Elizabeth Powell (17 page)

He needed to see Jane and to explain himself. He grimaced. That might be difficult. He barely understood the workings of his own mind—how the devil was he supposed to make
her
understand?

Only an idiot would think she would be pleased to see him; for a moment he was that idiot, then thought the better of it. After the way he had treated her, he supposed he could not blame her if she slammed the door in his face. She had every right to hate him. At any rate, he had to make the attempt. He owed her that. He just hoped that she would listen to him.

If she did not, then perhaps he would just have to stay at Wellbourne, and the two of them could be lonely together.

Jane bent over Tamerlane’s muscled shoulder to dodge a few low-hanging branches as the dapple gray gelding hurtled through the last stand of trees and into the open field.

Faster, faster!

As if in response to her unspoken plea, Tam increased his stride, stretching out his neck, his black mane and tail flying like banners in the wind. Jane clung firmly to his back, her own hair loose from its pins and whipping wildly about her face. Several birds roosting in a hedge objected to their thunderous passing and took flight in a great flurry of feathers. Both horse and rider ignored them.

Tam sailed over a stone wall as effortlessly as if he had sprouted wings of his own, then landed and resumed his lightning pace, his hooves pounding against the dense, springy turf. Sweat darkened his neck and withers. Jane knew she should be heading back to the stables, but still she rode as if demons pursued her.

Well, not demons. Not exactly. Just the knowledge that some day, without warning, all of this could be ripped away from her, and she would be powerless to stop it.

Try as she might, she could not leave the thought behind. It was no use running. She reined in the big gelding. Tamerlane snorted a protest and danced sideways.

Jane chuckled. “You old reprobate. You would run your heart out if I let you, and I have no intention of doing that. We have galloped every day since we got home, and we shall do it again tomorrow. Now, behave yourself.”

The horse’s ears swiveled at the sound of her voice. He stamped his off hind foot, sidled a bit more, then obeyed and settled down to a walk. Jane smiled and patted his neck.

Movement caught her eye as she reached the top of a hill. A cloud of dust rose from the direction of the road. Shielding her eyes against the glare of the sun, Jane stretched upward to get a better look.

A carriage drawn by two high-stepping blacks made its way down the lane toward Wellbourne. Jane frowned. That couldn’t be Lord Erskine; the Scottish earl was not due for another three days. Who, then? At this distance, she could not make out the crest emblazoned on the side of the coach. Not that it mattered. Wellbourne received so few visitors these days that any arrival made her sit up and take notice.

She ran a hand over her wild tangle of hair. Gracious! It would not do for her guest to see her looking like this. If she moved quickly enough, she might be able to reach the house before he did. She turned Tamerlane for home and nudged him into a canter.

“A caller’s come for you, Miss Jane,” Will said as she returned to the main stable.

Mr. Finley, Wellbourne’s steward, emerged from the row of box stalls, leading a bay mare. “She’s Lady Langley
now, you nob,” he corrected with a scowl. “Have some respect.”

Jane shook her head. “Never mind, Mr. Finley. I see no reason to trouble myself with such formalities.” She dismounted and handed the reins to the groom. “Do you know who it is, Will?”

The man tugged at his forelock. “Some fancy lord from Lunnon, Miss Jane. That’s all I know.”

“Well, then, let us hope he’s rich and looking for several new hunters,” she replied, smiling.

She hurried toward the house, her riding crop gripped between her teeth so that she could use both hands to smooth her hair into some semblance of order. A few pins still remained; she fashioned a makeshift chignon and hoped it stayed anchored long enough for her to greet her guest.

When she reached the cool interior of the house, the butler took her gloves and riding crop. Concern lined the servant’s craggy face.

Jane paused. “What is it, Huxley?”

“A visitor for you, ma am,” the man said. He presented her with a calling card. “He is waiting in the drawing room. Shall I inform him you are at home?”

She glanced down at the cream-colored card. The printed name leaped out at her like an adder made of black ink.

Sebastian Carr, Viscount Langley.

She gasped. The card slipped from her fingers and fluttered to the floor.

“Miss Jane? Are you well?” Huxley inquired. His anxious eyes regarded her from beneath bushy, snow-white brows.

Jane put a hand to her throat; beneath her fingers, her pulse beat at a frantic pace. She swallowed. He had been
bound to come, and now that he was here she suspected that he would not be put off for long. She must face him sooner or later.

She straightened. “I am fine. Is he alone?”

“Yes, ma am.”

Thank God for that! “Good. Tell him I shall be with him directly.”

The servant hesitated. “Miss Jane?”

“Yes?”

“Forgive my impertinence, ma’am, but is he … ?”

Jane’s lips curved in a mirthless smile. “Yes, Huxley. He is my husband.”

Flustered, the butler bowed and retreated.

Jane glared at the card lying so innocuously on the inlaid wooden floor. So much for leaving her in peace. Her knees began to shake. How much had he lost? Was he here to tell her that she no longer had a home, that he’d gambled everything away? Or did he want to take inventory of the horses before he auctioned them at Tattersall’s?

Or did he intend to consummate their marriage?

She leaned against a gilt-edged table in the hall for support until the dizziness passed, then put a hand to her side and took several deep, steadying breaths. Whatever his reason, he might at least have written to give her some warning. This was too sudden. She was not ready …

She clenched her jaw, furious at him for arriving without notice, and furious at herself for letting him upset her. This was
her
home. He was the interloper. How dare he come here and cut up her peace!

Fortified by anger, Jane lifted her chin and marched toward the drawing room.

She paused when she reached the threshold and stared. The viscount stood at the window, his back to her, looking
out toward the south pasture. The late afternoon sun slanted through the windows and glinted off his hair, giving it a rich golden glow. In this light, he almost looked like an angel. She harrumphed. An angel? Not likely!

He turned at the sound, and Jane’s heart tumbled over in her chest. The sight of him made her as lightheaded as if she’d had one too many glasses of champagne. A lock of his hair had fallen over his eyes, and she felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to reach up and brush it away. Her gaze lingered on his mouth; though she had tried her best to forget, the memory of their kiss came flooding back.

She licked her suddenly dry lips.

His slate blue gaze locked to hers. “Good day, wife,” he said softly.

The warmth in his voice made her shiver. Damn him! She would not let him take advantage of her weakness again.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“What, not even so much as a ‘good afternoon’? You wound me, madam.” A teasing smile quirked one corner of his expressive mouth.

“Did you expect a cordial welcome? You send no word of your arrival but simply show up on my doorstep unannounced and uninvited. You cannot be surprised that I am somewhat less than overjoyed to see you.”

His smile faded. “I suspected you might be.”

“What brings you to Wellbourne Grange?” She swallowed thickly, then steeled herself for the answer.

“Egad, imp, you’ve gone pale as a ghost. Perhaps you had better sit down.”

“Not until you give me an answer.”

Comprehension shadowed his eyes. “Nothing is wrong, if that is what you mean,” he replied in a quiet voice. “Wellbourne is in no danger.”

Relief rushed through Jane in a giddy wave; she sagged against the doorframe.

The viscount frowned, then started across the room toward her, one arm outstretched.

She held up a warning hand. “Thank you, but I can manage quite well without your assistance.”

He lowered his arm. “So I see.”

She squared her shoulders and paced to the mantelpiece. “If Wellbourne is in no danger, then you should not have come.”

“Why not?”

“I thought that would be obvious, my lord. I do not want you here.”

He spread his hands. “But I am here, and I should hate to have wasted a trip.”

“If you need to discuss matters of business, then you should take your concerns to my solicitor.”

“I did not want to speak to your solicitor. I wanted to see you.”

“Well, now you have seen me. You can return to London safe in the knowledge that I have not been trampled or robbed, and that I suffer from no ailments, including heartbreak.”

He shoved a hand through his hair, rumpling the golden brown waves. “I cannot return to London just yet. We need to talk.”

“I cannot imagine that we would have anything of importance to say to each other,” she said pettishly.

He stalked across the Turkey carpet toward her. “Perhaps you have nothing to say to me, but there are a great many things I wish to tell you. Now will you stop arching your back and hissing at me long enough to listen?”

She gaped at him. Arching her… ? A furious blush lit her cheeks, and she snapped her mouth shut, piqued.

“Thank you.” He moved to stand at the other end of the mantel, out of reach, but not far enough away for comfort. “My father came to see me two days ago.”

Jane favored him with a narrow, guarded glance.

He did not seem to notice. “We have reconciled, after a fashion. Perhaps
reconciled
is the wrong word; it will take more than a single conversation to mend the rift between us. But we have begun to understand each other. It was a very … enlightening conversation.”

Questions roiled in Jane’s mind, but she had promised to keep silent, so she merely folded her arms over her chest and waited.

“We are stubborn idiots, my father and I. Once we fix on an idea, we hold onto it like a dog with a particularly juicy bone and refuse to let it go. For my father, it was the idea that he could force me into taking greater responsibility for myself. For me, it was … Well, I realized that I have been an ass on a number of occasions. In fact, I have been an ass most of my life.”

Jane flashed him a fair imitation of her mother’s best, most supercilious “oh, really?” look.

He shifted uneasily. “But the main reason for his visit was to discuss you and me, and our marriage.”

The words burst out before she could stop them. “We have no marriage, my lord.”

“No, we do not. And I would like to rectify that situation.”

She stiffened. “What did you have in mind?”

“You may not believe this, but I have grown rather weary of life in London. With Jace on his honeymoon and Nigel gone to ground somewhere, my favorite pastimes have lost their appeal.”

“You are quite right,” she replied. “I do not believe it.”

She expected him to chastise her for lashing her tail as
well, but instead, he chuckled. “My father likes you, you know.”

“Really? How extraordinary.”

“He says you have pluck.”

She nudged one of the andirons with the toe of her boot. “That is one way to phrase it.” Hissing, indeed!

“But my presence here owes more to you than anything else.”

She frowned. “To me? What do you mean?”

“I wanted to see you. I wanted to visit Wellbourne and discover why you went to such great lengths to preserve it. I thought we might … reconsider our arrangement.”

“Did your father suggest this?” she demanded.

“No. This was solely my idea.”

“Then the earl has placed no … demands upon us?”

The viscount shook his head. “Nothing of the sort. If it is any consolation, I am as shocked as you are that he has not.”

“I see.” Actually, Jane did
not
see. What was really going on? She had heard him speak of country life with marked distaste, and suddenly he wished to rusticate with her on a stud farm in Leicestershire? Something did not seem right. “And how long do you plan to stay, my lord?”

“I had not planned much beyond my arrival,” he replied with a slight smile. “I suspected you might wish to throw me out. But if I am safe on that account, I would like to stay a month or two. I hope that will not inconvenience you.”

Well, there was one way to find out if he was telling the truth. “Not at all, my lord. As a matter of fact, we could use the help.”

His smile evaporated. “Help?”

“Yes. One of the grooms broke his leg in a fall from one of the haylofts, and we are short-handed at the moment.
How very generous of you to offer your assistance.”

It took all the self-control at her command not to laugh as she watched the play of emotions over Lord Langley’s face. If he really wanted to learn more about her and about Wellbourne, she could think of no better way than to let him discover firsthand how much work the estate entailed. She could hardly imagine the elegant viscount, whose hands had never toiled with anything heavier than a deck of cards, mucking out stalls or wrestling to get a halter on a fractious one-year-old colt. He would never even consider such a thing, she was sure of it, and he would be on his merry way back to London in the morning.

“All right,” he agreed.

Her jaw sagged.

Lord Langley grinned. “You seem surprised. You forget that I am a veteran gamester. I know when someone is bluffing.”

Bluffing, was she? Jane smiled sweetly at him. “One thing you will learn about me, my lord, is that I never bluff. I will see to it that your things are installed in one of the guest chambers. We keep country hours here, so I will instruct someone to wake you at an hour past sunrise every morning. After all, we do not have the luxury of sleeping until noon.” She started toward the doorway.