The Heiress Effect (27 page)

She arrived half an hour after him.

“You would not believe who I had to bribe,”
she said by way of breathless greeting. “I have half an hour until
Alice returns with her beau.”

She was beautiful, glowing with the victory
she’d obtained.

“I would believe anything of you.”

Only a hint of light spilled into the park
from a distant street lamp; moldering leaves crunched underfoot as
he walked to her.

“You can’t imagine how I feel. I don’t have
to pretend any longer. I’ll need a new way to not get married.” She
laughed. “I’ll think of something. Maybe this time I’ll just say
no.”

“I’ve heard that works wonders.” He couldn’t
stop smiling at her. But his smile felt so false, for all that he
couldn’t contain it.

“Maybe you’ll meet someone,” he said softly.
“And maybe…”

She lifted her head and took a step toward
him. “Oliver.”

He didn’t want her to meet anyone. He didn’t
want anyone to have her but himself. But… He hadn’t asked her here
to dally with her, no matter how dazzled he felt at the moment.

“I’m leaving,” he heard himself say.
“Parliament is sitting in less than two weeks, and there’s a great
deal left to do. I must get back to London.”

Her eyes grew wide. “I see.”

There was nobody else about, and so he did
what he’d wanted to do for an age. He turned to her, and then ever
so slowly, reached out and set his hands on her sides and drew her
to him.

“I see,” she repeated, her voice trembling.
“I wish I didn’t see at all.”

With his hands at her waist, their bodies
touching ever so slightly, he could feel her breath. Her chest
rose, brushing his; a few moments later, her shoulders fell, and
that point of contact diminished. A puff of warm air against his
collar marked her exhalation.

“I haven’t been counting,” she said
quietly.

It seemed an intimate confession, whispered
in that low tone of voice. He didn’t say anything in response. He
leaned down until his lips brushed her forehead. It wasn’t a kiss
he gave her. Not a kiss, but something close.

“I don’t know when I ceased counting days,”
she said. “When I did not, at the time when night came, look up at
the ceiling and say, ‘there’s another one down; tomorrow will be
four hundred and whatever it is. I’ll have to count once
again.’”

Another inhalation; another brush of their
bodies. And this time, that gap between them didn’t disappear when
she exhaled. It took Oliver a moment to realize it was because he’d
pulled her closer.

“It was sometime after you arrived,” she
continued. “That was when I stopped dreading each coming day.”

“Jane.” He made little circles with his thumb
against her waist, leaning in to her.

She smelled of lavender. Of comfort. Of
home,
truth be told, and he didn’t dare find his home in
her.

“I need to stay with my sister for a little
over a year.” She set her own hand on his arm, and then gradually,
ever so slowly, slid her hand down his sleeve. “After that…maybe we
might see one another again.”

It was not quite a question. He felt every
one of her breaths, rising and falling against his chest. So he
could also tell that she had
stopped
breathing. That the
warm breeze of her exhalation had ceased, that her body tensed
against his chest.

Seeing her again? That was a euphemism. His
own want reached out, red and demanding. He didn’t just want to see
her. He wanted her in his bed. She wouldn’t hold back, not an inch.
She was clever and curious and passionate, and he suspected that if
he ever had her under him… God, he couldn’t think of that. Not now,
not with her so close.

He wanted more than that, though. He wanted
to argue with her about politics, to hash through every bill, every
proposed amendment with her. He wanted to sit with her of an
evening, when they were both tired of talking. He wanted her,
everything about her.

Everything except… Her.

Because no matter what she might mean to him
when they were alone, he’d seen the other women tonight—quiet wives
who held back, silently goggling at Jane as if she were some
strange sort of beetle crawling across the table. She was Jane of
the too-bright gowns. Jane of the dubious reputation. Jane, too
blunt, too outspoken. Too much a bastard, just like him.

She was the exact opposite of what he needed
in a wife. So why couldn’t he let go?

“Impossible girl,” he breathed.

“Don’t call me that. Tonight, everything is
possible.”

“That’s what I meant. You’re a doer of
impossible things. I need a wife who will stick to the
possible.”

Still her eyes were bright. “In a year…”

“Jane,” he said, “in a year I might be
married.”

He’d been waiting for her to take a breath,
but the one she drew in nearly killed him. She made a choked sound
in the back of her throat—more of a gasp than an inhalation.

“If the reform bill passes,” he said baldly,
“they’ll elect another Parliament. That will be my chance. My
chance to run, my chance to obtain a seat. They’ll expect me to
marry if I do.”

“I see.” She didn’t say anything for a while,
and Oliver went back to counting her breaths—too fast, too harsh,
growing more ragged as time slipped on.

“You saw what they were like tonight,” he
said. “The women who marry politicians. Part of me wants to ask you
to become one of them, but how could I? Ask you to mute the best of
you? To make yourself into a drab little wren, when you’ve become a
phoenix?” He dropped his voice. “I could never forgive myself if I
asked you to extinguish your fire.”

“I see,” she repeated. This time, she sounded
hoarse. She pulled her hands from his coat and stepped away. He
couldn’t see her face in the dim light, but he could see her wiping
at her eyes.

He fished in his pockets and came out with a
handkerchief.

“Don’t tell me to be reasonable,” she said,
taking it from him. There was a hint of anger in her voice. “Don’t
tell me not to cry.”

“I would never do that.”

“I know I’m being foolish. I scarcely know
you. What is it that we have—three weeks’ acquaintance? It’s not
possible to fall in love in so short a space of time. I don’t even
want
to marry you.” She scrubbed at her cheeks and then
wadded up his handkerchief. “I
don’t.
I just want something
to look forward to at the end of this ordeal.”

It couldn’t be him.

“But you’re right,” she said. “I know you’re
right. I can’t imagine myself as one of them, either. I’ve only
just found myself. To take on another pretense so soon… No. I
wouldn’t want to, either.” She looked up into his eyes. “So this is
the end, then.”

No.

Oliver hadn’t let go of her. “These next
months won’t be easy for you.”

“No, likely not. But I’ve survived thus far,
and I imagine I’ll continue to do so.”

“If you ever really need me, let me know.
I’ll come.”

She blinked, looking up at him, her brow
wrinkling in puzzlement. “Why?”

“I should say it is because I owe you. One
day, you’ll realize how great a favor you did for me today.” He
shook his head. “I would say that I owe you a debt of gratitude.
But that’s not why I offered to come. The truth, Jane, is that if
you need me, it will give me joy to be at your side.”

“You’ll be married.”

He didn’t want to think about that.

“I won’t be unfaithful to her, Jane—but
marriage can’t erase friendship. And no matter what else we might
have been, we
are
friends.”

The silence seemed soft as velvet and yet
darkly dangerous. “What might we have been?”

They both knew the answer to that. But if he
spoke it aloud, he’d give it life. He’d make it real. He’d change
it from an insubstantial wish into a solid possibility.

Instead, he set his finger against the divot
at the base of her neck. Her breath caught as if snagged by his
touch. Then he dragged his fingertips up, up, up the smooth expanse
of her throat. He felt her swallow.

By the time his thumb reached her lips, he
ached all over. That possible future he refused to acknowledge
aloud filled him. It pushed against his skin, clamoring to be let
out.

“This,” he whispered, and leaned in. “This,
impossible girl.”

She made an inarticulate sound in her throat
as their lips touched.

He couldn’t change her past. He refused to
let go of his future. That left only the present: the warmth of her
kiss, that sweet taste of something that might have been…and the
bitterness of a love that would not be.

She kissed him back, lips to lips, and then
tongue to tongue. She kissed him until he wasn’t sure who was
kissing and who was kissing back. The kiss took on a life of its
own, roaring through his blood. As if somehow, if he kissed her
hard enough, he could avoid the past and the future altogether. He
might stay in the present forever.

He pulled back before that impossible future
became all too probable.

Jane looked up at him with wide eyes. “I hate
your future wife,” she said simply.

“At the moment, I’m not much in charity with
her myself.”

She set her hands on his shoulders and kissed
him again. This time, though, the kiss didn’t overwhelm. It
reminded. This was the last time he’d feel her lips, the last time
he’d taste her breath. It was the last time he’d trade his body for
hers, nibble by nibble. This was the end, and they both knew
it.

He finally drew away.

“If you ever need me, Jane…” Those words came
out a little hoarse.

She let out a short, sharp breath. “Thank
you. But I won’t. I’m stronger than that.”

“I know. But…” He swallowed and looked away.
“Nobody should feel alone. Even if you don’t need me and won’t ask
for me, you should know that I’ll come. That no matter how
difficult things are or what you must bear, you’re not alone. I
can’t change anything else.” He reached out and drew a finger down
her cheek. “But that much,” he said, “I can give you. The sure
knowledge that if you need me, you need only send word.”

“Care of the Tower in London, Mr.
Cromwell?”

She was trying to make a joke of it, but her
voice shook.

“Care of my brother in London. The Duke of
Clermont.” He leaned his head against hers. “I can’t give you
anything else, Jane, but I can give you that. You’re not
alone.”

A lamp shone in the entry of the house, and a
glimmer of light echoed from down the hall, marking her uncle’s
study. Other than those feeble hints at illumination, though, the
house seemed cold and empty. Colder and emptier now than it had
been a month ago. Oliver had transformed everything, and now he was
gone.

She’d done the count in the carriage on the
way home. Four hundred and fifty-three days remained.

But she was stronger now. She was
more
. She had the memory of a kiss to sustain her through
the hardest times.

Jane handed her wraps to a yawning footman,
rang for a maid to help her undress, and then started up the
stairs. She’d made it halfway up before she heard footsteps in the
hall below.

“Jane?” a voice called.

She bit her lip and looked upward in
entreaty. The last thing she wanted to do tonight was to talk to
Titus.

It wasn’t as if she had a choice. She waited,
trying to disguise her impatience, hoping that he wouldn’t be able
to tell that she’d wept earlier.

He plodded forward into the dim circle cast
by the lamp. “I must speak with you.” He scrubbed his hand over his
head. “Come to my office.”

She would much rather be in her room. She
wanted to be in her bed, surrounded by a fortress of blankets,
hidden safely under covers. She could block out the world until she
forgot all about Oliver Marshall. Following her uncle to his office
for a late-night chat sounded like an absolutely horrid thing to
do.

“Of course,” she said dutifully.

But his eyes glimmered, and he frowned at
her. “None of your sass.”

Maybe she hadn’t spoken as dutifully as she’d
intended. She bit her tongue and followed him anyway.

He pulled out a chair for her, and then
settled himself ponderously into the leather-backed seat on the
other side of the wooden desk. He didn’t look at her, not for a
long while. Instead, he beat his fingers against the tabletop as if
he were trying to imitate the sound of raindrops.

Finally, he heaved a sigh.

“This is very important,” Uncle Titus said.
“How long have you known that your sister was leaving the house
during the day?”

He’d caught her off guard, or she would have
done a better job of lying. But Jane was tired. She was victorious.
She was heartsick. She was glorious. This night, she’d won and then
she’d lost. All her energy had been devoted to maintaining her calm
in front of her uncle. And so instead of the confusion she might
have mustered at any other moment, there was a moment when the
truth shone guiltily on her face.