasped her hands before her. "Do please forgive
my deception, but it was necessary to ascertain whether you were the
sort of man to expose the embarrassing incident the other night—"
"You?
That was you?" He seemed most distressed. "In the tree?"
His eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"
Jane
lifted her chin. "I am Lady Jane Pennington, daughter of the
late Marquis of Wyndham."
Mr.
Damont shot up from the bench. "You're a bloody actress, that's
what you are! What sort of game is this?" He was indignant and
angry, which she'd expected, but also visibly hurt, which she had
not.
Jane
took a breath. "I had no intention of misleading you, sir—"
"The
bloody hell you didn't!" He ran a hand over his face, obviously
reaching for control. "See here, Lady Jane, do you have any idea
what sort of trouble a bloke could get into for trifling with a woman
like you?"
Oh,
dear. That possibility had never crossed her mind. "I've—I've
no intention of making trouble for you, Mr. Damont."
He
turned away, shaking his head. "I thought you were someone I—"
He turned back angrily. "I suppose now we're going to play 'Call
the magistrate, I've been assaulted,' am I correct?"
Jane
drew back. "Of course
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