“That all sounds marvelous,” said Jane when he at last drew breath.
“And best of all,” added Luke, “Lord Roxdale says I can have a holiday from Mr. Potts!”
“Poor Mr. Potts,” said Jane, laughing. But she raised no objection. She and Constantine had reached a compromise over Luke’s lessons. In fact, they’d managed to merge their philosophies on rearing children fairly harmoniously. Constantine was learning that he had someone else besides himself to think of now; Jane did her best to curb her tendency to shelter Luke from every chill wind.
She’d never expected to view Constantine’s guardianship as a boon. Yet, his presence had done Luke a great deal of good. Jane thought of Montford, and the good he’d done as her guardian. It was no small thing to be responsible for every aspect of a child’s well-being. Negotiating with Constantine over their respective roles in Luke’s life had given her a fresh perspective on her dealings with the duke.
Now, she said, “You like having Lord Roxdale as your guardian, don’t you, darling?”
Luke nodded. “He’s a prime gun!” His gaze lowered. “Aunt Jane? Lord Roxdale says I’m a son to him now. So … when you marry him, does that mean you’ll be my mama?”
The hope in those soft brown eyes made her heart turn over. Happiness broke over her like a sunburst. “Oh, yes, Luke. Yes! I would love you to be my son. More than I can say.”
She hugged him to her almost fiercely. He flung his arms around her neck and he hugged her back, making tears start to her eyes.
“I love you more than life.” She whispered it into his dark curls, then kissed both his cheeks. How much longer would he want her cuddles? He was growing up so fast.
Suddenly, the ormolu clock on the mantelpiece chimed the hour.
“Must go,” said Luke, wriggling out of her embrace. “I’m meeting Jimmy down by the lake. We’re going fishing.”
“Are you just?” Jane wiped away a tear, laughing a little at herself, and at the resilience of youth. “Catch a big ’un and I’ll ask Cook to fry it up for your dinner.”
“Huzzah!” said Luke, and with a cheeky grin that squeezed her heart, he ran off.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
If solitude were to be found anywhere at Lazenby, the garden was the most likely place for it. Jane lifted her face to the sun, feeling the spring air shiver and hum around her, the sunlight dance on her skin.
Pleasantly heated, she moved into the cool of the wilderness, with its carefully tended disarray, and gave a luxurious stretch. She was a little sore from the marathon session of lovemaking last night. It was as if Constantine had heard her unspoken plea for reassurance and done his best to show her how he felt. Over and over and over again.
I’m your slave.
When he made love to her so tenderly, passionately, when he teased and cajoled her into wickedness, when he spent time simply gazing at her as she slept, it was hard to believe Constantine
didn’t
want her and her alone in his bed. Perhaps he did love her. Perhaps he simply didn’t know it yet.
Courage, Jane.
Fatal to corner him on the subject. If he wasn’t ready to examine his feelings, she wouldn’t try to force him. Nothing was more certain to make him set her at a distance than an impassioned appeal for his love.
In London, she would not sit back and let those other women stake their claim. She was a Westruther and Constantine’s future bride. That ought to be enough to stiffen her spine. She would fight for him if she had to.
“Jane. I guessed I’d find you here.”
She jumped. “Oh, Mr. Trent! You startled me.”
Anxiously, she glanced around. Constantine would have Trent’s head if he saw them together in the shrubbery, screened as they were from view of the house. While she still disputed Constantine’s right to order whom she might entertain as a visitor, she didn’t wish for another confrontation between the two men. Besides, Trent was scarcely good company these days.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said quickly, trying to move past him so at least they were out of the shrubbery, in the open air.
He gripped her arm, not roughly, but firmly enough to hold her in place. “I know, but I heard … Dear God, Jane, I heard you are to
marry
him! How you could—” He broke off, shaking his head as if in disbelief.
When he spoke again, it was in a low, throbbing tone. “I have avoided sullying your ears with this tale for too long, it seems. DeVere warned me not to speak to you of this, and God knows I wouldn’t if it weren’t necessary, for it’s sure to set you against me, so besotted as you are—”
“
Sir!
Not another word.” Furious, she tugged at his strengthened grasp. “Let go of me! Mr. Trent, you will leave these premises immediately!”
Jane tried to pull away but he gripped her upper arms and yanked her back to face him. He was so close, she could see the perspiration that beaded his upper lip, pick out the pores in his ruddily fair skin.
His voice rasped, “At least hear what I have to say.”
“Remove your hands, sir!” she said between her teeth, while her heart pounded in her chest. If he molested her here, no one would come to her rescue.
Instead of releasing her, he gave her a shake. “
I
had meant to court you with respect, to be patient, but that blackguard has not waited, has he? He has beguiled you with his handsome face and his rakish manners!
You,
Lady Roxdale! The most sensible, levelheaded female of my acquaintance. Yet even you cannot see him for what he is.”
“That is enough! Let go of me. You make yourself foolish—”
He wasn’t listening to her. Suddenly, his mouth firmed with determination. “Well, let
me
show you something.”
Ignoring her struggles, Trent yanked her into his embrace. She fought like a termagant, but she was no match for his strength. “Don’t! No! I don’t want—”
His mouth crushed hers in a violent, inept kiss that made her feel bruised and helpless—and not in a pleasurable way. His breath came in heavy pants, laced with brandy and something sour that made her want to retch. His tongue thrust into her mouth and waves of revulsion tumbled through her body. This horrid assault was not at all like kissing Constantine Black.
With the heels of her hands, she thrust hard at Trent’s shoulders, hoping to surprise him into letting go.
The miracle was that it worked. One second, Trent’s body was pressed against her in a menacingly amorous manner; the next, it was as if he’d leaped away from her.
Then she saw Constantine free his hand from Trent’s collar. That same hand clenched and hauled back. She cried out, but not before Constantine’s big fist connected solidly with Trent’s jaw.
The blow lifted Trent off his feet and sent him sprawling into the bushes.
For a moment, Constantine waited, his hands fisted loosely by his sides, but Trent didn’t get up. Then Constantine turned his furious gaze on her.
“Thank you,” she managed. She looked over at Trent, who hadn’t moved. “Oh, but did you have to hit him so hard?”
“Yes.” The statement was bald and flat. He pointed an accusing finger at her. “But I wouldn’t have had to hit him at all if
you’d
stayed away from him, as I told you to do. I was right, wasn’t I? I knew he wanted you.”
“He proposed to me,” she blurted out.
“Hardly a surprise. He wants your money, my dear.”
She lifted her chin and looked him in the eye. “Well, then. That makes two of you, doesn’t it?”
For a moment, he appeared thunderstruck. Then his eyes blazed into hers; his nostrils flared. He gave a humorless smile and shook his head, whether in denial or disbelief, she wasn’t sure.
“In fact,” she persisted, “there is no difference between you.”
The anger that thinned Constantine’s lips and hardened his jaw ought to have frightened her. She didn’t know what had gotten into her. She was quite blatantly goading him. Into what, pray? Into admitting he loved her? She might as well tilt at the moon.
“Oh, there’s a difference, all right,” he ground out. “For all my sins, I have yet to press my attentions on an unwilling woman! What the hell did you mean by coming out here alone with him?”
On the defensive, she retorted, “He found me here! How was I to know he’d make a passionate declaration like that? I thought he was a respectable gentleman, and if my widow’s status isn’t adequate protection—”
“Well, of course it isn’t adequate, you silly innocent! And as for Trent being a gentleman, haven’t you learned anything since you emerged from the schoolroom? Men, my dear, are all the same under the skin.”
She eyed him doubtfully. “All of them?”
“Yes, all of them. They only want one thing from a beautiful woman; it’s simply that some of them hide it better than others.”
He’d called her beautiful!
Oh, he’d praised her beauty in her bedchamber every night, but somehow, this offhand reference to it was more believable. Silly man. She was no beauty. She knew it, having stood in Rosamund’s shade for more than half her life.
“In fact,” he went on, his face softening as he drew her into his arms, “I can tell you firsthand that
I
want you right now. This very moment. And every other moment of the day.” He ran his lips along her hairline, then kissed her temple.
Constantine’s fingertips brushed her chin, then tilted her head up. He bent his head toward her. “Each moment we’re apart, I ache for you, and I cannot wait to have you in my arms again.”
He kissed her, softly, deeply, and long. She lost all sense of herself in that slow exploration. Her will deserted her entirely. She was his. If he wanted to take her, right there in the shrubbery, she would not have raised a protest.
“Want you for your money, do I?” he murmured, his lips drifting over her cheek. He laughed gently, a warm breath against her ear. “Oh, Jane.”
He found her mouth once more and Jane gave a small moan as she moved against him. Her body seemed to remember the pleasure of last night, and the yearning inside her grew.
It was Constantine who finally ended the kiss, pressing his forehead to hers. He let out a long exhale. “I was forgetting we have company.”
A loud groan came from the bushes. Constantine turned and they watched Trent stagger to his feet.
“You’ll meet me for this, Black!”
Constantine flicked a piece of lint from his sleeve. “I don’t think so.”
“Am I to call you a coward?”
Jane felt Constantine’s arm tense to rock hardness. “Listen here, Trent. You don’t have a leg to stand on, you know. I’m betrothed to the lady and I found her struggling in your rather inept embrace. If bloodying your nose satisfies my sense of injured honor, you’ve no business pressing a duel on me.”
Trent tugged on his cravat. “Montford will forbid you the match! The duke will never stand for this!”
Constantine showed his teeth in an unpleasant grin. “I believe I’ve already given you your cue to exit, Trent. But by all means, stay if you wish. Beating the tripe out of you would afford me immense satisfaction.”
“Constantine!” said Jane.
“Oh, ‘Constantine,’ is it?” Humiliation appeared to lend a nasty edge to Trent’s anger. “I suppose you’ve let
him
kiss you! Well, you may not know the character of the man you’re dealing with, but I do. He fathered a babe on a maid in this house and then abandoned them both. Yes! Your precious Luke, my lady, is Constantine Black’s son.”
Trent’s pronouncement had all the effect he might have desired. Jane gasped. Her gaze flew to Constantine, who had turned almost as white as his cravat.
“That is a lie!” she cried. “Tell him, Constantine!”
When Constantine maintained his stunned silence, she said, a little less certainly, “It’s not true. Is it, Constantine?”
Her tone didn’t carry enough conviction. The look Constantine gave her was one of undisguised pain.
“Which maid?” he asked, holding himself very still. He turned his gaze on Trent. “Was it Violet?”
Shock broke over Jane like a cold wave. A strangled cry ripped from deep inside her.
“My God!” said Trent, in accents of disgust. “How many maids did you tumble in your illustrious career? Of course it was Violet! They hushed it up, sent her packing as soon as she discovered she was increasing. No doubt they paid her handsomely to keep her mouth shut. But when the poor girl died, her family brought the babe back here.” Trent’s lip curled in a sneer. “Your uncle always was a soft touch, wasn’t he? He took Luke in, claimed he was a distant relative.”
This sounded more and more plausible. Desperately, Jane said, “It’s not true! It
isn’t
true, is it, Constantine?”
He’d told her he’d been a wild youth, that he’d discovered he liked women early. But he’d dismissed his peccadilloes as harmless pranks. Could he seriously suppose seducing a maid in his uncle’s house counted as a harmless prank?
Constantine didn’t answer her, didn’t look at her. He stood staring, grim-faced, into the distance as if replaying history in his mind. She saw the strong column of his throat convulse as he swallowed hard.