The heat inside her was building and building until she felt as though she needed to escape her own skin just to give it release. And just when she felt on the edge of utter insanity, his fingers found the edge of her skirts.

  Jane held her breath as they inched higher and higher, closer, and closer to where she suddenly realised she needed them most.

  The hand that had been on her breast moved again, plunging into her hair, and pulling so she was arched against him. His mouth closed over the pulse at her throat, biting gently as those clever fingers parted her folds and found the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs. He pressed a thumb against her, circling it until she was grinding against him, and he hissed against her skin, sounding as tortured as she felt.

  The flames inside her burned hotter and hotter and just when she knew they would explode, he plunged a finger into the very heart of her and she screamed as release barrelled through her body. On and on it went, wave after wave of acute pleasure with Harry’s lips and hands guiding her through it all. And when she was spent, she slumped against him feeling as though she was floating about her body.

  Only his arms around her rubbing comforting circles against her back let her know that she was still here in this carriage with him.

  “You’re exquisite,” he whispered into her hair. She hadn’t even realised that he’d removed her bonnet. Now she could feel her hair tumbling down her back, could feel as he lifted one lock and smoothed it between his fingers.

  The silence stretched between them. Not uncomfortable but not exactly easy either and Jane didn’t quite know how to break it or if she should. A part of her knew that she should probably feel ashamed of herself. Should probably think of herself as nothing better than a light-skirted hussy. Especially because she’d only known him a handful of days.

  But she couldn’t. She felt free. As though he’d opened some locked away part of herself. And it gave her the confidence to lift her head and look him in the eye.

  “Harry,” she said shyly, using his Christian name because formalities seemed a little redundant now.

  “Hmm?”

  “This wasn’t on the list.”

  “How is your dowdy little friend, darling? After that terrible incident at the lake?”

  Harry gritted his teeth, swallowing the need to defend Jane against Henrietta’s cruelty. It wouldn’t do for Henrietta to see he was bothered. He’d never realised she had such a mean streak in her, yet when he thought back to their time together it had always been present.

  Jane Darington, for example, wouldn’t give up a man she professed to love just to get herself a title. She could have been proposed to a thousand times over by now if she’d allowed anyone near her.

  Anyone but him.

  The second he let the thought slip through the rigid hold he had on his feelings, it all came rushing in. The panic, the guilt, yes. But also, the memory of the taste of her. The feel and sight of her coming undone in his arms. The sound of his name upon her lips.

  Christ alive, he was in deep. So, so deep.

  She wasn’t here tonight because now they had to keep up the silly ruse about her ankle and despite his swirling thoughts, he couldn’t contain a smile at the memory of her terrible acting.

  The countess had been delighted when Jane had returned home and given enough of a performance of an injury to get her out of attending the Fletcher musicale. Even more so when she found out there were witnesses to the apparent accident.

  “I don’t particularly like Lady Glenmore,” Olivia had said. “But it’s useful that she was there.”

  As soon as she’d made mention of how flushed Jane was and how she hoped she wasn’t coming down with a fever, Harry had judged it safer to take his leave. He’d had to. He’d needed distance from Jane Darington, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to face Alex’s knowing glare.

  The countess had invited him to come back and dine with them this evening and for a moment, he’d been tempted by the look of shy hopefulness on Jane’s face. But Sir Alfred was a client and a friend, and he’d already committed to being here. Somehow Alex and Olivia had managed to use Jane’s fake injury as a get out clause for all three of them.

  He realised that he hadn’t answered Henrietta and that she was scowling, no doubt unused to being ignored.

  “She’s fine,” he said abruptly, choosing not to rise to the insult that set her teeth on edge. “Resting.”

  “It’s so charitable of you, darling, to take her on those little outings. Skating, walking in the park.”

  He raised a brow at her, and she laughed the tinkling little laugh that he used to find charming. “My servants really don’t miss a thing.”

  He didn’t bother responding and could feel the irritation emanating from her. She sidled closer to him, fingering the obscene diamond pendant that sat between her breasts, the gown she wore so low cut that it left very little to the imagination. She was a widow now, he supposed. She could flaunt her wares anywhere she chose.

  “Since you don’t seem to be nannying the girl this evening,” Henrietta drawled, placing a hand on his arm in blatant invitation, the perfume he remembered surrounding them, “why don’t you come and see me when you’re able to slip away? I miss you, darling.”

  Harry swallowed hard and peered down at her. She was beautiful. She’d always been beautiful with her blonde curls and china doll looks. The years hadn’t stolen any of her charms either, rather it seemed as though she’d grown into them.

  A week ago, he probably would have jumped at the chance to lift her skirts and take what she was so blatantly offering. It had been good with her, he remembered. He knew because she sure as hell hadn’t gone to her husband’s bed a virgin.

  But he’d had good. Had it many times since she’d opened his eyes to who she really was. And truthfully, every woman since her had been just as good.

  A small part of him considered giving in to the temptation of returning to his past. This woman had had such a hold on his younger self. But something was holding him back. No, not something. Someone.

  As ridiculous and downright dangerous as it was, he couldn’t see the beauty in Henrietta’s blue eyes because he was obsessing over a pair of brown ones. And he wasn’t stirred by Henrietta’s invitation because he’d been moved so much by Jane Darington’s sweet innocence.

  One kiss from her had affected him more than anyone or anything had done in a long time. And here it came, the flood of memories of their time in that carriage. Henrietta was still talking but he could no longer even pretend to listen, his mind, his ears, his entire being filled with Jane Darington. That passion that sat beneath the surface of her shy exterior, the sounds she made when she was moaning against his mouth, her body trembling with the release that his hands brought to her. Only his.

  A wave of possessiveness swept over him and suddenly he wished he were in Fincham’s dining room, no parties, no drinking, and dancing and laughing. The frivolity and freedom he’d craved since boyhood didn’t seem to hold quite the same appeal as it had done before.

  He’d never imagined that he’d want anything too deep. After being responsible for his mother, he’d closed himself off to the possibility of or the desire to have anything truly meaningful. Another reason why Henrietta had seemed perfect for him. She was only surface. And he’d made himself want that.

  But it felt different now. Fake. Brittle. And when he thought of Jane opening up to him about her past experiences and her fears, when he thought of how she’d smiled at him refusing to be ashamed of what they’d done. Her eyes filled with wonder. Wonder that he’d put there.

  And all afternoon, the niggling thought had occurred over and over again; he wanted so much more than surface with Jane Darington. He wanted to know all her thoughts, all her secrets, all her fears. He wanted to tell her his. He wanted to be a rock. Someone she could lean on.

  He thought of his grandma’s cameo. The gift for the woman who owned his heart. But he shied away from it once more. Foolish to be thinking such things. He was just caught up in the yuletide spirit, that was all.

  And yet, when Henrietta stepped closer still and whispered just what she’d give him in his ear, he couldn’t try to convince himself that it was even remotely appealing. So, he took his leave and wondered how the hell he’d gotten himself into such a complicated situation in such a short space of time.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “You can’t seriously mean to play croquette in the snow.”

  Jane laughed at Olivia’s confusion, feeling more joy than she could ever remember feeling. Ever since their morning in the carriage, Harry had called and insisted that they tick something off her list.

  They’d played archery on a rare snow free day and today they would play croquette. He’d also added to her list claiming that they would run out of things to do, and he was enjoying himself far too much to finish up in a couple of days.

  And so, they’d gone to the theatre accompanied by Olivia and Alex. They’d attended balls and parties that she would never usually dream of going near.

  He’d spent every day and evening with them. When they didn’t have social engagements he joined them for dinner, teaching her how to play far and then moving on to hazard when he claimed that she had trounced him so many times his pockets would soon be to let.

  And when he’d won all his money back playing hazard, and more besides, he’d whispered in her ear that she could pay off her debts with a kiss. Of course they were careful around Alex and Olivia. Especially Alex. But during their daytime walks or rides, he always managed to steal one. Or several.

  She wasn’t sure what it meant. And she was simply terrified to ask. So she decided to just enjoy their time together. She knew what she was feeling, knew that she had tumbled fast and far. But Harry, unlike Elliot St. Clare, had never made her promises and had never claimed to feel anything for her beyond fondness. Of course, she shouldn’t allow him to kiss her and take liberties. But she was powerless against the feelings he evoked in her and so she just let it happen, refusing to think of anything beyond the next week or so.

  Last night the snow had fallen thicker than ever before and when Harry had shown up whilst they were still breaking their fast, even Jane had laughingly objected to his suggestion that they play.

  “I haven’t played since childhood, Mr. Sampson,” she’d protested as he’d filled a plate then come to sit beside her. “It’s badly done of you to force me to play in such conditions.”

  “How about if I promise to let you cheat?” he’d asked magnanimously, his hand slipping beneath the table to squeeze her leg. She’d been so distracted that she’d stopped voicing any objections, scowling at his smug smile when he realised he’d won.

  So now here she stood, bedecked in a cloak and scarf trying to assure her sister that she wouldn’t freeze to death playing snow croquette on the lawn.

  “Come Miss Darington. The sooner I beat you the sooner we can get inside and get warm.”

  “Harry Sampson.” Olivia’s scolding tone stopped him and he turned to her with an innocent smile.

  “My lady?” he asked.

  But Livy wasn’t charmed, and she narrowed her eyes at him.

  “My Christmas Eve ball is in one week’s time. If you get her sick before then, if you make it impossible for her to attend, if you bring harm to so much as a hair upon her head, well you can just ask my husband what I’m capable of.”

  Jane hid her smile in her glove as true alarm crossed Harry’s face, his crystal blue eyes widening at Livy’s threats. But then his expression melted into its usual affability.

  “First you wanted her injured, now you don’t want a hair on her head harmed. Honestly Lady Fincham, tis impossible to keep up with your demands.”

  And before Olivia could ring a peal over his head, which it very much looked like she was preparing to do, he grabbed Jane’s hand and practically dragged her out the door and into the snow.

  Not thirty minutes later, Jane was laughing in defeat. The snow had fallen and was still falling so thickly that it was impossible to see the croquette balls and the mallet felt as though it was stuck to her fingers.

  “I concede defeat,” she called over to him. “Honestly this is a lot less fun than I remember.”

  He stalked toward her and without a word, cupped her face in his hand, tilting her chin up to face him.

  “Do you have any idea how beautiful you look in the snow,” he asked, sounding almost tormented. “That black hair and those heart-breaking brown eyes? Irresistible.”

  Jane blinked in surprise, her entire body warming at his words.

  “Does that mean you’re going to let me win?” she asked hopefully, earning herself a chuckle from him before he sobered.

  “I don’t want to let you go yet,” he said as he sobered, his gaze boring into hers, setting her heart fluttering wildly in her chest, and Jane got the feeling that he might be talking about more than this afternoon.

  But she couldn’t let herself think that way, she knew. It would hurt too much when she was proven wrong.

  Still, she didn’t want to say goodbye to him just yet either.

  “Isn’t there something left on the list that we can do indoors?” she asked, her cheeks scalding as his smile became positively wolfish.

  “Oh, I can think of a thing or two,” he said with a wink.

  She slapped his arm but didn’t stop him when he bent to bestow a heated kiss on her lips.

  After what felt like seconds and eons he pulled back, groaning as he pressed his forehead to her own.

  “You’re driving me insane, Jane Darington,” he whispered, and Jane felt her heart nearly explode with ecstasy.

  She, Jane Darington. The wallflower who had been destined to live alone and hidden away from the world, who’d been burnt by a man who never truly wanted her. she was driving a man such as Harry Sampson insane. It didn’t seem as though it could be real.

  A niggling voice of doubt whispered in her ear telling her that she’d believed such things once before and had almost been destroyed by them. But she pushed it ruthlessly away. Harry was nothing like Elliot St. Clare. He cared about her. He had helped her even though he didn’t have to. And he was good, right down to his core. He’d never use a woman so ill.

  “There is one other activity on your list that won’t get me shot should Alex come upon us,” he said suddenly, pulling back from her and grasping her hand, guiding her toward the house.

  “And what’s that?” she asked, a little breathlessly.

  “I’ll show you.”

  He hurried them inside and into the music room, calling for a tea tray to be brought in and for Jane’s maid to come see to her. Alex and he had been friends for so long that none of the staff batted an eyelid at him commandeering a room and ordering tea.

  And if any of them thought it was strange that she spent so much time with him without ever requesting a chaperone, well, she wouldn’t hear their servants’ gossip in any case.

  While the maid scurried away to do Harry’s bidding, Jane divested herself of her cloak and gloves, unwinding her scarf and removing her bonnet too, before kicking off her wet boots.

  By the time she had them off, her maid had arrived with a shawl and a pair of dry slippers, and another had hurried in to light the fire. When the room had emptied again, the last of the servants dropping off the requested tea tray then subtly closing the door behind her, Jane faced Harry across the room, quite alone.

  “There’s only one thing left on your list, Jane,” he said, his voice strangely hoarse. “Dancing.”

  Jane’s heart stopped then thundered into a gallop. During the past two weeks she’d opened up more about what had happened with Elliot St. James, why he’d made her want to live like a wallflower, never wanting to dance again, to get close enough to a gentleman again. It seemed so silly after the embraces and kisses she’d shared with him that she would be fastidious about dancing, yet it had remained the one thing she still didn’t want to do.

  But standing here, in this quiet room with the snow drifting down outside, and the fire crackling merrily in the hearth, she realised that she could let go of that misplaced fear. That she could throw off that last, self-imposed shackle.

  He closed the distance between them, taking her in his arms. “I want to dance with you at the ball next week,” he whispered. “I want you to reserve every dance for me, though I know that you can’t. But.” He wrapped a hand around her waist, clasping her own in the other and moved them into a slow, soundless waltz. “I want the waltz,” he said.

  He knew how significant it was to her. That the man who’d betrayed her had made her hate that dance more than the rest. “He doesn’t deserve it, sweetheart,” he said softly. “He never did. I want it for my own. I want it to be me you think of when you dance. No one else.”

  And when she couldn’t find the words, when her throat grew so tight with unshed tears that she didn’t trust herself to speak, when she finally allowed herself to admit what it was she felt for him, she lifted her face to his and pressed a tender kiss against his mouth.

  The kiss from Jane was the sweetest of his life and Harry felt it, the final crack in the wall around his heart. And he knew then what he felt for this woman in his arms. Knew that the love he’d thought he’d felt for Henrietta had been laughable in the face of what he felt for Jane.

  His grandmother’s gift belonged only to the woman in his arms. How could it not? He could see it clearly in his mind’s eye, Jane wearing his grandmother’s cameo, that symbol of true, undying love.

  He deepened the kiss, pulling her flush against him, delighting in her moan of capitulation. She was perfect, and he wanted her forever. He knew it with a blinding clarity that lent a desperation to his kiss.

 

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