The Captain's Bluestocking Mistress (2 page)

Jane was the opposite. She often said the most outrageous things she could think of in the hopes of seeing awareness flash for just one second in someone else’s eyes, but it never, ever happened. If there was a boring, harmless way to interpret her boldest insults or double entendres, that’s precisely how her remarks would be taken—and then promptly forgotten. It was as though High Society suffered from total Jane Amnesia.
Janenesia
.

“Ladies.” Lord Carlisle proffered one arm to his wife and the other arm to her mother. “It’s time to take our seats.”

Jane trailed in their wake.

It wasn’t that her friends had forgotten her. Lord Carlisle possessed two arms and was escorting three women. Besides, Jane was used to walking unnoticed in other people’s shadows.

When she was younger, she’d thought perhaps her stride was the problem. That maybe she’d copied so much of Isaac’s careful boringness that her very walk made her invisible.

Easy enough to correct! She’d tried strutting like a peacock. Shimmying like a demimondaine. Swaggering like a dandy. Once, she’d shuffled ploddingly behind her brother with her mouth hanging open as if she were the walking dead intent on eating him alive. At the annual Sheffield Christmastide ball. In front of hundreds of witnesses. At the very least, she’d expected to gain a horrid-but-catchy nickname, like
Lady Automaton
or even
That-Poor-Miss-Downing-What-Do-You-Suppose-Is-Wrong-With-Her?

Nothing. Not a blink. Complete Janenesia.

Lord Carlisle paused in front of Ravenwood’s opera box and held back the curtain. Mrs. Halton slipped inside first, followed immediately by Grace. Just as Jane moved forward, Lord Carlisle stepped in behind his wife. The curtain didn’t
precisely
fall on Jane’s head. She pushed the curtain aside and hurried inside as quickly as possible. The box was dim, but sumptuous. She pushed a few more pins into her displaced curls and settled into an empty seat.

Of course Carlisle wished to sit next to his wife. They were newly wed. And Jane was a never-will. Even if she could somehow command a man’s attention, with what would she keep it? Her brain was a mark against her, and as for her alleged beauty… Her own papa had always said she was quite pretty—for a plump girl.

Although the current high-waisted fashions did nothing to hide her plumpness, the billowing tubular midsection gave
all
women a rounder midsection, so at least she wasn’t the only young lady thus afflicted. Just the only undesirable one.

The audience rumbled excitedly as the thick red curtain began to part onstage.

Grace leaned into her husband, her brow furrowed. “He’s not coming?”

Lord Carlisle slipped her hand in his. “He’ll be here. He would never break his word.”

Jane kept her voice hushed as she turned toward them. “
Who
won’t break his word?”

“An old friend,” Carlisle murmured at the same moment Grace said, “Captain Grey.”

Heat raced up Jane’s cheeks. Captain Grey? Was joining them
here?

Her entire body was blushing, just at the sound of his name. And the reminder of the rather lurid thoughts she had about him every time she closed her eyes.

She couldn’t move a muscle. Heaven help her, she could barely even
think
. This was a disaster.

The last thing this evening needed was the object of her fantasies to sit right beside her and remain unaware of her existence. She’d rather return home now, before complete and utter humiliation had a chance to rear its ugly head.

“How do you know he’s coming?” she asked breathlessly.

“Because he said so.” Lord Carlisle lifted his wife’s fingers to his lips. “I told him it would please Grace if he would join us at least once before removing to Essex.”

“He’s… leaving?”

Grace nodded. “Tomorrow. He has a little cottage a couple miles past Chelmsford and he plans to stay there the rest of the Season.”

“Or perhaps forever.” Carlisle’s jaw tightened. “Xavier thinks he may never be ready for Polite Society. He may be right.”

Jane swallowed hard. Of course the dark and dangerous man of her dreams planned to disappear from Society forever after tonight. What did she expect?

The curtain to the private box flung open. There, silhouetted by the chandeliers in the corridor, stood the infamous Captain Grey… and a very imperious usher.

A wry smile quirked the corner of Captain Grey’s lips. “I’m afraid my good man here couldn’t quite credit that I was welcome in the Duke of Ravenwood’s box. Shall I go?”

Lord Carlisle sprang to his feet. “Of course you’re welcome! Come, sit. I believe you know everyone present?” He turned toward the usher. “We’re all very pleased our dear friend was able to join us. That will be all.”

“I’m so sorry, my lord,” the red-faced usher spluttered. “He looked… I thought—”

“It’s forgotten. Go.” Lord Carlisle dismissed the usher, then turned to Jane. His voice lowered. “Do you mind moving down a seat so Xavier can sit next to me?”

Captain Grey frowned. “Unnecessary. I’ve already interrupted enough.”

“No, I don’t mind.” Jane scrambled out of the way and waved a hand toward her vacated seat. “Please. Sit next to your friend.”

He inclined his head and took his seat.

The lighting was too dim to make out the crystalline blue of his eyes or the long black lashes that framed them. But Jane didn’t need lighting to recall every angle of his chiseled features or the careless tumble of wavy black hair against the stark white of his cravat. Every inch of him was seared into her memory.

Well, every properly (but disappointingly) clothed inch, that was. Nothing could hide the strong thighs encased in buckskin breeches or the thickly muscled arms filling out the sleeves of his expertly tailored jacket.

Heaven help her. She was going to be a hairsbreadth away from this gorgeous man for the next three hours. She absolutely, positively, couldn’t swoon. Or throw herself into his arms. His thick, powerful arms.

Her breath caught. This was impossible. He’d been seated next to her for less than five seconds and already her heart thundered as though she were running for her life. Perhaps she
should
be. Captain Grey wasn’t good for one’s reputation… or one’s heart.

Everyone knew that. He’d returned from war in a fugue state, and even before that, he hadn’t been considered a catch. Not by Society. He wasn’t rich. He wasn’t heir to a coronet. And he’d always had the same air of danger and unpredictability that clung to him even now.

He appeared confident, graceful, and deadly. No wonder the usher had hesitated. Captain Grey moved more like a hunter than a gentleman. Those piercing blue eyes could freeze a duke right in his tracks.

Or a bluestocking spinster.

She lowered her lashes. There was no way she was going to be able to pay any attention to this opera. She was too aware of his intoxicating proximity, of the rise and fall of his chest, of the way his eyes… were looking right at her? Her leg started bouncing with nerves. He’d caught her
staring
. She slid a little lower in her chair.

Whatever color she’d flushed before was nowhere near the crimson she must be blushing now.

He hunched closer so that his shoulder was touching hers. “Any idea what they’re warbling about on stage?”

Oh, lord. She had no idea how her heart wasn’t exploding right out of her chest. His
shoulder
. Was touching
hers
. On
purpose
.

“Er...” Her mind went blank. Captain Grey was actually talking to her. And expecting a reply.
Think
. What opera was this? She forced her gaze to the dueling sopranos. “That’s... Ismene and Antigona. They’re vexed that Creon won’t bury Polynices because he started a war.”

His eyes widened. “You speak Italian?”

She shook her head. “Greek.
Antigone
was a play before it was an opera. I must’ve read it a hundred times.”

He blinked.

She let her words trail off.
Stop. Talking
. One must not admit to reading ancient Greek plays hundreds of times. Bluestockings do not leave a coquettish impression. One must strive to be enchanting and irresistible.

Her well-read mind failed to summon any actionable ideas.

His lips quirked. “I haven’t read a book in years, so I suppose I ought to pay attention while the plot is being dramatized right in front of me.” He turned his gaze back to the stage.

There. Jane tried not to crawl under her seat and die. This was what happened when she showed her excessive love for reading. Nothing. Nothing at all happened. That was exactly why she was so forgettable.

Yet she could think of nothing compelling to say or alluring to do. She couldn’t believe she’d already lost his attention after having had it for such a brief moment. She was so…
Jane
.

Would it have been better to say she’d only read
Antigone
once? Or to claim she had no idea why those people were dancing about the stage with swords and lots of sobbing? Perhaps the wisest course would’ve been to—

His shoulder. She stopped breathing. His shoulder was still touching hers. He had remained hunched down as if, any minute now, they might once again be whispering like bosom friends.

She shivered. If only!

It wasn’t just that he was the most exquisitely attractive man she’d ever laid eyes upon. He was a soldier and a hero. An officer. Military men were loyal, and heroic and strong and delicious.

Do not overthink
, she admonished herself. Proximity meant nothing. It was just a play. Just a shoulder. He wasn’t going to whisk her into the shadows for a carnal interlude (not that she would have objected) and he certainly wasn’t in any danger of losing his mind and proposing marriage. He planned on disappearing from Society altogether.

But first, she was going to have to spend an evening shoulder-to-shoulder with the one person she would
never
be able to get out of her mind.

At half nine the next morning, Jane tilted a wingback chair beneath the locked door to her private library. Such measures were unlikely to keep Isaac out if her brother were truly determined to enter, but the barred door would at least prevent Egui the devil-cat from leaping onto her head whilst she searched for guidance among her books.

Provided the cat wasn’t in here already, lying in wait.

She peered about the library suspiciously but saw no sign of the potbellied gray demon.

Not that one ever did, until it was too late.

With a last look over her shoulder, she began to walk along the rows of books in search of inspiration. Something in one of these tomes was bound to help her get noticed. Perhaps no strategy could win her a suitor, but if she could be
desirable
, for once in her life…

She ran a finger along the spines and sighed. The novels were no use. They were full of perfect, beautiful maidens whose greatest challenge was deciding which rich, devoted beau she should take for a husband.

Jane was in no such predicament. Just the night before, she’d had her first conversation with an eligible bachelor in weeks and made a pretty botch of it by babbling about her obsession with ancient tragedies.

Her life wasn’t a tragedy, at least. Other people were forced to the altar. She had narrowly escaped that fate and would just have to die an old maid. Was that not a blessing? A bad marriage had no advantage over spinsterhood.

To gain a husband, she would have to relinquish the freedoms she currently took for granted. Isaac often traveled for weeks at a time, which did leave her lonely, but who was to say a husband would not do the same?

Her brother loved her, which made for far more comfortable interactions than the silent, frigid meals shared by bitter couples that only wed for money or titles or because their parents had betrothed them while still in the womb, or other such nonsense.

She wasn’t rich enough to attract fortune hunters on the strength of her dowry alone, but Isaac provided her with any pin money she requested without question. She could solicit the gowns she desired, attend any routs she wished, purchase any manuscripts she—

Ah
. There.

She’d hidden the little book of erotic sketches inside the hollowed-out pages of a treatise on the evolution of various embroidery stitches across the centuries. She doubted Isaac would take it upon himself to research such a topic—and, besides, he had his own library—but one could never be too cautious. If she were to ruin her disappointingly pristine reputation, she wished to do so by
enjoying
illicit pleasures, not just by reading about them.

Or staring openmouthed.

Each illustration depicted a man and a woman in positions she could scarcely fathom. She’d perused these pages dozens of times, and still a few of them seemed impossible no matter which way she turned the book.

She sighed. Sketches couldn’t convey the feel and scent and taste of lovemaking. To truly understand, she would have to experience the wonder for herself.

Which, in her position, would be an extremely unlikely occurrence.

From a certain perspective, it was almost too bad that she had been born into gentility. She wouldn’t wish to trade her position in society for life in the rookeries, but there
was
an elegant middle tier: demimondaines.

Some of those women were wealthier and more sophisticated than the highest echelons of the
haut ton
and could select their lovers at will. Rumors of carnal liaisons enhanced, rather than ruined, their reputations.

The only individuals enjoying somewhat comparable freedoms in Polite Society were the rakes—and even then, their debauchery could only go so far.

Respectable women, on the other hand, had no such privilege. The only way for a female to take a lover without ruining her name in the process was to marry… or to be so clandestine that no one was ever the wiser.

Realistically, only one of those options was open to Jane—and it wasn’t marriage. The eligible men of her acquaintance had had four-and-twenty years to ask for her hand, and couldn’t be bothered to ask her to dance.

Much less to perform acts of… whatever it was the inked couple was doing in this particular sketch. She turned the illustration around. It still looked like the same position. She wasn’t certain it was erotic, but it was certainly
interesting
.

And tempting. While she wouldn’t trade the freedoms of spinsterhood for a cold, loveless marriage, she would happily trade her lonely, monotonous days for nights of heated passion.

With the right man.

The image of Captain Grey’s handsome visage rose to mind. As it did two hundred times a day. Would
she
have a clandestine affair with Captain Grey? Absolutely. The question was, would
he?

Not when she lacked the basic ability to attract a man’s interest.

She sighed. The thing about marriage was that one was rather required to have intimate encounters with one’s spouse if one intended to beget heirs. The thing about secret affairs was that lovemaking was about pleasure, not practicality, and one only participated in carnal relations with those they desired.

And Jane was plainly undesirable.

She might have said invisible, were it not for that brief, whispered conversation and the subtle press of his shoulder against hers. She clutched the book to her chest. He had
seen
her. And spoken to her. And treated her like a friend, if only a temporary one.

None of which meant he’d be eager to lie with her but, oh, would such a liaison not be
perfect?

Her shoulders fell. If it weren’t completely out of the question, of course. At this hour, he was doubtlessly en route to his cottage in Chelmsford, and she was stuck here in this town house with her brother for the rest of the Season. For the rest of her life.

Even
if
she had managed to besot the captain with nothing more than the brush of her shoulder and a love of Greek playwrights, ’twould all be for naught. By the time she saw him again—if that day ever came—he would have long since found someone else. Someone memorable.

“Jane?” A loud knock thundered against the door.

Her brother
. With shaking fingers, she fumbled the little book back inside the tome on decorative sewing and shoved it back in place amongst all the other volumes.

The door rattled against the chair propped beneath its handle. “I say, Jane. Are you blocking the entrance to your
library?”

She dashed over to the door and lugged the heavy wingback chair back toward the fireplace. Panting, she shoved a damp tendril of hair off her forehead and flung open the library door.

“Don’t be absurd, Isaac. Why on earth would I block the entrance to—
yeeaaaghh!”

Egui the Satan-cat leapt from her brother’s arms to the front of her bodice, his razor-sharp claws scraping all the way through her shift as he slid gleefully to the floor and shot off into the shadows.

“I wish you wouldn’t tease him so,” Isaac admonished her. “He never gets out of sorts unless he’s around you.”

She smiled through gritted teeth. “I shall endeavor to pay him less attention. Did you need something?”

“I’m afraid so. I’ve been called away to a meeting with the board of future fish farmers down in Exeter, and I have to leave in the next few minutes if I’m to miss the snowstorm heading this way. Can you ensure Egui is comfortable while I’m away? It should only be a couple of weeks at the most, but one never knows when it comes to men and their herrings.”

“Yes, yes, lovely,” Jane answered automatically, her heart pounding.

This was her opportunity to make her own fate! With her brother away, no one would know whether spinster Jane Downing was home alone with her books or had slipped off for the night. She could be in Chelmsford by luncheon.

If it didn’t occur to Captain Grey to seduce her, well, she would just have to seduce him. And if he was not at home—or, worse, rejected her outright—there were plenty of inns in Essex, and she’d be back in London this time tomorrow morning with nobody the wiser.

But first, she needed Isaac to depart as quickly as possible so that she could hurry on her way. “You go ahead, brother dear. Egui will be a delight. Enjoy your meeting without a further worry.”

“You’re marvelous, Jane, truly. I don’t know what I would do without you.” He kissed both of her cheeks, patted her arm, and then sank to his knees to bid farewell to his demon spawn. “Egui... Egui... C’mere, puss. Come say goodbye to Papa.”

Jane made no attempt to hide the roll of her eyes at the singsong baby voice her manly elder brother affected when he spoke to his cat. Nor did she attempt to hide her fury and disbelief when the potbellied fur-monster strolled out from between the bookcases with his head up and his silver tail high, docile as you please.

Egui leapt into Isaac’s open arms with nary a claw in sight. He stretched his spine, purring loudly. As Isaac cradled his beloved pet to his chest, Egui lifted his languid gaze over his master’s shoulder and made direct eye contact with Jane.

She could swear the little beast smirked.

Isaac rose to his feet and brushed gray hairs from his breeches. “Thanks again, Jane. I owe you enormously. Be good, kitten. I’ll see you both in a fortnight.”

She smiled. Egui slipped beneath the hem of her gown and began to shred her stockings.

Teeth gritted, Jane all but shoved Isaac out the door. “No problem, brother. Anytime. Have a good trip. Don’t bring back any fish larvae. I love you.”

“Love you too, Jane. You’re one in a million.” With a last buss to her cheek, Isaac was down the hall and gone.

As soon as she heard the front door close, Jane bent over and yanked Egui from her bleeding ankle—then immediately dropped him when he let out an ear-piercing caterwaul. The last thing she needed was for Isaac to run back and spend the next two hours lecturing her on his angelic pet’s misunderstood intentions.

Before Egui could test his claws on her other ankle, she hurried out of the library and raced upstairs to her bedchamber. Her lady’s maid stood before the open wardrobe with a pile of freshly laundered linens in her arms.

“Martha! Splendid timing. Help me put together a valise with... a week’s worth of clothing.” That was shamelessly optimistic, but Jane supposed it was better to have clean clothes and not need them than it was to attempt a seduction whilst swathed in week-old garments. “Perhaps a small trunk.”

“At once, Miss Downing.” Martha placed the linens on a shelf and went to fetch a traveling trunk. “Where are we going?”

“To...” Jane swallowed. If the whole purpose of this desperate endeavor was to embark on a brief, clandestine affair, the last person who should bear witness was a servant under Isaac’s employ. She would have to go alone. “You shall have a week’s holiday, effective immediately. I am visiting a sick friend, and it should be better for all of us if you don’t fall ill yourself.”

Martha’s eyes sparkled. Jane had a strong suspicion the girl was sweet on one of the footmen and would not in the least begrudge a few days away from her mistress. Inter-staff liaisons were strongly discouraged, of course, but given that Jane was off to seduce a man who didn’t know her from Princess Charlotte, she could hardly stand in the way of others’ passion.

She began to pile shifts and stockings into the small trunk. “One tiny request, Martha. Can you please mind Egui for me while I’m gone?”

Martha blanched and shook her head wildly. “Oh, ma’am, please don’t make me! I’d druther play nurse to lepers than spend one second alone with that cat. I don’t think he… cares for me much.”

Of course not. Jane’s temples began to pound. Egui hated everyone except Isaac. Perhaps ’twas better to put one of the male servants in charge. “Very well. Go have Dunbar summon a hack. And send up a footman to carry down this trunk. I wish to leave at once.”

Martha bobbed and nodded and dashed out of the bedchamber before her mistress could change her mind.

Jane had already pushed Egui from her thoughts. At least for the moment. The more pressing disaster was what clothes she might don to instill lust in a man’s breast.

She scowled as she combed through her uninspiring wardrobe. How was she meant to seduce a dashing military captain when she’d failed to attract the attention of any other gentlemen of her acquaintance? She stuffed her embroidery kit next to the gowns. Perhaps she could lower a few bodices during the ride to Essex.

Jane was just latching the trunk when Martha returned with a pair of footmen, who immediately hefted it and awaited further instruction.

Martha wrung her hands. “Your hack is waiting, ma’am. Are you sure I oughtn’t accompany you?”

“No, thank you. You’ve earned your holiday. Clive, Malcolm, I’ll need you to mind Egui for me while I’m—”

Both footmen dropped the trunk and stared at her in horror. “You
cannot
mean it! I— We—
That cat
—”

Jane raised her eyes heavenward and let out a loud, long-suffering sigh. No intelligent person
wished
to mind Egui, but she was only the one foolish enough to have promised. He would now be her sole responsibility until Isaac’s return, romantic encounter or not. “Let me be clear. I am going to be inside that hack and on my way within the next five minutes. If Egui is in a sealed basket upon my lap, he goes with me. If he is not—”

Clive and Malcolm fled the room without a backward glance.

Martha stared at the empty doorway, the forgotten trunk, and then her mistress. “Er... shall I summon the butler, perhaps?”

Jane shook her head. “By now, everyone is searching for that odious cat. Come on, then. You take that side, and I’ll take this one.”

With only minor damage to the wainscoting, she and Martha managed to get the trunk down the stairs and over to the front door, where the horrified butler and hack driver rushed forward to relieve them of their unseemly burden and escort Jane to the coach.

No sooner had her derrière touched the worn squab of the hack than Clive and Malcolm raced from the town house with a rocking, screeching wicker basket held aloft between them and only mild scratch marks upon their triumphant faces.