Glowing in Gold: The Brothers Duke: Book Five Page 4

  ‘This… hunger.’ Edward’s eyes met hers again, his gaze alight with the want Jane felt burning in her own body. ‘This need.’

  Don’t believe anything a rake says. But–but this wasn’t the smooth rake’s patter. This sounded entirely different, as if a mask had slipped.

  Surely she could believe just once. Once in her life. Couldn’t she?

  ‘Forgive me. I shouldn’t be speaking to you in this fashion.’

  ‘No. No, I–I don’t mind. I don’t mind at all.’ Jane forced herself not to grip his shirt; she couldn’t keep him pressed to her like this if he didn’t want to. But oh, how divine his body felt against hers–all hardness to her softness. ‘Keep talking. I want to listen.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But you’re not meant to listen to me. I’m meant to sweep in and show you the meaning of pleasure.’

  ‘Speaking like this is pleasurable as well. A different kind of pleasure, but pleasure all the same.’

  ‘You don’t have to listen to me if you don’t want to. You don’t have to feign pleasure where there is none.’

  ‘You’re asking me to listen to you, but you’re not listening to me.’ Jane attempted to smile, but the urgency building in her body didn’t let her. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘I… I haven’t wanted to do something like this in a bloody long time.’ Edward stared at her, unblinking as he spoke. ‘The want. It hasn’t been there. Now, it’s—it’s here all at once, and it’s because of—’

  ‘Because of what?’

  ‘Because of you.’

  Definitely don’t believe that. But oh, God—she wanted to. Not least because it sounded so very convincing, even coming from such a handsome face.

  ‘Forgive me, Miss Selkirk.’

  ‘Nothing to be forgiven.’ If he had been brave, she could be brave too. ‘Unless, of course, you stop.’

  ‘We don’t have much time before they come back.’

  ‘Then let’s use the time we have. Please.’

  Another brief, heart-stopping moment of awareness came, with Edward staring deep into her eyes. For a moment it was as if the conversation would continue–that both of them would say things that they had never managed to say to anyone else.

  Then his mouth was on hers again, his hands cupping her face as if it was unutterably precious, and all words were lost in a delirious rush of pleasure. Jane leaned ecstatically into the kiss, other possibilities blooming in her mind as Edward’s thighs pressed wickedly against her own.

  She had read a great deal about carnal acts. She read a great deal about everything under the sun—why would this subject be any different? Now she could see how practice was infinitely more interesting than theory. She could whisper in Edward’s ear right now, murmur the most fascinating of the ideas she had discovered—really, who better than him to help her learn exactly how to do them…

  ‘I think the bronze will be well-received, but I’m a little less sure about the pearl… perhaps a pattern where both are used would bring out the best of each shade.’ Anne’s voice was horribly close. Jane and Edward looked at one another in immediate, mutual terror. ‘Miss Selkirk? We’ve prepared a variety of shades, with one or two new ideas that may prove useful in the end…’

  The three women stepped out from behind the curtain. Jane suddenly found herself marooned in the corner of the room, heart beating terribly fast, looking with frightened eyes at everything other than Edward Duke.

  Edward could apparently move faster than a cat. He was almost on the other side of the room, examining an array of taffeta fabrics with every suggestion of polite boredom, ignoring Jane with a totality that was almost more convincing than the passion of mere moments ago.

  ‘Well.’ Charlotte spoke with a bright smile, evidently unaware that anything was amiss. ‘It’s time to examine these fabrics, Edward. Try and look interested again.’

  ‘I can summon up a little energy for that.’ Edward’s smile was perfectly polite; he didn’t look at Jane at all. Jane smoothed her skirts, reminding herself that she couldn’t be offended by him playing a part. ‘Are you ready, Miss Selkirk?’

  ‘Of course.’ She definitely didn’t sound as practised as he did. Her voice came out as a wavering croak; she coughed, noting with alarm that Margaret was staring at her. ‘There’s nothing more exciting than fabric.’

  Nothing more exciting than fabric? Oh, Lord. She had managed to lose both her articulacy and good sense in the space of about four minutes.

  Still. A warm glow lit her from within. You wouldn’t change it for the world.

  Four hours later, after fabrics had been chosen and her enormous dress order had thrown the modistes of the Duke workshop into an agreeable panic, she sat with Margaret in her stationary carriage as the coachman gave the final inspection to the horses. There had been time to visit several new shops, as well as inspect one of two of the new places designed for diversion and entertainment that were springing up all over the metropolis like flowers. Jane had managed to converse pleasantly about any number of light topics, smiling and nodding at appropriate moments, but always with the sensation of a trap slowly drawing shut.

  There wasn’t any way at all of avoiding a talk with Margaret. Edward had done his part to dispel suspicion, of course–he had looked as interested in that row of taffeta as the most dedicated modiste. But he was a practised rake, used to being disarmingly casual in the midst of passionate situations–she, on the other hand, could look flustered in a garden on a peaceful summer’s day.

  She had definitely looked flustered after that… encounter. It certainly wasn’t the correct word for it, but she was rather sure the correct word hadn’t been invented yet. Alas, unless she found or invented the perfect word post-haste, she would be forced to stumble through an awkward conversation with Margaret as soon as the carriage began to move in earnest.

  Had she ever felt this uncomfortable before? This guilty? She rather thought she had moved beyond guilt; it was best to live one’s life without thinking of it. Now, as the wheels of the carriage began to turn, Jane wondered if she had simply been living a life devoid of anything scandalous enough to feel guilty about.

  ‘So.’ Margaret’s tone was deliberately casual. A delicate thread of a spider’s web, but capable of getting one in a dreadful tangle all the same. ‘The new tea gardens near Ward Street look nice enough.’

  ‘They certainly do. I’ve always had a fondness for Egyptian motifs.’

  ‘And that new perfume they were testing at Tempson’s really was pleasant.’

  ‘Yes. Like a spring day.’

  ‘And exactly how far did Edward Duke lead you back in the workshop?’

  ‘You needn’t think you can lull me into answering a question like that with a few pointless pleasantries beforehand.’

  ‘Pleasantries are never pointless. That perfume really was lovely.’ Margaret’s voice brooked no argument. ‘But if you prefer plain speaking, as you always have, let us speak plainly. Did something happen?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Really?’ Margaret’s eyes widened. ‘Truly?’

  ‘Well now you seem shocked. Weren’t you sure that something had happened?’

  ‘Theoretically! To hear you admit it is quite another thing.’

  ‘I think we can both be completely sure that Edward Duke’s seductions are by no means focused in nature. I simply happened to be in the room. I’m sure every other unmarried woman within a hundred feet would have undergone a similar fate had he been left alone for long enough.’

  ‘And who knows what would have happened between you two had you been left alone for long enough?’

  ‘Oh, Margaret, save me the moralising!’

  ‘It’s hardly moralising to remind you to have a care for your reputation.’

  ‘You cared deeply for your reputation, then, when you were causing chaos in Menbrake Menagerie with Henry Duke.’

  Margaret blinked. For a moment Jane felt guilty for bringing u
p a scandalous element of Margaret’s recent past, but her manner was simply too irritating to let the matter drop. The air of tension in the carriage increased slightly, the horses shifting and snorting as if they could sense the sudden cooling of the temperature.

  ‘That was uncalled for, Jane. You know it was.’

  ‘As is your sudden, overpowering concern when it comes to someone of—of little consequence.’

  ‘Men always seem of little consequence, until they become the most consequential thing in the world. It happens too quickly to do anything about it.’

  ‘Margaret. I have always spoken plainly with you in the past, and I shall speak plainly with you now. Don’t take this moment from me. It is brief and sparkling, like a champagne bubble, and I know it’ll burst as soon as I turn my head. I know that. But I’m enjoying it. I haven’t enjoyed anything quite so much in quite so long, and I will protest most violently if you attempt to take it from me.’

  ‘Jane, I don’t want to take it from you. Believe me.’ Margaret leaned forward. ‘But–but I must remind you of what you’ve already said yourself, and warn you that the pain of such a thing ending may eclipse any joy that was gleaned from the process.’

  ‘Joy and pain are intertwined. One cannot exist without the other.’

  ‘Don’t waste yourself on him. I beg of you.’

  ‘You know about as much of him as I do, Margaret. Not enough to warn me off of him, and not enough for me to lose my heart to him.’ Jane spoke as bravely as she could, despite a strange quiver in her chest. ‘So perhaps it is best that we end this conversation.’

  ‘Jane.’

  ‘Saying my name in an entreating fashion won’t help. Not at all. I have to prepare for the most important evening of my life, happening very soon indeed, and have asked you to aid me with that and that alone.’

  ‘You asked me to help you find a husband. I would fail as a matchmaker if I didn’t tell you that pursuing anything of any sort with Edward Duke will make it all but impossible to make a good match.’

  ‘Only if I get caught, or if you tell. I know that at least one of those things won’t occur, if you value our friendship.’

  ‘Jane, don’t!’

  ‘Then don’t hurt the small amount of happiness I have, in this moment of great uncertainty. It will be replaced for something much more lasting soon enough.’ Jane paused. Used to speaking with no small amount of stridency, she was unprepared for the quiver that had come to her voice when she imagined her future without Edward. Foolishness, really. ‘Please.’

  The silence that followed was soft, forgiving, but infinitely painful. It had never been her way to fight, especially with her friends. If this was what rakes did, planting seeds of discord in otherwise tranquil female friendships, then Edward had certainly done a sterling job.

  Margaret took her hand, squeezing it. The brief, practical touch of her palm let Jane know that whatever happened, this particular aspect of her life would remain thankfully unchanged.

  ‘Well.’ From Margaret’s tone, it was as if nothing had occurred. ‘We have very little time left. We must go back to the perfumers tomorrow, I think–the scent we chose will do well enough for dancing, but something lighter will be needed for any daytime affairs. Shoes must be made for you, of course–slippers light enough for dancing–and there are new things we can do with your hair, I think, if we go to the new genius who has set up shop near that gentleman who makes the most beautiful wooden combs…’

  Jane smiled happily. She closed her eyes, content to let Margaret’s reasoned words wash over her in a flood. She would be taken from place to place, asked for money, and then miracles would happen. Simple.

  Not like Edward, and what she felt for him. That wasn’t simple at all. But he didn’t need to be thought of, not yet–but oh, he was so difficult not to think of. Every thought inevitably led to him, each and every step she took in the normally tidy corners of her mind revealed him, leaning idly against the walls of her brain and smiling…

  … he hadn’t been lying. Had he? When he told her that he hadn’t felt that way in so very long, too long–that she had brought him back to life in a way that no other woman could…

  ‘Jane? Which option is best?’

  ‘Whichever you think more reasonable, Margaret.’ Jane replied with whatever words came to mind, Edward’s face still vivid behind her eyes. ‘I trust you.’

  ‘I don’t believe you for a minute.’ Margaret’s voice was very dry, but her smile let Jane know that she had been briefly forgiven. ‘Then we shall go to the reticule-finisher first, the man responsible for making those delightful little jewelled attachments, and then see about the man who has that delightful French linen…’

  The rumour swept through the streets surrounding Charles Weldon’s townhouse like wildfire on the night of the ball. Arriving guests, readying themselves to step out of the carriage into the cool evening air and divest themselves of their shawls and muffs, were instead met with flushed faces and excited whispers saying something shockingly interesting. Not only was Jane Selkirk, Margaret Duke’s odd friend, a guest at that evening’s ball–but she had also undergone an astonishing transformation.

  ‘It’s like something out of a fairy story.’ An elderly dowager swathed in a green shawl had escaped from the ballroom on the flimsiest of pretexts, and was happily describing the shock of it to her nieces as they waited to be announced. ‘You would never believe how she looks, my dears. As if someone has waved a wand over her.’

  ‘But why?’ One of the nieces looked curiously over the heads of the waiting guests. ‘It’s not as if she’s ever looked at all interested in marriage.’

  ‘Every woman is interested in marriage. The only difference is that some of them admit it.’ The dowager sniffed, rummaging in her reticule for a lorgnette. ‘And if Jane Selkirk has decided to be interested in finding a suitor, my dears, you had better begin improving your lists of accomplishments.’

  ‘Why?’ The younger of the nieces allowed herself the luxury of a titter. ‘She can hardly have changed her looks completely.’

  ‘Not completely, but enough. And why you two have comfortably trotted along on your looks, she has spent her fallow time becoming witty, intelligent and wilful. A potent combination.’ The dowager sighed. ‘I rather think she’ll make a massacre of the Season.’

  Edward, somewhat fortunately, didn’t hear that particular conversation. Alas, that was where his luck ended. Trapped in his usual corner of the ballroom, gripping his glass of champagne so tightly that it was a wonder he hadn’t broken the stem, he was being forced to listen to every other conversation taking place that concerned Jane Selkirk.

  The vast majority of speech was coming from the gentlemen around him. The tone of the compliments, complete with winks, sounds and gestures entirely inappropriate for a ballroom, had him ready to fight anyone within a hundred feet–even if, to his own shame, he knew that he’d been exactly as lasciviously complimentary about any number of women on previous occasions.

  ‘Christ, that shape! Have you seen her?’ A wag with black hair and bright brown eyes looked suggestively at his friends, who all laughed as if they’d heard the most interesting witticism in months. ‘Who knew she’d been hiding that under those bloody awful clothes?’

  ‘She looks like something you’d find in Covent Garden. Not the filthy ones, either–the ones you pay through the nose for, and are glad for having done so.’ An older gentleman watched the excited hubbub of men and women in the far corner of the room. ‘Not that we can see her now.’

  ‘We won’t be able to get a look at her for the rest of the night. We’ll all have to be at Hyde Park tomorrow morning, pretending to give our horses exercise.’

  ‘Does she walk through Hyde Park?’

  ‘Yes. She’s always looked like a Bedlam escapee while she walks, though–she does something fiddly with leaves. Something scientific.’ The black-haired gentleman smiled coolly. ‘But one can prepare to feign interest in that sort of r
ot if she’s dressed nicely.’

  ‘She’ll be dressed nicely, then? You don’t think this is an unrepeatable event?’

  ‘I’d have said that she was utterly beyond redemption before tonight. Lord–you could barely look at her. But if she’s managed to stumble her way into gowns that become her, she’s more than acceptable. She’s very lovely.’

  ‘But still inclined to do fiddly nonsense with leaves.’

  ‘Get a child in her, and she’ll stop doing anything ridiculous. She’ll sit at home in pretty gowns and look at you adoringly when you come home—and do a lot more for you when the lights are out.’ The black-haired gentleman looked enquiringly at Edward. ‘Is that your diagnosis? It usually is.’

  Edward closed his eyes, fighting the urge to beat the lot of them over the head with the nearest heavy object. It would do him no good to play the wounded swain—and more importantly, it would do Jane no good either. If Margaret was suspicious of his behaviour, or hers, causing violence at the Weldon townhouse certainly wasn’t a good way of avoiding scrutiny.

  ‘Come on, Duke. How many children do you think you could get out of her? The hips are sound, even if the mind isn’t.’

  She paints leaves in autumn. It’s one of her favourite things to do, and none of us are fit to lick her boots. Myself very much included. ‘There are a lot of other women in this room that deserve to be looked at.’

  ‘Goodness.’ The older man gave a low whistle, much to the merriment of the gentlemen standing around them. ‘That bad, eh? You don’t even want to look at her?’

  ‘As I said. There are many other young women at this particular gathering who have come for the express purpose of being judged by gentlemen.’

  ‘And you think Miss Selkirk hasn’t? My dear boy–when a woman undergoes a transformation of this sort, there’s only one thing she wants. The least you can do is give her, and us, the pleasure of your judgement.’

  God, this was a nightmare. ‘Fine enough.’

  ‘Fine enough. Damning with faint praise, I think.’ The older gentleman laughed, the black-haired man joining in. ‘She’s still a little too moonstruck for you, then?’