The Proud Viscount (20 page)

Jane walked slowly down the stairs, lifting her skirts so the white satin shoes wouldn’t catch in them. At the bottom Winters smiled at her and said, “If your ladyship will not mind my saying so, you are the image of your mother this evening. She would be very proud of you.”

“Thank you, Winters.”

Across the hall he opened the door to the drawing room for her and bowed her in. Jane stood a moment on the threshold, regarding each of the occupants in turn. Her father, who had behaved much as Rossmere supposed when they arrived at Willow End with Nancy, was looking rather concerned. He wasn’t at all convinced that Rossmere was a worthy-enough husband for her.

Her Aunt Mabel, on the other hand, was beaming with delight. Her careful plans and fondest dreams were being realized. This marriage could not possibly have the disastrous outcome the three young people were insisting had occurred in Nancy’s case. If Mabel had been mistaken there—and she was not willing to admit that she had been—this arrangement would more than make up for that misjudgment.

Nancy had skipped dinner, but had insisted on helping Jane dress and appearing for the ceremony. Parnham had shown up in the afternoon with protestations of innocence, hints of her deteriorating mental condition, and “proof” that he could not possibly have been anywhere near the hall last night. Nancy had refused to see him and Lord Barlow had said little. It was Rossmere who had sent him packing, even while Parnham assured him he would be back to claim his wife “when she was a little rested.”

Nancy did indeed look exhausted, with dark pouches under her eyes and a pallid face. Jane knew her sister was, at this moment, worried for Jane’s sake. Rossmere was largely unknown to Nancy, and he must seem as cool and unapproachable to her as he had to Jane originally. And there was the fear, of course, that Jane was only marrying him to protect her. Yet she stood straight and smiled as Jane entered the room.

It seemed a pity to Jane that her brothers and other sister weren’t there for this important occasion. Gathering the whole family together would have taken far too long. She would have to write immediately and invite her siblings and their families home to meet Rossmere, certainly, but not until the bride and groom had a little time to adjust to each other.

The vicar, an old friend of the family, was speaking quietly with Rossmere himself. The two men looked up as Jane moved toward them, gliding elegantly across the room. The Reverend Mr. Winston nodded his white head as though in approval. Rossmere regarded her intently, his face unsmiling. She reached her hand out to him and inconspicuously dropped the ring onto his palm. A flicker of surprise appeared in his eyes, followed by a minute shrug of his shoulders.

“Shall we begin?” Mr. Winston asked.

Jane allowed a moment for any member of the party to object before bringing her gaze to Rossmere’s face. “Yes. I think we’re all ready.”

The vicar was possessed of a most sonorous voice. His manner of declaring the marriage ceremony, which Jane had had occasion to observe more than a dozen times, was impressive and heartening. One would have sworn he had the highest hopes for each couple joined together under his auspices; Jane and Rossmere were no exception. At the conclusion he beamed on them, his mustache bristling with goodwill.

“A long and happy life together,” he said. “May you be blessed with many children and grandchildren.”

“Thank you.” Jane couldn’t help but remember that the whole reason she hadn’t been able to marry Richard was precisely that. When Rossmere’s eyes caught hers, she had the distinct impression he was remembering the same thing. But she refused to look away from him and he took her hand in one of his strong ones.

“We appreciate your agreeing to marry us on such short notice,” he said. “Lord Barlow has arranged for champagne to celebrate. I hope you’ll join us.”

“Nothing would please me more than to drink a toast to the two of you. Lady Jane has long been a mainstay in our parish. I hope you’ll be living in the neighborhood.”

“At Graywood for a while,” Jane said. “But eventually we’ll settle at Longborough Park in Sussex. Doesn’t your sister live somewhere in that area?”

How simple it was to keep up a social discourse, even when her mind was on entirely different matters! She acknowledged the toasts and drank rather unsparingly of the champagne. Rossmere hovered close to her the whole time. He was amiable but projected a cool power that forced each of her family members to grant him his new place among them.

Aunt Mabel, of course, was more than ready to welcome him into the bosom of the group. She made a point of addressing Jane coyly as Lady Rossmere, nodding happily at the successful conclusion of her endeavors. Jane hardly knew whether to thank her or scold her for her interference. It proved unnecessary to do either, since Aunt Mabel was far too excited to notice.

Lord Barlow was far more skeptical about the viscount, though Jane realized that he was doing his utmost not to show it. He had said, “You’re a sensible girl and you’ll make the most of whatever situation you find yourself in, so I shan’t worry about you. I just hope this fellow appreciates you."

Did he? Jane really had no idea. Certainly he didn’t value her as Richard had. But Richard was gone. She smiled at Nancy and took her sister’s cold fingers in her warm ones. “I’m glad you’ve been here with us for the ceremony, my dear, but it is time you were in bed. You’re burned to the socket, poor love.”

Nancy nodded and withdrew her hand, offering it to Rossmere. “I wish you both very happy. You shall always have my gratitude, Lord Rossmere. If I can ever be of service to you, you have only to command me.”

Rossmere grasped her hand firmly. “I could ask nothing more than that you rest until your strength is recovered. And that you believe I have every intention of taking the best possible care of your sister.”

“I’m sure you shall,” came Nancy’s stout reply as she turned to leave.

In time the vicar left, and Aunt Mabel went along to bed. Shortly afterward Jane found herself headed up the broad staircase alone. She would have to prepare for bed first, with Rossmere following after a further glass of champagne with her father. Tilly waited in the royal suite to help her out of her gown and to brush her hair. As she had been many times before, Jane was grateful that Tilly was not a giddy girl, prone to make teasing remarks on one’s wedding night.

There would be gossip in the kitchen about the haste of the marriage, of course, but that didn’t bother Jane. Curiosity about the family they served was bound to raise speculation on any number of issues, and if her own wedding helped to keep it from her dear sister for a while, so much the better. Tilly could be trusted to be as discreet as one wished, without infuriating the other servants.

Jane fingered the lacy nightdress she had slipped on with Tilly’s help. Earlier in the day Mabel had offered it to her privately, wrapped up in crinkly paper with a ribbon. “I had one made for each of you years ago,” she explained, a smug purse to her lips. “Often I’ve wondered if I would ever have a chance to give you yours.”

It was a lovely piece of work, the lace as intricate and beautiful as any Jane had seen. Far too precious to wear to bed, one would have thought. Jane would do so for her aunt’s sake, even though there were places where the pattern of the lace allowed a partial view of her body beneath. That seemed rather daring to Jane, since she had known Rossmere for such a short time. Until she remembered the night before and that they had just been declared husband and wife.

They wouldn’t have to consummate the union at this juncture, her rational mind insisted. Eventually he would want an heir, but there was plenty of time to get to know each other before that problem arose. Another part of her protested such an ascetic notion as that. Just the thought of Rossmere caused her body to respond with a growing ache. And she suspected that the viscount was more than ready to undertake his husbandly duties.

“Will you be needing anything else, milady?” Tilly asked as she set the hairbrush down with a slight clatter.

“No, thank you. I’ll ring for tea in the morning. Or perhaps Lord Rossmere takes hot chocolate. Do you know?”

“No, ma’am. It’s Martin who brings him his morning drink.”

“Well, I suppose I’ll learn all those things in time. Good night, Tilly.”

“Good night, Lady Jane, ah, Lady Rossmere. I wish you and his lordship happy.”

The girl disappeared quickly from the room, leaving Jane in front of the mirror, her hair streaming thickly down her back over the beautiful white lace. Even in the dim light she could see the reflected swell of her breasts through the lace and wondered what Stephen would think of her displaying herself in such a manner. Would it please or disgust him? She was not, after all, a Madeline Fulton, who probably wore nothing but an emerald necklace for the viscount.

She rose from the stool and walked toward the bed. Where did a bride wait? In the huge four-poster with the covers pulled up to her chin? That seemed so meek, so unadventurous. She could picture herself wearing a lace cap to match the nightdress, tied under her chin with a bow, and looking for all the world like an ailing spinster at her last prayers.

As she stood by the bed debating, she felt a gust of air sweep across the floor and ruffle the hem of her gown. There was no other indication that a door had opened, but her eyes quickly swung to the door leading into the dressing room. Rossmere stood there, fully clothed, watching her. He reached up now to untie his neckcloth with an almost unconscious movement. The starched white linen came away in his hand and slid softly to the floor. “Would you prefer that I undress in the other room?” he asked, trying to decipher her bemused expression.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “I feel rather... unfamiliar with you.”

Jane watched him shrug out of the tight-fitting black swallowtail coat that had set off his shoulders so well. His shoulders looked even more impressive in the white waistcoat and shirt that were revealed. His black satin knee breeches looked suspiciously snug on his muscular thighs. Probably they were her fathers, since it was unlikely Stephen would have brought such full dress for a month’s country visit where no formal evening entertainments had been promised.

“You could stop me when I reach a point that makes you feel alarmed,” he suggested. His fingers were already busy unbuttoning the white satin waistcoat. When he had removed it, he hung it on a chair back over his coat. “How would that be?”

“That’s no way to treat those clothes. Especially if they’re my father’s,” she said, attempting a teasing note in her voice.

“No, they’re your brother Samuel’s apparently. Martin found them in a trunk in the attic. No one else’s were large enough to fit.”

“I’m not surprised.” Jane held her hand out for the shirt he was just tugging from his arm. In the pale candlelight of the cavernous room she could still see how broad his chest was and its growth of curly black hair. As she carefully folded the shirt, she raised her eyes to his and found him regarding her with acute interest. She’d forgotten how revealing the lace nightdress was. She held his shirt up against her chest.

“You’ll crush it,” he protested, smiling, as he took it from her unresisting fingers. “Please don’t cover yourself. You look charming.”

“It’s a rather daring garment. Aunt Mabel gave it to me as a wedding gift. I didn’t want you to be shocked.”

“I don’t think you could shock me that way, but I may be mistaken.” He placed a hand on each of her upper arms and drew her closer to him. His eyes wandered down over the revealing lace, as his hands gently massaged the bare skin on her arms. After a moment he bent down and kissed her, lingering over the fullness of her lips, nibbling, teasing.

Jane felt an instantaneous response run through her. The edge of alarm that had held her in its grip for several minutes was replaced by an erotic tension that seemed to spring full-blown at his touch. He pulled her body against his, and she could feel the tension in him, the hardness of his desire. And her arms automatically slipped around his waist, so that she clung to him.

For a while they stood that way, savoring the closeness, knowing that in moments they could be fully touching skin to skin. Jane rested her head for a moment against the wiry hairs of his chest, fascinated by their roughness against her smooth cheeks. His hands moved down her back until they came to rest cupping her buttocks. A fresh thrill of arousal sprang up under his fingers. She suppressed a gasp.

“Come,” he whispered in her ear. “I think you’re not as fastidious as you feared. A little desire goes a long way toward establishing a certain familiarity, does it not?”

“Yes. Shall I wait for you in bed?”

Jane scrambled into the four-poster and watched as he removed his knee breeches, his shoes and stockings, and the last undergarment that left him perfectly naked. He had a magnificent male body, broad-shouldered and narrow-waisted, with strong thighs and roughened hands. A thatch of thick black hair rode above his aroused manhood. Jane kept her eyes on him as he approached the bed. Her throat went suddenly dry.

“I think it would be a great pity to crumple your beautiful lace nightdress,” he said as he stood looking down at her. “Perhaps if we were to remove it now, it would remain in perfect condition."

Jane moistened her lips and nodded, holding her hands up so that he could lift the lacy confection over her head. He laid it aside with scarcely a glance, returning his gaze to her exposed body. Even the touch of his eyes did something to her, heightening the tension that held her body in its thrall.

“Beautiful,” he said simply. He lifted the coverlet and followed the line of her body with his eyes. “How very lovely you are. As elegant undressed as you are fully clothed, my dear Jane.” He touched her cheek gently as he climbed in bed beside her. “You’re not fearful any longer, are you?”

“No. Perhaps a trifle nervous.”

“That’s understandable, on your wedding night. Here, lie down beside me.” He tossed the coverlet far down on the bed so the two of them lay naked and exposed to the warm night air. Slowly he ran his hands over her body, covering each area of skin with his touch. His hands glided over and then stopped on her breasts, remaining there to rub the rosy nipples into firmness. He rolled them between thumb and forefinger as a sensation blazed down her body to lodge deep within.