Her One True Love (11 page)

He walked to the window and stared across the park toward Gay Street. Everything inside him wanted to help Jane with her desired work at the boardinghouse, equally as much as he wanted to help the Biddestone villagers. He had forged some financially sound contracts for the blacksmith and several of the villager carpenters, as well some positive deals on grain. He was eager to pass on the good news to the men concerned and allay their worries a little.

As for the personal business he wanted to attend to, that would mean writing home to his butler. He would instruct Flanders to do all he could to track down Elizabeth. Matthew clenched his jaw as his regret over the failure of his marriage turned to anger toward Elizabeth's infidelity. No. What was done was done. He had spent too long existing under a black cloud of doom and taking his frustrations out on the wrong people. Jane had been right to test him; she'd been right to challenge and shame him.

It was time he and Elizabeth spoke properly and discussed what was to happen between them going forward. He had commitments toward the village he would not break, but as far as he and Elizabeth were concerned, the sooner they set the wheels for a divorce in motion, the better.

Matthew turned from the window. His innate sense of loyalty to everyone and everything had been irrevocably tested through Elizabeth's betrayal, but he refused to continue bowing and bending under the weight of the inability to improve feelings between them. He had tried again and again, any way he knew how, to make Elizabeth happy, but his efforts had been rebuffed at every turn. He could no longer stand in limbo, not when such raw and passionate feelings for Jane raged in his blood.

He paced the room, impatient to write his letters.

His pride, rather than his heart, had been hurt. He acknowledged that with shame now.

His father's parting demands were that Matthew marry a woman of the “highest birth possible” to not only ensure the Cleaves family line but to elevate it too. Those words had haunted Matthew's every romantic intention.

A knock sounded at the door.

He strode across the room and pulled it open.

“Your writing implements, sir.”

“Thank you.” Matthew took the box and bottle of ink before tipping the young lad and closing the door.

He carried everything to a small writing desk at the edge of the room and sat. He dipped the pen into the ink, took a deep breath, and wrote the first words of undoubtedly many before he truly discovered the next step in his destiny.

Matthew folded the paper into the supplied envelope and sealed it before pulling a second piece of paper toward him.

By the time he had written letters to each of the four men in Biddestone who would be kept in ample work for the next nine months at least, the clock above the room's mantel had struck six. Pushing to his feet, he stared at the envelopes on the desk as satisfaction rippled through him. At long last, he was regaining control. At long last, the clouds had begun to clear . . . and for this evening, at least, the brightest ray of sunshine would be alongside him at the great Theater Royal.

He strode into the bathroom, relishing the sense of purpose settling over him.

Having washed, shaved, and changed into a fresh set of clothes, Matthew picked up his letters and headed downstairs into the hotel lobby. Once again, he approached the bespectacled gent behind the desk.

He cleared his throat and the man looked up.

“Ah, Squire Cleaves. Your carriage is waiting out at the front, sir.”

“Thank you. I would like these letters mailed first thing in the morning.” He passed his written correspondence across the desk. “They are personal and to be kept so.”

“Absolutely. Leave them with me, sir.”

“Thank you.” Matthew turned and walked through the lobby to the glass doors at the front of the hotel.

Walking out into the fresh evening air, he forced the tension of what would happen next with Elizabeth from his thoughts. For tonight, everything would be about orchestrating an enjoyable evening for Jane. He couldn't rid her look of desperate sadness, and her need to help the children at the boardinghouse, from his mind. He would do all he could to alleviate the anguish he saw time and again in her eyes.

Upon sight of the waiting hackney carriage, he hurried down the steps, only to draw to an abrupt halt when Adam Lacey appeared at his side.

“Adam? What are you doing here?”

“I need to speak to you away from Laura and Jane.”

Matthew frowned. “What is it? Is everything all right?”

“I hope so.”

Foreboding twisted a knot in Matthew's stomach. “Meaning?”

“I want to know what your intentions are as far as Jane is concerned. The girl hasn't our experience, Matthew. You must tread carefully.”

“Tread . . . what on earth are you implying? Jane is my friend; I would never do anything to hurt or embarrass her.”

“Your friend?” Adam lifted an eyebrow. “It wasn't friendship I saw in your eyes when you were looking at her at the house earlier. Worse, it wasn't what Laura witnessed either. If you have feelings for Jane, why have they suddenly appeared now? You have been around Jane more than half your life, yet you married another. Why look at her with such fondness when you are no longer free to marry? I fear . . .” Adam's gaze hardened. “I fear you are ricocheting from your wife's infidelity toward something that is a very bad idea.”

“If you really felt that way, why would you suggest a box and champagne for us this evening?” Matthew glared, even as guilt edged into his conscience. “I care for Jane. I always have. Whatever happens between us is our business, no one else's.”

“And I couldn't have agreed more until Laura reminded me of the struggles she and I faced during our courtship. What if something evolves between you and Jane that results in disgracing her? Would that be all right with you?”

Matthew's blood boiled with anger and insult. “Her reputation will not be marred by me. I can promise you that.”

Their gazes locked before Adam stepped back and gave a semi-bow. “Then you have understood what I came here to say. I look forward to seeing you at the theater later.”

He turned and walked along the street. Matthew stared after him, anger mixing with fear that he might unwittingly do wrong by Jane. What Adam had suggested couldn't be entirely denied. Matthew clenched his jaw. He had no right to think of Jane in a romantic way. No right at all. She was good, honest, and caring. His recent bad temperament and negativity risked tainting her goodness in ugliness, and he could not allow that to happen. He would endure to return to the man Jane knew so well. A man who was happy, who was willing to work on the villagers' behalf, and who wholly believed in their future.

Lifting his chin, he met the bored expression of the driver sitting above him on the hackney's seat. “The Circus, please.”

“Right you are, sir.”

Matthew grasped the handle of the carriage and heaved himself inside, slamming the door firmly closed. He sat and the carriage jolted away from the hotel. He leaned against the seat and curled his hands into fists on his thighs. Damn it to hell that he had chosen Elizabeth to marry when Jane had been there for his possible courting all along. She came from a respected family . . . albeit Monica's disappearance years ago had meant a shadow inevitably hovered over Jane too.

A shadow Matthew had known his father was only too aware of during their dinner discussions.

Matthew inwardly cursed. Damn it to hell that he held so much ingrained loyalty to his lineage . . .

Would his life ever really be his own to do with as he pleased?

He stared through the window as the carriage neared Jane's house. For the time being, he would concentrate on helping Jane at the Board of Guardians tomorrow, then return to Biddestone with Jane none the wiser to his feelings. Everything would be all right. So far he had done nothing untoward, and he intended things to remain that way. He would speak with Elizabeth and tell her their marriage was over.

After that, who knew what would happen between himself and Jane once they were free to explore what lingered like a smoldering fire between them?

E
xcitement danced in Jane's stomach as Matthew took her elbow and led her up the steps of the theater. Her smile spread as she stared around the theater lobby that she hadn't seen for far too long. Once upon a time the Theater Royal had practically been Monica's home, and the thought of her sister heading the program brought tears of pride to Jane's eyes.

The carpet was a deep ruby red and the chandeliers were of the most exquisite crystal. Prisms of light reflected from the lanterns lining the walls and cascaded from the jewels on the necks and ears of the upper class ladies standing around sipping champagne and laughing carelessly. To think that less than two years had passed since this had been Monica's life while Jane had been living in a prison called home . . . the matron and master their now-deceased parents.

“Jane? Is everything all right?”

Matthew's concern broke through her contemplation and she turned. The power of his dark blue eyes and tall, broad stature vanquished the memories of her past and brought Jane hurtling into the present. She smiled. “Nothing is wrong. Everything is wonderful.”

He drew his gaze over her face in a soft caress. “I'm glad to hear it. I want you to enjoy this evening.” He looked toward the staircase ahead of them. “Shall we find the box Adam promised?”

She nodded, trepidation speeding her heart . . . she still had no idea how she'd come to be here, with Matthew, like this.

With his hand cupped firmly at her elbow once more, he escorted her through the waiting ladies and gentlemen toward the upper floor. His touch burned through her sleeve to her skin, her traitorous body bearing no mind to her determination that nothing untoward occur between her and Matthew.

She lifted her chin against her physical reactions as they walked along a maze of corridors until Matthew stopped at a closed door. He glanced at the ticket in his hand. “Here we are.” He faced her and smiled. “Ready?”

Jane laughed, her stomach tightening with heightened attraction that was as dangerous as it was exquisite. “Yes.”

He pulled open the door and guided her up the steps into the box. Jane stood at the front and stared down at the auditorium. People milled around everywhere, ample money interspersed with little—clothes, hats, and jewels serving as status symbols among the influx of theatergoers.

She shook her head. “It is truly wonderful that Monica has performed here.”

“Your sister is very talented.”

Jane blushed, feeling foolish that she had spoken her awed words aloud rather than keeping them inside. It was entirely possible Matthew had been here a hundred or more times with Elizabeth, and now Jane stood at the box's edge, side by side with him where anyone could look up, see them, and think their presence together enough to warrant an afternoon's gossip.

Katy and Mrs. Wrexford swept into Jane's mind, and she swallowed.

She had to maintain a sense of authority, a sense of nonchalance, rather than languish in the feeling of true joy washing through her veins that she was here—with Matthew.

When she turned, he held out a seat for her. She sat and he reached toward the small table to his side. “Champagne?”

“Lovely, thank you.” He was certain to notice the stiffness in her tone, but she had to enforce some formality or lose her head completely.

He stilled for a moment, glanced at her with a question in his eyes before turning back to the champagne and filling two crystal flutes. He held one out to her with a soft smile, despite the lingering shadow of concern in his eyes.

Avoiding his gaze, Jane took the glass. “Thank you.”

He lifted his. “A toast. To new beginnings.”

She smiled, her shoulders relaxing. “To new beginnings.”

They touched glasses and drank. Jane's gaze briefly locked with his above the rim before Matthew turned to the stage. Taking advantage of the angle of their seats, Jane shamelessly studied him. She admired every strand of his rich, dark brown hair, and strong jaw. His shoulders, shown to perfection in a black suit, were wide and his thighs thick and strong.

Desire rose, causing heat to pinch hot at her cheeks and other less acceptable places. His head moved and she quickly snatched her gaze to the audience, lest he catch her staring.

As the lights lowered, she exhaled a light sigh of relief and placed her glass on the small table beside her. In the dark, her blushes would be saved, even if the semi-light did little to lessen her new and frightening desire. She had no experience with these feelings. She was a virgin, a maiden. How could God grant her such indecent thoughts when no one, especially Matthew, looked to court her?

The band struck up a harrowing concerto and the audience below hurried to their seats, the chatter diminishing to a low hum of voices. With the crash of the cymbals and the call of the trumpets, very soon only music filled the auditorium. Jane stared toward the stage, her body tense with excitement and a glorious feeling of liberty.

She turned to find Matthew watching her. His eyes were dark with intensity and a heated sensation rippled over Jane's skin, making her all too aware of their proximity. Empty words battled on her tongue as they stared at one another.

The lights brightened and they turned to the stage as the heavy curtain rose and the play began. Jane battled to keep her attention on the players, fighting not to stray her focus to where it longed to be. The actors' words filled the air, but Jane could barely hear them over the thud of her heart.

When Matthew's fingers covered her clasped hands on her lap, she stiffened before throwing her fear aside and curling her fingers around his. Gaze averted, Jane stared ahead and relished the warmth and security of his palm against hers. She enjoyed, rather than rejected, the intimacy and strength of his unwavering gaze at her temple.

Just for now she would pretend she was his.

The play continued and soon clasping Matthew's hand no longer felt forbidden, but necessary, as the treachery and malice of the villain's actions onstage scored and tore at her nerves. The orchestra's music rose and fell as the play dictated. The crashes and bangs, screams and shouts of the actors, poured into Jane's soul until she entirely forgot they were playing characters but instead thought of them as living, breathing human beings.

More than once, she and Matthew exchanged a smile when she flinched or accidentally cried out. When a gunshot reverberated through the theater to its very rafters, and the heroine dropped to the floorboards, seemingly murdered, Jane almost toppled from her seat.

She held her breath as the hero bounded onstage, lifted his sweetheart into his arms, and ran through London's dark and eerie streets, carrying her to the sanctuary of the physician's needle and thread.

The curtain fell and the audience erupted into applause.

Jane pulled her hand from Matthew's to applaud, but when she turned to face him, her smile dissolved and her hands stilled. His dark, fiery gaze locked on hers and the air shifted into an aura equally as dangerous as anything that could be created by gun or knife. Her heart beat fast as the unmistakable desire in his eyes seeped into her body, making her want to fight the injustice of their impossible union.

Slowly, he moved toward her . . .

Warning screamed in her head to stop him, to move back, to stand, anything . . . yet instead, she moved toward him.

The darkness enveloped them in a secret and safe cocoon.

She hesitated, he hesitated, and then his lips covered hers and they kissed. Jane closed her eyes, her suppressed love for him exploding through her body on a pulsing wave of heat that curled her toes and ignited her entire body.

The new sensation aroused her, tormenting her into thinking she was capable of climbing the tallest mountain, sailing the widest ocean . . .

The lights came on and Matthew drew abruptly back in his seat whereas she remained frozen, her lips swollen and hot.

She opened her eyes and her heart fell to see such a stony expression upon his face, such a look of open annoyance as he glared out toward the auditorium. Was the kiss by her instigation? Had she reached for him, rather than he for her? Her mind whirled with confusion. Her heart—at his rejection—simply broke in two.

 

Matthew squeezed his eyes shut in order to regain his composure. Jane had tasted like the sweetest chocolate, her lips softer than any he'd ever sampled. They were soft, yet hot, as though a fire smoldered just beneath the surface of her skin. God, and now he longed to stoke the flames and experience them coming alive.

His cock twitched, and he cursed his absurdity.

Forcing his eyes open, he turned. Jane stared ahead, her spine rigid and her face a mask to whatever thoughts circled within her mind. Swallowing the shame balled in his throat, Matthew reached out to touch her before dropping his hand onto his thigh. To touch her when he was in such want of her could only be detrimental to them both. “Jane, I'm sorry.”

She snapped her head around, her chin high and her hazel eyes burning with indignation. “Why?” Her voice was a harsh whisper. “Because you regret acting on a much-felt desire? Or that my naïve kissing was not up to your experienced standard?”

“What? Of course not.” He reached for her hand.

She trembled.

“I had no right to kiss you. You have asked for my help, my support, and I did something like that. I'm sorry.”

She eased her hand from his, her eyes blazing with anger. “Why are you never truthful? Are you attracted to me, Matthew? Because if you are, own it as I have had to.”

He stared, as disbelief and an innate burst of pleasure soared through him. He smiled. “You're attracted to me? How long—”

“Don't you dare.”

He fought his smile, but it was impossible to erase. “Jane, I had no idea. I thought you only saw me as your friend, your squire. If for one moment, I had—”

“Stop. I don't want to hear futile declarations from you now.” Her cheeks were dark with color. “Not when you are married. Anyone might have seen us kiss. Might presume you an adulterer and I your mistress.”

He looked about the auditorium as the audience filed toward the exits. “Why should anyone have cause to look at us?”

But hadn't he acted as she said?

He faced her and drew his gaze over her beautiful face, unable to speak because he hadn't pulled away from her for any of the reasons she named, but for another reason entirely. He had to cease the kiss or God only knew what would happen the next time they were alone if he were to act on the lust pumping through his veins.

He looked toward the auditorium once more. “I couldn't care less what these people think of me. It's your reputation I am concerned for, not mine. If it was all about me, then—”

“You would ravish me right here and now? Take me in your arms and make love to me?” She glared, her shoulders trembling.

Desire whirled like an eddy in his stomach. “What do you want me to say? I shouldn't have kissed you? I shouldn't want you? God in heaven, Jane. If I could change my circumstances, don't you think I would?”

She tilted her chin. “But why now? Why do you have these feelings for me now? All this time . . .” She closed her eyes and pursed her lips as though trapping further words inside. Opening her eyes, she abruptly stood and hastily smoothed her skirts, her gaze averted to the task. “I'd like to go home now.”

Matthew stood and stared at her bowed head as passion and frustration burned. The woman was a fireball under an exterior of duck down. The combination was irresistible. She was sorely mistaken if she thought their evening would end with the carriage ride back to her house. She was attracted to him, and he to her. They would talk, maybe even make plans for what happened next between them if she would allow it. Now that he knew she had feelings for him too, his mission to court her held more merit than ever.

Picking up his hat, he offered her his arm. Her chin high, she slid her hand onto his elbow and they exited the box. Tension thickened with their every step, sexual awareness slipping through Matthew's blood like he'd never felt before. She was a woman of means, a woman capable of caring for an ailing parent or a crying babe. She was strong and forthright, aware and informed. He curled his hand into a fist. He wanted her for his own. To possess her, protect her.

God almighty, he wanted to cause her to cry out in satisfaction in his bed. Laugh as he joked and teased her. Make her smile and feel happy and safe in whatever it was she wanted to do.

He clenched his jaw. Where had this ardent urgency to make love to her come from? Was it the look of defiance in her eyes that stirred his desire? The heat beneath her kiss? Or the fact that now she was here, in the city, where any man might claim her, making him want to see love, for him and only him, in her eyes?

Self-hatred coiled like an old rope inside him as they stepped from the theater and into the night's semidarkness. Matthew donned his hat. “We will have to wait here for a hackney. One should be along short—”

“Then we'll walk. I have no wish to stay with you a moment longer than necessary.”

A smile threatened, cooling a little of the dangerous heat that swirled in his blood. He pursed his lips, knowing if she were to witness his amusement, the height of her temper might result in him enduring a slapped cheek. “As you wish.”

Side by side, their arms entwined, they walked. Words bit at Matthew's tongue, but he held them back, wanting Jane to break the silence. He waited. Then waited some more, until his nerves were stretched to breaking—still he didn't speak. The longer the silence, the more his lust abated, but maybe more perilously, the more amorous the words he wanted to say.