Unveiled (Undone by Love Book 3) (14 page)

She reached her hands up to his broad chest, running her fingertips across the hard planes while she explored his mouth with her own traitorous tongue
. She slid her palms up his flat, taut stomach, up to his heavily muscled chest, feeling wicked, wanton, even as she did so. If only she could see him shirtless once more, touch him this time as she longed to do by the pool, trace the path of hair down his stomach.

His mouth retreated from hers with a groan, his hands seemingly everywhere at once as his lips sought her throat
. “Dear God, Jane,” he ground out, and then she felt his tongue tantalize her skin behind her ear and down to her collarbone, his breath warm against her skin. She inhaled his scent, unmistakably masculine, an intoxicating mix of cedarwood and sandalwood, perhaps a note of bergamot.   

Before she knew it, he’d reached around to cup one breast, his insistent mouth seeking the hardened peak through the fabric of her bodice
. Jane threw her head back as a shiver raced from the back of her neck down to her toes. “Oh,” she cried out as his teeth found the nipple, teasing it, taunting it.

She knew these wondrous feelings were wrong, very wrong, yet she was unable to find the strength to fight it
. She wanted his touch. She wanted
him
.

But she could never have him
. The thought echoed in her ears as she summoned the will to drop her hands and push him away. “My lord, we cannot do this.”

“Hayden,” he said hoarsely, gripping her shoulders as he met her gaze with his
.

“Hayden, we cannot do this
. You must stop. At once.”

“Change your answer, Jane,” he demanded, gripping her shoulders
. “It’s not too late. Marry me.”

She couldn’t meet his eyes, focusing instead on the tips of her slippers
. “No. I can’t.”  She shook her head. “I won’t.” 

He dropped his hands to his sides
.

Her hand rose to her breast, to the place his mouth had possessed only moments before
. “We can never do this again,” she said, her voice hoarse. “Never.”

“You’re right.”  He hastily straightened his waistcoat and jacket
. When he looked at her again, his face was guarded. His implacable mask had returned to shield her from his thoughts, his emotions. “What I’ve done here tonight is inexcusable and cannot be repeated.”

“I...of course,” she stammered
.

“Tomorrow I will ask for Miss Upshaw’s hand in marriage.”

She froze, unable to speak. The pounding of her heart reverberated in her eardrums, nearly deafening her.

“I presume she will accept,” he added, unnecessarily, his face a stony mask
.

Still, she said nothing
. She looked into his eyes, wondering if this would be the last time she could study them so closely, the last opportunity she’d have to see how the gray and green intermingled seamlessly, how a ring of darker green encircled the irises.

With trembling hands she smoothed down her dress, and allowed him to lead her back to the Mandevilles’ supper box
.

Her fate was sealed
. She would die a spinster.

***

Devil take it
, Hayden thought with a scowl. Now he had no choice but to ask for Miss Upshaw’s hand in marriage. He dismissed his valet with the wave of one hand and roughly untied his cravat. He tossed the length of starched cloth to the chair before the hearth and began shrugging off his waistcoat. Pacing before the cold fireplace, he hastily undid the buttons on his shirt. He shuddered as his fingers made contact with his skin, remembering the touch of Miss Rosemoor’s hands on his torso just hours before. His groin stiffened at the memory.

In frustration, he strode to the window and gazed out at the night, wondering what had possessed him to speak such ill-considered words
. He’d said he would ask for Miss Upshaw’s hand tomorrow and now he must, no matter how unpalatable the idea seemed upon further thought. He’d hoped Miss Rosemoor–Jane–would beg him to reconsider; that she’d confess her regret at having refused him; that she’d ask for a second chance. But no, she had done nothing of the sort.

What was the woman about
? He was baffled. He leaned his forehead against the cool glass and exhaled sharply. He supposed it was possible that she was hoping to make a love match, despite her assertion to the contrary. Love matches were becoming more fashionable of late, after all. Hell, even Mandeville had succumbed a few years back, as improbable as it had seemed at the time.

He turned away from the window and leaned against the wall, his boots crossed indolently as he stroked his chin
. If she was hanging out for a love match, then it was best this way. It wouldn’t be fair to her, for he could never love her.

He dropped his hands to his sides as his heart accelerated
. Cold fear raced through his veins. Unbidden, the memories of his beloved Katherine flashed before his mind–her clear green eyes staring, unseeing, as he’d lifted her lifeless, broken body from the rocky ground and pressed her to his heart. The blood had darkened her fair hair to the color of wet bricks and soaked through his coat, staining his skin–marking him. He had loved her. Not a passionate, all-consuming love, but a quiet, deep love borne from years of close association, nurtured over the years and encouraged by their parents who had betrothed them in childhood. Katherine had been warm, sensible, her inner strength belied by her delicate, almost-angelic appearance. She had been taken from him most cruelly.

Even then, he had been no stranger to despair
. He had watched helplessly as the life ebbed from his mother following a miscarriage when he’d been but a boy. A well-meaning servant had brought him in to bid her farewell, and he could still smell the metallic scent of blood that had hung heavy in the air as he’d sobbed on her breast, begging her not to leave him.

After her death, he’d taken all the love reserved for his mother and lavished it on his frail, weak sister, doing everything in his power to see to her health, her comfort
. To save her. But his efforts had been for naught. Only weeks into his first term at Oxford, Isabel had slipped away. He hadn’t even been there to hold her hand, to ease her into eternal rest. His father’s death had followed a mere six months later, and he’d been made the Earl of Westfield, a lonely position at best. He was left with nothing in the way of family save one wastrel brother, and Thomas’ only loves were gaming and whoring, blackening the Moreland name wherever he went. His brother was no comfort to him.  

He couldn’t fathom what he’d done to deserve such a curse
–that every woman he loved was taken from him–but never again would he let down his guard and freely give his love to anyone.

With each successive loss, a part of his heart had been torn away until he feared there was nothing left
–no heart, no soul. He had nothing left to give of himself. When Madeline had come into his life, he had vowed to protect her from his curse. Yes, he had a certain fondness for his niece, but he’d distanced himself from her, sustained a certain detachment that had served them both well.

And that was exactly what he must do with his future bride
. Distance himself. Remain detached. The more he thought about it, the more certain it seemed that Jane was not the type of woman who would abide by that. So it was best that she had refused him, even though he wanted her. Physically. He reached up to squeeze the bridge of his nose. Dear God, how he wanted her. More than he’d ever wanted any woman. It was senseless, ridiculous even, but he craved her physically with a desperation he’d never before experienced.

When he’d seen her at the Falmouth ball in William Nickerson’s arms, smiling up at him with a genuine smile, he’d been infused with a suffocating rage
. He’d wanted to storm over to the couple and pull her back into his arms, to demand to know why her eyes lit up and her cheeks flushed pink when she smiled at Nickerson. For when she smiled at him, the show of pleasure rarely went further than her mouth.

When Nickerson led her out of the ballroom for a breath of air, had she allowed him to kiss her
? Had Nickerson’s hands roamed her luscious body the way his had in the gardens? Even now, the thought blinded him with anger. Ever since he’d met the woman, she’d set his carefully ordered existence spinning. He wouldn’t stand for it.

With an oath, he strode angrily across the room and collapsed in the chair before the hearth, sprawling inelegantly.

Damn it to hell. He’d ask for Miss Upshaw’s hand tomorrow, just as he said he would, and be done with it.

Jane Rosemoor would remain safe from his curse
. He would make bloody sure of it.

Chapter 12

It was done
. Hayden straightened his cravat and reached for his whip as he called for his curricle. Miss Upshaw’s father had accepted his suit, and all was settled. By autumn he and his new bride would return to Richmond Park. Yet he found no joy in the arrangement. Instead, he felt strangely hollow, resigned to his fate. He sighed as he stepped up into the curricle and took up the ribbons. He gently slapped the horses’ backs and the conveyance lurched off. He was not the first man to marry one woman while desiring another; certainly he would not be the last.

Glancing up, Hayden noted the perfect sky, clear blue with wisps of clouds drifting lazily toward the horizon
. How could the day seem so tranquil when inside he felt anything but? He grimaced at the irony of it.

The day was warm
–not unpleasantly so, but enough to draw a thin film of perspiration across his brow as his curricle rattled along the streets of Mayfair. He reached for his handkerchief and dabbed at his forehead, suddenly thinking to head to Gunter’s for an ice. If he were lucky, most of the
ton
would remain in Hyde Park enjoying the weather, and he would be left mercifully alone. With a nod to himself, he reined the matched pair of grays toward Berkley Square.

Minutes later he entered the establishment with a satisfied smile
. Very few patrons crowded the counter, and only a handful of carriages sat across the bustling street, awaiting the return of gentlemen ferrying ices, sorbets, and sweets to the eager ladies inside.

Once he had his own lemon ice in hand, he headed back outside to enjoy it in the sunshine
. Leaning against the railing, he took an enormous bite, savoring the tart, tangy coldness on his tongue. For a flickering moment, he wished that Madeline were there with him, for the child greatly enjoyed ices. He shook off the thought. Madeline couldn’t accompany him to London. It simply wouldn’t do. There were too many questions about her parentage that must remain unanswered. Yes, Madeline was best tucked safely away in the countryside, away from the prying eyes and wagging tongues of the
ton
’s notorious gossips.

Before he’d asked for Miss Upshaw’s
–Dorothea’s–hand, he’d told her about his ward, confessed the shocking truth that she was his brother’s bastard child. She hadn’t blinked an eye at the news, and he’d made it clear that he would entertain no further discussion regarding her unfortunate origins. Still, she’d accepted him with a triumphant smile and sent him straightaway to her father, her pale blue eyes dancing and her alabaster cheeks flushed pink.

The arrangements had been completed in the most businesslike manner, and he’d left without bidding his affianced good-bye
. He feared she might have expected a chaste kiss or some other display of affection, and he could not oblige her–not yet. Not till he somehow managed to erase the memory of Jane’s touch, Jane’s kiss, from his mind. No longer did he think of her as ‘Miss Rosemoor’–she was now ‘Jane.’ 
His Jane
. And yet she’d never be his, outside his dreams.

He swallowed a spoonful of his ice and almost choked as the frigid lump made its way uncomfortably down his throat.

A
clear, feminine voice pulled him from his dark thoughts.

“I’m so glad you happened upon us in the park, Mr. Nickerson
. What a delightful idea. I’m positively parched.” 

“I confess, Miss Rosemoor, the lure of Gunter’s was simply a ruse in order to squire you off
. I’ve something important to discuss with you. I hope you’ll forgive the falsehood.”

Hayden froze, his spoon poised midway between his mouth and the ice he clutched in one hand
.

“Perhaps a plateful of sweets and a dish of sorbet will repay...”  Jane’s voice trailed off as she and William Nickerson stopped directly in front of him
. Nickerson’s brow drew together at once, and Jane’s eyes widened in surprise. “Lord Westfield,” she said brightly, bobbing a curtsey in his direction.

“Westfield,” Nickerson echoed, tipping his hat
.

Hayden paused a beat before replying, noting how Nickerson’s scowl deepened with each passing second
.

Finally, Hayden bowed
. “Miss Rosemoor, Mr. Nickerson.”  As he straightened, his gaze sought hers, involuntarily seeking the warmth of those sapphire depths.

“What a surprise.”  Her cheeks pinkened ever so slightly, and he saw her tighten her grasp on Nickerson’s arm
.

“Indeed,” he replied
. “You look radiant today.”

“Thank you
. Tell me, are felicitations in order as of yet?”

“They are,” he bit out
. A shadow, barely discernible but there nevertheless, flickered across her eyes, and something tightened in his chest in response. This was madness. And yet, he was certain to run into her at some point. Mayfair was small. Best to get it over with.

“My heartiest congratulations, then.”  Her mouth curved into a forced smile
. “I wish you much happiness.” 

Nickerson loudly cleared this throat, his growing annoyance evident in his countenance
. Hayden looked to the man with a frown before returning his gaze to Jane. More than anything, he wanted to reach out to her, to run his finger along her jawbone, to tease her lower lip with his thumb. It took every ounce of his reserve to keep his hands by his sides, his ice still firmly in his grasp. At last, he managed to tear his gaze from hers.

“Good day, Miss Rosemoor,” he managed before spooning another bite of ice into his mouth, welcoming the cold distraction
. “Nickerson,” he added with a curt nod.

For a moment, a troubled look gathered on Jane’s features
. At once, she shook her head as if to clear it. “Good day.”  With a bob of her straw bonnet, she dismissed him and allowed Nickerson to steer her into the shop, the mint green folds of her dress billowing out on the breeze behind her.

Hayden inhaled sharply as her familiar spicy scent wafted past his nose, then dispersed
. A groan of frustration tore from his throat as he headed for his curricle.

***

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Nickerson.”  Jane reached for a tiny tea cake. “I’m afraid neither Lord Westfield nor I can keep a civil tongue in each other’s presence.”  She took a bite, then licked a dollop of custard from her fingertips.

“Don’t apologize, Miss Rosemoor
. I only wish we’d managed to avoid him, arrogant brute. But the discourse
was
quite civil, really.”

“Too civil, I suppose.”  The lump of cake felt like a stone in her stomach
.
He was marrying Miss Upshaw
.

“Dare I ask why you offered felicitations?”

Her heart skipped a beat. “He’s asked for Miss Dorothea Upshaw’s hand, and she’s accepted.”

“Is that so
? Well, that will surely quiet the tabbies who’ve been speculating that he would ask for yours, instead. They’re gossiping still about the Falmouth ball, saying that he held you far too closely and that a lover’s spat led him to cut short your waltz.”

“Is that what they’re saying, whispering behind their fans like cowards?”  Jane frowned, the blood rising in her face
. “I suppose now they’ll all pity me, thinking I’ve been cast aside.” 

She pushed the unpleasant thought from her mind
. She wouldn’t think about it. Not now. “Anyway, enough about Lord Westfield. You’ve piqued my curiosity. What did you wish to discuss with me?”  She took a sip of chamomile tea, hoping it would settle her stomach a bit.

Nickerson stared back at her eagerly, a hopeful expression illuminating his noble features
. “I’d hoped to enlist your aid in a bit of...well, deception.”

“An intrigue
? How exciting! Tell me more.” 

“Are you at all acquainted with Miss Marianne Adare
? Lord Astley’s niece?”

“Of course
. Lovely girl.”  Jane knew her slightly. She was several years her junior, only come out last Season.

Nickerson took a deep breath, his gray eyes dancing merrily with some sort of mischief
. “We’re secretly engaged.”

“No,” Jane gasped
.

“Yes, for many months now
. We met in Kent. She was there visiting her aunt, and we became well acquainted away from her parents’ watchful eyes. I’d hoped to gain the approval of her father and uncle before asking for her hand. Of course, they were hoping for a more advantageous match for her, but we’re desperately in love.” 

“I cannot believe it.”  Jane reached for his hand
. “I am so very happy for you. But what can I possibly do to aid your cause?”

“Perhaps pretend an attachment
? Allow me to squire you about to parties where Miss Adare will be in attendance?”  He raked one hand through his wavy, blond locks. “It will give me an opportunity to curry favor with her family while not appearing to court her. Your family is held in high esteem, and with your connection to the Mandevilles... Well, being seen in your company can only show me in a positive light, and perhaps allow for some secret assignations with Miss Adare, as well. Will you do it?”

A slow smile spread across Jane’s face
. “Of course I’ll do it.”  How wonderful that Nickerson had found love. Somehow she felt immediately easier in his company. And with Lord Westfield engaged to Miss Upshaw, she would be relieved to have the company of a pleasant escort. Logically, she didn’t know what Lord Westfield had to do with it, but at least it would prove to him that she would not want for male companionship. Perhaps a small part of her hoped to make him jealous. Whatever the case, she’d do everything in her power to aid Nickerson and his beloved. “It would be my pleasure,” she added, giving his hand a conspiratorial squeeze.

Nickerson’s face lit with a smile
. “You’ve no idea how much this means to me, and to Miss Adare as well. I must send word to her at once. You and I can begin our mock courtship tomorrow night, at Lord and Lady Pemberton’s ball.”

“But the Pembertons are Miss Upshaw’s parents,” Jane stammered
. Surely the girl’s engagement would be announced at the ball. She could barely stomach the notion.

“They are indeed
. You see, my plan will serve your needs as well as mine.”  Nickerson smiled slyly. “Why, what better way to show the
ton
how unaffected you are by Westfield’s engagement than by allowing me to escort you there, and by looking pleased with the news.” 

Jane smiled grimly
. He was sharp, indeed. She would do it. She would make herself do it, she corrected.

***

“Jane, dearest, you look lovely. Stop fretting.”  Emily patted Jane’s shoulder. “Remember, it’s only an
imaginary
courtship, after all.”

Jane laughed
. “I wish I could tell you everything, Emily. But I gave my word; I’m sworn to secrecy. I only told you what I did so you didn’t get your hopes up, imagining my feelings for Mr. Nickerson had changed. Besides, you must help me with the ruse.”

“Of course I will
. As will Lady Mandeville. You can count on our discretion.”

“I’m lucky to have friends such as you.”  Jane reached over to kiss Emily’s soft cheek
. Amelia’s cries pierced the air, and the pair turned toward the door. “Your little one awakens. You’re sure I look acceptable?”

“Oh, to be so unaware of such beauty!”  Emily laughed as she headed off in search of the nursemaid
.

Jane took one last look into the glass
. She’d worn her newest gown, ordered upon her arrival in Town from the most fashionable modiste. The ice-blue satin under the layer of filmy tulle was not a color she wore often, yet Lucy had insisted it suited her. She hoped she was right. She must look her best–and most cheerful–tonight as the
ton
learned of Lord Westfield’s engagement to Miss Upshaw.

A pang of regret twisted her heart as she thought of Miss Upshaw, mistress of Richmond Park
. To think, it could have been hers instead. She tried to picture the doll-like Miss Upshaw reigning over the long dining table at Richmond, sharing walks through the estate’s grand park with her husband, sharing his life, his bed. Jane struck the vanity’s cool marble top with one fist. It should be hers! Hot tears burned her eyelids, and she felt her stomach lurch uncomfortably.

The disturbing images of Miss Upshaw at Richmond faded away and were replaced instead with visions of herself sitting across the long table with Lord Westfield opposite her
. “Hayden.”  The name rolled off her tongue, spoken in the merest whisper, and gooseflesh rose on her skin. How would it feel to lay with him, to allow him to touch her most secret, unexplored places? To carry his child? A sob tore from her throat, and she reached one gloved hand up to suppress it.  

The beast of despair stirred in her breast, and she vowed to thwart it
. No point giving in to melancholy, allowing it to rule her actions, her emotions. She stared back at her own pale face, valiantly willing herself to composure.
Smile
, she told her reflection.
Just smile
.