The Rogue (25 page)

"I
think I—I must return home," she managed to say.

Lady
Boswell nodded emphatically. "Yes, dear. I think you should.
I'll have your uncle's man bring the carriage around again…"
The woman nearly ran from Jane.

Jane
almost laughed again.
Her
uncle's man
.
Owned by her uncle, bought and paid for with Jane herself, willing
chattel that she was!

Her
uncle's man
.
Such a vast understatement of the facts all but made Jane sit right
down on the marble front steps and screech with furious, agonized
laughter. She bit it back, digging her teeth into her bottom lip
until it was sure to bleed. She didn't care, she only wanted not to
become more of a spectacle than she already was. Several people had
come into the front hall and were watching her weave her way back
outside. Tomorrow, the town would be abuzz with the incident of Lady
Jane Pennington and her carriage sickness.

She
nearly began giggling again. If they only knew!

Only
the thought of remaining on display for one more dangerous moment
could compel her to get back into that carriage with Ethan Damont. At
least with him, she need not hide her confusion or her pain. At least
with him, she could freely vent her wrath—

And
why is that?

Oh,
dear God. It could not be that she trusted him
still
?
How could that be, after the way he'd humiliated her—after what
he had done to her?

Worse,
after what he'd commanded her to do to herself?

And
she had done it. Horror swept her as she recalled her own simplicity.
She'd mindlessly, willingly obeyed every word from his lips, every
erotic command, every delicious, wicked, pleasurable—

As
the carriage crunched its way back around the front of the house to
roll before her, Jane came to the startling realization—nay,
the stunning, shocking
certainty—
that
if he asked, she would do it all again.

Ethan
could not believe it when the carriage door opened and Lady Jane
clambered right back in only moments after getting out.

"What
are you—I thought the carriage was being moved—"

"It
is," Jane said flatly. "It is being moved back to Maywell
House."

Ethan
nearly panicked. He hadn't counted on having to face her again so
soon. His groin was still on fire for her, his thoughts had barely
worked their way through the first loss of her. He was depending on
those hours to get his thoughts in order, to decide what to say, to
shield himself against her pain— Why didn't she seem to be in
pain? She ought to be writhing with humiliation, speechless with
agonized shame…

He
knew he certainly was.

Jane,
however, sat ramrod straight on her seat across from him. Her chin
was high, her eyes dry, her glittering gaze fixed on his.

Trouble
.
That was the only bit of sense that made it through Ethan's
confusion. When a woman looked at a man like that?

That
meant trouble.

"Mr.
Damont—"

A
surprised laugh burst from him. "Please," he said
helplessly. "Call me Ethan."

She
frowned. "Mr. Damont," she said firmly. "There is
something we must discuss."

Although
he was quite sure of her meaning, he pretended nonchalance. "I
can't imagine what that would be." Damn, he was tired of
pretending.

"We
must discuss your association with my uncle, Lord Maywell."

"Well,
I have to admit, I didn't expect that." Shaking his head, he
eyed her with surprise. "I thought you were going to berate me
for…" He made a vague gesture around the inside of the
carriage.

Lady
Jane brushed that topic briskly aside. "That is not important,
sir."

Not
important? The sheer hopeless bloody
importance
of it had been enough to nearly bring him to tears a few moments ago.
Ethan tapped two fingers over his lips. "I cannot seem to
predict anything anymore," he mused aloud.

"No.
What is much more pressing is the fact that my uncle is trying to
suborn you, Mr. Damont. He is a traitor to the Crown." She sat
back, all virtuous dignity and dogged righteousness. She was rescuing
him
.
It was damned sweet, that's what it was.

He
nearly opened up to her right then and there. He almost told her
everything from the moment Rose Lacey knocked on his door to this
afternoon at Carlton House. He
longed
to tell her, actually.

What
if this were a test
?
The black insidious thought, once arrived, would not leave. What if
this virtuous fervor, the last hour's erotic bravery, the parlor, the
milliner's shop, even the goddamned tree—

No.
No, it couldn't be all some complicated net of her uncle's weaving.
It wasn't possible!

Except
that it was. After all, here she was, alone with him in this
carriage, coming back for more again and again, no matter that his
behavior would send any proper virginal young lady screaming from
him.

These
suspicions made him feel a bit sick. Was Jane part of Maywell's plan?
Was she even a willing convert, sacrificing herself for the cause,
submitting to his advances out of some twisted duty—

It
was too much. There were too many strange factors, too many warped
players. He could not keep them straight anymore. Etheridge and his
Liars? Collis and his lies? Rose? Maywell?
George
?

And
Lady Jane Pennington standing at the front of it all, a freckled,
strawberry-blond whirlwind of sensuality and temptation, tailor-made
to pierce right through a cynical gambler's hard-won defenses…

She
was simply too good to be true. Therefore, she must not be.

So
Ethan leaned back, crossed his arms over his chest, and played along.
If this was a test, then by God, he would pass it.

"You're
too late, my lady. I have already decided to join your uncle
wholeheartedly."

"No!"
She leaned forward, all her cool determination gone. "You cannot
mean that, Ethan! You don't understand! He's on the side of the
French, of
Napoleon
!"

Ethan
nodded easily. "Yes, my lady. I know. I think it a most worthy
endeavor."

"
No
."
She leaned into him, putting her hand urgently on his knee. "I
will not permit you to do this! You are too good, too honorable—"

He
interrupted her with a harsh laugh. "You can say that, after
what happened tonight?"

"Ethan,
listen to me. Uncle Harold cannot—must not—succeed!
You—you could help me stop him!"

Help
her stop Maywell? What an absurd suggestion for a Society debutante
to make. Now he was sure she was a plant. "I don't see what you
are so upset about, Lady Jane. I'm sure your uncle has provided you
with an appropriate future in Josephine's court." Now he was
simply taking cynical pleasure in baiting her—but a bloke
needed to take his pleasure where he could.

She
sat back, her face the very picture of disappointed confusion. "I
know you don't really want to do this," she said, her voice
husky with frustration. "I
know
this. I must make you see…"

Abruptly,
Ethan wearied of the entire farce. "Jane, you cannot stop this—"

In
one swift movement, Jane reached for him, catching his lips with
hers. Ethan gasped slightly, his lips parting as he began to pull
back. She grabbed both his ears and deepened the kiss, her tongue
plunging with sweet awkwardness into his mouth. His hands gripped her
head, fingers plunged into her hair—when had he reached for
her?—and he kissed her back with all the need that threatened
to drown his soul. Her arms wrapped about his neck as if she would
never let him go.
Thank
God
.

He
pulled her down to lie across his lap. Holding her— oh, dear
God, how had he ever lived without it! Caressing her—life was
warm and welcoming again. She was cool silk beneath his hot hands,
submitting sweetly to his touch. Then she ripped his cravat from him
and flung it across the carriage. Things went a bit mad after that.

She
squirmed on him until she faced him directly, without ever taking her
mouth from his. She rode his lap as he pushed her skirts high, baring
her thighs to his touch. He ran his hands up her soft skin to slip
behind her, holding and caressing her bottom as she ground herself
clumsily onto his groin. Her hands roved over him, fumbling with the
buttons of his weskit, tearing his shirt from his trousers, tugging
ineptly at his trouser buttons—

Then
he was poised at the center of her, like a barbarian at her welcoming
gates. She went soft and giving, hovering over him as her moistness
warmed him and her curls feathered across the top of his aching
erection.

The
thought crossed his fogged mind that he was a bounder, taking an
inexperienced virgin in a carriage this way. Although it could be
argued that she was taking him. He let her drop a tiny bit, until her
hot opening kissed the tip of his cock and she writhed in excited
protest in his grasp. His mind went quite blank with lust and need at
that point. There was nothing in his thoughts but the first thrust,
the way she would wrap tightly about him, the pounding race to
completion—

And
then what?

What
will become of her?

What
of you? What will you become?

He
tried to shake off the voice. He would be no worse than he was now,
than he had always been. He wasn't noble, for Christ's sake. He
wasn't honorable, or good, or even very nice.

Which
didn't explain why he thrust her from him to land in a tumble of lacy
petticoats on the seat across from him. With one fist he pounded the
ceiling of the coach. "More speed, man!" he shouted. His
voice was thick and harsh with unfulfilled desire. Across the short,
eternal distance, Jane batted her skirts down from over her face to
glare at him.

"Why
did you stop?" Her voice was a mere breathless gasp.

"Repair
yourself," he growled.

She
tried to wriggle into an indignant pose while tugging her bodice back
to decency. It didn't work at all. She ended up slipping to the
floor, twisted in her gown, frustration wrinkling her brow. He bent
to pick her up and set her on her feet. His heart pounded at the
heady scent of her readied body and the gleam of humiliated tears in
her eyes. God help him, she was so damn sweet.

Too
good for him by half.

He
set her to rights with experienced hands, even pinning her mantle
back over her shoulders, and plunked her into the opposite seat, as
far from him as the carriage would allow. Not that it would matter.
The distance between them was so great that he could never cross it,
not truly. Making love to her would only ensure that she would be
cast from her own future.

"I
am too… disadvantageous for you," he said, forcing his
voice to easy conversation level. His casual tone surprised her, he
could see. The carriage was nearly at their destination. He must make
it good and permanent this time. "I am too everything for you,
Lady Jane Pennington," he continued, infusing his voice with a
jaded drawl. "Too experienced, too world-weary, far, far too
decadent in my tastes. You are delightful in your way, there is no
doubt. Anything fresh and young is enjoyable, for a short while. But
now your continued importuning is only embarrassing us both. My
loyalty is quite unswerving, I assure you." That might even be
true, if he could ever pinpoint just where that loyalty lay.

She
was staring at him, her eyes wide in the uneven gleam from the
swaying lanterns hung outside the carriage. It twisted within him
that he had hurt her, that he
must
continue to hurt her and drive her away.