The Rogue (9 page)

To
her surprise, he suddenly smiled and offered his arm. "The dew
is falling. Your slippers will be wetted. Shall we adjourn to the
terrace?"

Bemused
by his easy tone, Jane placed her hand lightly on his arm. They
turned and crossed the lawn as sedately as if they were strolling in
Hyde Park in the middle of the afternoon. Jane lifted her hem
slightly to mount the three steps to the terrace and found that the
dew had indeed dampened her gown and slippers. He seated her upon the
stone bench, then braced one foot upon it and leaned an elbow on his
knee.

"Forgive
my impertinence, ma'am, but have we ever been introduced?"

Jane
shook her head. It was not a lie. No one had ever formally introduced
them.

"Then
I am shockingly forward, I fear," he said with a rueful smile.
Heavens, he was a handsome one, wasn't he? Jane fought down the
increasing rate of her pulse once again. She was only here to
discover whether he was the sort to divulge her embarrassment to the
world.

"Are
you a guest at this party?"

Jane
shook her head. She was one of the hostesses, but she could hardly
explain that with hand signals, now could she?

Mr.
Damont seemed to take her answer in a somewhat different light. He
visibly relaxed. "Ah, one of the unwashed multitudes, then, like
myself. I'll wager you're chaperone or companion to that mob of
daughters in there."

Jane
blinked, suddenly wondering if that, indeed, was her role in that
house. Goodness, the thought had never occurred to her—but
otherwise why would her uncle bring in another girl to marry off,
when he already had five to worry about?

Ah,
but she was the only one who stood a chance, wasn't she? She was an
heiress, unlike her cousins. She was quite suddenly wryly sure of
what her role in that family was… she was bait. Bring in the
men, attract the eligible bachelors, so that the sisters might have a
shot at bagging one of the extras.

Mr.
Damont took her silence for assent and relaxed further. "They're
nice girls, for their sort. I'm only glad I'm not on their list."
He smiled down at her. "Common as a cart horse, that's me."

Jane
went very still, mesmerized by the sudden warmth in his eyes. He was
looking at her as if she were simply an ordinary girl—not "my
lady," or "the heiress," or even "wealthy
customer."

If
she was not mistaken, no man had ever looked at her like that in her
life.

She
smiled shyly back up at him, a real smile, without a smidgen of
social reticence in it.

His
eyes warmed further. "You as well, eh?"

Her
gaze went to his fine cravat, tied in the latest style, ruby stock
pin glittering in the folds. He followed her gaze, glancing down at
himself with a wry grimace.

"Protective
coloration," he explained. He nodded at her severe silk gown.
"Like you. If you went about in rags, you'd only draw attention.
You must put half your pay into keeping up appearances," he said
sympathetically.

Jane
looked down and smoothed her skirts. Did she really look like a
governess in this gown? True, it was cut very simply.

She
was suddenly overcome by a wild desire to own something daring and
bright, something that would make Mr. Damont's eyes pop from his
head. Not that she cared what he liked. Not at all. But there was
that sapphire-colored silk she'd seen displayed at the modiste's…

Ethan
gazed down at his companion. Aside from that one unfettered,
surprisingly contagious grin, she'd scarcely been able to respond to
him at all. She was a funny, shy creature, wasn't she?

Of
course, that explained why she was lurking in the garden tonight.
Still, shirking her duties that way made her a bit of a rebel as
well, and Ethan was very fond of rebellion. He encouraged it, in
fact.

He
leaned close to her ear. "Stay right here," he whispered.
"I shall return in a moment."

With
a wink, he quickly let himself back into the house. It was the work
of only a moment to abscond with two glasses and a bottle of wine
left to breathe in the butler's pantry.

When
he returned to the terrace, his new friend was standing at the edge
of the lawn as if she were contemplating making a run for the
shrubbery. Tucking the wine under his arm, Ethan went to her and held
out his hand.

"You
cannot leave me now," he said with a smile. "If you go,
I'll have to go back in as well." He put on a mournful face. "A
fate worse than death, you know."

That
got a tiny laugh from her, hardly more than an amused breath, but
Ethan took encouragement nonetheless. Taking her unresisting hand, he
led her back to the bench. "You and I," he said, "are
the only two people in the world, as of this moment."

She
was gazing at him in wry disbelief, her opinion of his madness plain.
"Oh, I know," he said. "You think me mad, but look at
it from this perspective. If we are the only two people in the world,
then there is no one to condemn or decry us. No one else to whom we
owe a farthing, or a favor." Or a house.

Ethan
shook off any thought of the Liars and their deal with the devil. "I
want an hour of freedom," he begged his companion with a smile.
"Doesn't that sound grand?"

She
glanced away, biting her lip slightly. The motion called Ethan's
attention to the fact that she had a very pretty mouth—a nice
bow to her upper lip and her bottom one was full enough to impart a
hint of secret sensuality. Now that was interesting.

Being
that he was no kind of gentleman, Ethan wasn't above stealing a kiss
from a pretty lass. A pink tip of tongue flicked out to soothe that
bitten lip.

No,
indeed. Not above that at all…

His
rebel governess turned back to gaze at him with a challenge in her
eyes and a glass in her hand.

Ethan
grinned. "That's my girl." He poured them both a few inches
of wine. "Now, sip that slowly—"

When
she quickly brought the glass to her lips, Ethan stopped her with a
hand on hers. "There is no race," he said softly. "This
is about savoring a moment of time out of time. Sip slowly and
pretend that there is no tomorrow, no yesterday, no expectations—"

He
halted at the soft sheen that came into her eyes. She blinked
quickly, but the startled expression on her face gave him pause. He
hadn't meant to upset her—but perhaps it was not his words that
made tears threaten.

If
what he was saying struck such a chord with her… well, perhaps
they had even more in common than he'd first assumed.

He
set his own glass on the bench and took her hand in both of his,
glass and all. "Don't take on so," he whispered. "I
know it can be hard to make your way where you do not truly belong—to
walk in their halls and live in their rooms—and it must be
doubly hard for you, lost between, who is neither servant nor equal—"

Jane
could not withstand the sweet sympathy in his voice, the warm comfort
of his hands on hers. To her complete disbelief, a single hot tear
broke free from her control to roll down her face. Why? She had no
such burden! She was Lady Jane Pennington, without a care in the
world.

And
yet, until that moment, she had never before realized how truly alone
she was. Lost between—yes, that was precisely how she felt. Few
women in her world were her equal, either in status or in competence.
Her own mother used to look at her as if she were not quite sure
where her daughter had emerged from. Everyone looked to her when
difficulties arose, but no one ever paused to wonder if she had any
difficulties of her own.

Men
knew not what to make of her, for her very competence seemed to turn
them away. She was unfeminine, unwanted except for her wealth, which
was more of an ironic joke than she'd ever dare admit.

Mr.
Damont liked her… but Mr. Damont didn't know her. She let her
hand relax within his warm ones. He took her glass away, setting it
beside his. His eyes shone with sympathy for the plight of the shy
governess. If she spoke now, revealed herself, he would—

What
would he do? She found him entirely unpredictable. He was by turns
charming and caustic, kind and cynical. He obviously had no love of
the aristocracy.

Therefore
it was very unlikely that he would continue to like her, to talk to
her, and certainly not to hold her hand so comfortingly in his large
warm ones.

She
had no right to that comfort. It was undeserved and unwanted. She
tried to pull her hand from his.

His
fingers tightened gently about hers. "Shh," he soothed.
"Don't be vexed. One tear does not an ocean make." He
reached to brush his knuckles down her cheek, drying the path of that
tear with a single caress. Jane nearly started. When had anyone ever
touched her like that?

He
flicked his fingers open in the air. "See? It never happened. No
one will ever know. Besides, no one else exists tonight, remember?"

Jane
nodded slowly, unwillingly charmed by the notion. That way she would
not have to wonder, What was Lady Jane Pennington doing sitting in
the dark with a common gambler, drinking his wine and holding his
hand?

The
door to the house opened, shattering the moment. "Ah, Lady Jane,
here you are," the footman standing there said. "Her
ladyship is seeking you."

Jane
went quite cold. Her gaze shot to meet that of Mr. Damont. He dropped
her hand and stared up at her as if she had suddenly turned blue.

Jane
stood, never taking her gaze from Mr. Damont's shocked one. "Thank
you, Robert. Tell her ladyship I will join her shortly."

When
the obviously curious footman shut the door and left them in the dark
once more, Jane clasped her hands before her. "Do please forgive
my deception, but it was necessary to ascertain whether you were the
sort of man to expose the embarrassing incident the other night—"

"You?
That was you?" He seemed most distressed. "In the tree?"
His eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"

Jane
lifted her chin. "I am Lady Jane Pennington, daughter of the
late Marquis of Wyndham."

Mr.
Damont shot up from the bench. "You're a bloody actress, that's
what you are! What sort of game is this?" He was indignant and
angry, which she'd expected, but also visibly hurt, which she had
not.

Jane
took a breath. "I had no intention of misleading you, sir—"

"The
bloody hell you didn't!" He ran a hand over his face, obviously
reaching for control. "See here, Lady Jane, do you have any idea
what sort of trouble a bloke could get into for trifling with a woman
like you?"

Oh,
dear. That possibility had never crossed her mind. "I've—I've
no intention of making trouble for you, Mr. Damont."

He
turned away, shaking his head. "I thought you were someone I—"
He turned back angrily. "I suppose now we're going to play 'Call
the magistrate, I've been assaulted,' am I correct?"

Jane
drew back. "Of course not—"

"Why
not? You've quite a case against me. I've held your hand, held you in
my arms, touched you in all sorts of improper ways. I've even seen
you in your knickers, lovely legs and all, haven't I?"

Jane
swallowed. She hadn't meant to inspire such a rage—

Lovely
legs and all?

Shocking.
Bawdy. And very gratifying, in a secret feminine way that she would
never admit. Did she have attractive limbs? Perhaps she did. How
would she know, after all?

Ethan
drew a deep breath. Calm down, old man. If the wench were going to
call down the law upon him, she could have done so already. One
scream and the house would have descended upon them and hauled him
off her.

Instead,
she had tricked him, lied to him—

Well,
that wasn't strictly true. She hadn't spoken at all, but Ethan was in
no mood to be charitable. Lies by omission were lies all the same. He
ought to know, he'd practically invented the method.

Damnation,
all he had wanted was a moment where he wasn't who he was…

Perhaps
that was all Lady Jane Pennington had wanted as well.

Ethan
wasn't willing to allow complete forgiveness, but his anger settled
slightly. He turned to her. "I think it is time you went home.
I'll have a footman fetch your carriage—"