Читать книгу Tall, Dark... Collection - Кэрол Мортимер, Carole Mortimer - Страница 59

Jane sensed rather than heard the Duke’s presence behind her in the darkness of the summerhouse to which she had fled so angrily such a short time ago.

Angrily? She had been more than angry; she had been incensed.

‘Have you come to once again laugh at my fears?’ she demanded, without turning.

‘Fears, Jane…?’ he echoed softly.

Jane had not lit the lamps when she entered the summerhouse, preferring to hide her blushing cheeks in the darkness as she acknowledged how close she had come to revealing her feelings for the Duke—both to Hawk himself and to cynical the Earl of Whitney.

She turned now, her chin stubbornly high as she stared across the distance that separated her from the Duke as he stood silhouetted in the doorway.

Arabella had shown Jane the summerhouse yesterday afternoon, and the two women had lingered to enjoy a glass of lemonade on the veranda surrounding it in the heat of the afternoon.

But the single room that had seemed so bright and airy during the day was full of shadows this evening, and the Duke appeared very tall and imposing in the darkness, the haughty arrogance of his face all sharply etched angles.

Jane made a brief movement of her shoulders. ‘I would not like to see you imprisoned, or more likely hanged, for killing another man.’

His teeth glinted white in the gloom as he drawled. ‘That is always supposing, Jane, that it was not I who was killed.’

That had been her real fear, of course. The fear Jane had almost revealed, and along with it her newly discovered love for this man. The same fear she dared not reveal now, for that very same reason.

‘Was that ever a possibility?’

He shrugged. ‘Whitney has something of a reputation as a swordsman.’

Jane repressed the shiver than ran through her. ‘Then you were doubly foolish to have challenged him in that way.’ She snapped her impatience with his recklessness.

‘Was I, Jane?’ He moved farther into the summerhouse to close the door softly behind him.

Jane resisted the impulse to take a step backwards, determined that she would not reveal how much being alone here with him like this disturbed her. Even if it did. Very much so. ‘Very foolish, indeed, Your Grace.’ She nodded abruptly.

‘Are you not cold in here, Jane?’ he prompted huskily, instead of responding to her rebuke.

‘Perhaps a little,’ she acknowledged frowningly. ‘But it was not my intention to remain here for long…’ Her voice dwindled off as the Duke went down on his haunches by the fireplace and put a flame to the kindling already laid there. The yellow-orange flames that instantly flared into life illuminated his sharply etched profile.

‘There.’ He rose slowly back to his feet before turning to look at her. ‘Is that not better, Jane?’

It was certainly warmer. Cosier. More intimate. None of which was in the least ‘better’ after what had happened the last time she and the Duke had been so alone together.

‘Jane?’ he prompted huskily, those gold-coloured eyes warmly searching on her upraised face.

The warm flames now crackling in the hearth were as nothing compared to the flames leaping inside Jane as she stared up at the Duke. Her pulse was beating erratically. Her heart thumping so loudly she thought he must hear it. Her palms were slightly damp. Her breathing shallow.

She nodded abruptly. ‘Much better, Your Grace.’ Hawk watched the movement of her tiny pink tongue as it moved moistly across her lips, her throat moving convulsively as she swallowed, and the soft swell of her breasts slowly rising and falling as she breathed softly.

It had taken him several long, anxious minutes to locate Jane here in the darkness of the summerhouse, but now that he had found her he questioned the wisdom of being alone with her like this.

The summerhouse was situated in a copse of trees at the far end of the spacious gardens that surrounded Mulberry Hall, well away from the main house, and was the place that he and his siblings had disappeared to as children, when they had wanted to escape the restraining company of adults.

As he and Jane had now escaped the restraining company of other adults…

A move, he now realised, not without its own dangers.

‘Did it not excite you earlier, Jane, to have two men challenging each other to a duel over you?’ he prompted huskily.

She arched auburn brows. ‘Over me, Your Grace?’ Hawk frowned darkly. ‘Who else, Jane?’

She gave a derisive shake of her head. ‘Perhaps some other lady of your mutual acquaintance? This Countess, for example?’

Hawk’s eyes widened at the directness of her attack. Although he should perhaps have expected nothing less from a young woman who was never less than forthright.

She gave a knowing smile. ‘Ah, I note by your scowling silence that my surmise is possibly the correct one. The Countess was your mistress as well as the Earl’s?’

Hawk stiffened. ‘I do not believe this to be a suitable subject for discussion between us, Jane—’

‘Why?’ Her eyes were curiously wide. ‘Or is it that the Countess is a married lady?’

He frowned darkly. ‘She is widowed.’

Jane frowned her puzzlement. ‘The Earl has informed me he is also widowed. And you are a single gentleman.’ She shrugged. ‘I do not see where the problem lies…?’

Hawk looked at her in exasperation. ‘The problem lies, Jane, with the fact that a single young lady such as yourself does not discuss a man’s mistress—ex-mistress!—with him.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because it simply is not done, Jane!’

She gave a derisive smile. ‘Perhaps in the polite company that you keep, Your Grace, for which the Earl voices such contempt.’ She nodded. ‘But, young as I was, for lack of anyone else in whom to confide my father occasionally discussed such matters with me when it involved one of his parishioners.’

‘I am not one of your father’s parishioners, Jane!’ Hawk muttered irritably.

Inwardly, he was wishing that he had never met the Countess of Morefield—let alone so briefly and, as it had transpired, so unsatisfactorily shared her bed!

He had no doubt that it was because of that brief dalliance that Whitney was behaving so provokingly this evening, in monopolising the company of both Jane and Arabella. The other man had made it obvious at the time that he had taken exception to Hawk’s interest in the Countess, which had resulted in her changing from sharing her bed with an Earl to a Duke.

‘No, you are not,’ Jane acknowledged ruefully, staring into the flames of the fire as she wondered what her father would have made of a man such as Hawk St Claire, the forceful Duke of Stourbridge.

Her father—her adopted father—had not been a man of the world, but a simple country parson. Nevertheless, in the boundaries of his parish there had existed avarice, jealousy, incest, adultery and even murder. Perhaps not, as the Duke had said, subjects for a young girl’s ears, but in the absence of a wife to share his worries Jane’s father had sometimes talked to her about such matters.

‘What manner of man was your father, Jane?’

She looked up sharply at the softly spoken query. ‘He was a good man,’ she stated defensively. ‘A good, kind and loving man.’

The Duke’s mouth twisted derisively. ‘All things I am sure you believe me not to be!’

‘Untrue, Your Grace!’ Jane gasped.

He looked grim. ‘Was it a kind man who refused to let you continue on your journey as you wished and instead brought you here, Jane? Was it a kind or loving man who only days ago took advantage of your lack of a protector?’ He shook his head self-disgustedly. ‘In the six days of our acquaintance, Jane, it seems to me I have shown you I am not any of the things you so admired in your father!’

They were two very different men, yes. But these last three days, as Jane had watched the Duke work so tirelessly about his estate, he had shown himself to be just as good a master to the people who lived on his estate as her father had been minister to his parishioners.

Besides, her feelings towards the Duke—the wild, soaring love she felt just looking into that aristocratically handsome face—bore absolutely no resemblance to the sweet, uncomplicated love she’d had for her adopted father!

She shook her head. ‘I do not think of you in that way, Your Grace.’

Hawk looked down at her searchingly. ‘Then how do you think of me, Jane…?’

That pink tongue ran once more over the softness of her parted lips. ‘I—I see you as a man. A strong, arrogant, forceful man who expects—demands—to be obeyed without question.’

Hawk smiled ruefully at her description. ‘You do not obey me, Jane.’

She gave the ghost of a smile. ‘Perhaps that is why you are here with me rather than with the Countess…?’

Hawk found his breath catching in his throat. That was exactly the reason he was here with Jane rather than any other woman. Jane challenged him. Thwarted him. Disobeyed him. Aroused him.

As he gazed into the beauty of Jane’s face, as he looked at her softly parted lips and into the unfathomable depths of her eyes, as he felt the fierce desire that ripped through him, he knew that it had been a mistake to follow her here. That being alone here with Jane like this, desiring her as he did, was the last thing he should have allowed to happen.

‘Jane…’ He was not aware of having made a step towards her, or of her making one towards him, but knew that he—that she—must have done so. His arms moved about her and he drew her fiercely against him as his mouth claimed hers.

She was all softness and the sweet perfume that was uniquely Jane, her lips parting willingly beneath his as Hawk deepened the kiss, feeling his desire raging hotly out of control as her slender fingers threaded into his hair and her ample breasts and slender hips curved invitingly against his own chest and thighs.

Hawk had never known such fierce desire. The need to possess. To own. His thighs pulsed with that need, and the hardness of his arousal moved restlessly against her as he strained to draw Jane even closer.

There were too many clothes between them. Too many layers of fabric between Jane’s body and his own. Between the feel, the sensation, of her silken nakedness pressed against his.

Hawk groaned low in his throat as her own actions seemed to echo his need, her hands trailing down his throat to splay against his chest as her fingers dealt deftly, quickly, with the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt before she touched his burning flesh and those fingers became entangled in the silky hair beneath.

Her touch was too much. Jane was too much. Hawk deepened the kiss hungrily, devouringly, drinking in her sweetness as his tongue plunged hotly, ravenously, into the heat of her mouth.

Seeking. Capturing. Claiming her for his own.

For Jane was his.

His.

She belonged to this man, Jane acknowledged feverishly, clinging to his shoulders. Hawk was continuing to kiss her even as he swung her up into his arms to carry her across to a chaise, laying her gently down upon it before quickly joining her there, the hard length of his body pressing her down amongst the cushions as his lips and tongue continued to plunder her own.

At that moment Jane cared for nothing else—needed nothing else but Hawk’s lips and hands upon her. She arched her back as he reached to release the fastening of her gown and slide it down the length of her body. She was wearing only her stockings and chemise now, and closed her eyes in ecstasy as she felt the caress of his tongue across her silk-covered breast before he suckled her deep inside his mouth, drawing on her greedily, hungrily, even as his tongue continued that wild caress across the hardened tip.

But she wanted—needed—to touch him too, and slid the jacket from his shoulders, the waistcoat quickly following, then his shirt, until Jane knew the sheer pleasure of touching his naked flesh. Her fingers were caressing as they glided over the hardness of his muscled chest, tangling in the silky hair that covered him, before she touched him, Her nails scraping accidentally against one of the hardened nubs that nestled there.

His sharply indrawn breath was enough to tell Jane that the caress gave Hawk pleasure too, making her bolder still as she touched him deliberately now, and felt him quiver, shudder in uncontrollable response.

Before Hawk, she had never caressed a man’s naked body before, but now, as she began to experiment with what gave Hawk pleasure, Jane felt a sense of her own power over the flesh that hardened and quivered at her slightest touch.

Hawk fell back with a gasp as he felt Jane’s hands upon him, his groan one of aching longing as he lay on his back and felt the lap of her tongue against him. Her hands were running the length of his chest now, his muscles quivering, tensing at her slightest touch. A touch that was all the more arousing because of her lack of experience or artifice.

Hawk looked down at her in the firelight, at the play of flames against her hair as it fell free of its confining pins onto his bared chest. His hand shook slightly as he raised it to touch that brightness, his fingers tangling convulsively in its silkiness as her kisses followed the line of hair that moved from his chest down to his navel.

He sucked in a sharp breath as he felt the experimental dip of her tongue into that sensitised well, that shy plundering sending him very close to losing complete control.

Jane raised her head to look at him, eyes dark with her own arousal. ‘Did I hurt you…?’

His short bark of laughter was self-derisive as he moved so that she now lay beneath him. ‘Jane, if you “hurt” me any more in that particular way I am not sure I will be answerable for the consequences!’

She looked up at him quizzically. ‘You liked my touching you so intimately…?’

Hawk grimaced. ‘I liked it too much, Jane, to let you continue.’

‘I do not understand…?’

How could she? How could Jane know that just to look at her as she lay there, with her long hair spread on the cushion beneath her, her lips swollen from his kisses, wearing only her stockings and chemise, her nipples hard and pouting beneath the silky material, her curving hips and thighs turned invitingly towards him, was more than enough temptation without the added arousal of her lips and hands upon his own body?

‘Let me show you, Jane,’ he groaned throatily, as he slipped the slender straps of her chemise from her shoulders to bare her breasts completely and gaze down hungrily at those rosy aureoles of pleasure. ‘How do you feel when I do this, Jane?’ He bent his head to run his tongue lightly across the sensitised nipple, instantly feeling her quivering response. ‘And this?’ He bestowed the same caress upon its twin, and again felt Jane tremble. ‘And perhaps this…?’ He moved his hand to push up her chemise and bare her thighs to his slow caress, as first touching the silken curls there before moving lower.

Her lids closed at Hawk’s first touch of her silken folds, her flesh already swollen and moist with arousal as her thighs parted to his caressing fingers.

Hawk stroked her slowly, purposefully, circling the hardened nub but never quite touching as he allowed her to become accustomed to the intimacy of his touch, waiting until Jane arched instinctively against his hand before deepening the caress. The soft pad of his thumb then sought and found the swollen centre of her arousal before moving rhythmically against her.

Jane, having been lost in a wondrous sea of pleasure only seconds earlier, now opened wide, incredulous eyes to look up into Hawk’s fiercely concentrating face as her pleasure intensified to fever pitch—burning, scorching, flooding her.

She could feel her own slickness as Hawk probed gently against her with one experimental finger, felt as it entered her slowly, questioningly, before he withdrew. Only to repeat the caress, again and again, the pad of his thumb a constant caress against her, fiercely and then more gently.

Fierce and gentle. Fierce and gentle.

Each time Jane imagined she was about to discover that there was more—much more!—as Hawk gentled his caress and withdrew, and the ache between her thighs, at the tips of her breasts, became unbearable.

‘Please…’ she finally groaned achingly, wildly. ‘Please, Hawk!’ She sat up slightly against the cushions, offering her breasts in silent plea. ‘I want—I need—’

‘I know exactly what you need, Jane!’ he growled triumphantly, before his head swooped and his mouth claimed one aching nipple, drawing it deeply into his mouth as he suckled, tongue stroking, teeth biting. The caress of his hand was no longer in the least gentle as he thrust rhythmically inside her and felt the first of her pleasurable convulsions.

‘Hawk…’ Jane gasped mindlessly as pleasure both burned and filled her. ‘Hawk…!’ She fell back, her hands clenching on the chaise, as wave after wave of pleasure claimed her, beginning as a fire that raged between her thighs and spreading like an ever-increasing flame to her every extremity—licking, throbbing, consuming all in its path.

‘Yes, Jane. Yes!’ he groaned fiercely, before transferring his attentions to her other breast, drawing it deep into the hot cavern of his mouth as he continued to stroke her swollen flesh until Jane had experienced every last moment of wondrous pleasure.

Incredible. Amazing. Miraculous pleasure.

Jane fell back weakly against the cushions, never having known that such pleasure existed. Never having known that this was what happened between a man and a woman. Never guessing at the shared intimacy that resulted in such ecstasy.

Was it always this way between a man and a woman? Had it been this way between her mother and her lover? If so, Jane could perhaps at last understand how Janette had succumbed to his seduction. As Jane had just succumbed to Hawk’s…!

Did that make her the things Lady Sulby had accused her of being? Was she indeed a harlot and a whore?

‘What is it, Jane?’ Hawk demanded as he saw the shadows racing across her face—a face that seconds ago had been lit from within as she reached the climax of her pleasure. But now it was shadowed with—with what? With embarrassment at her own lack of control? Or with regret for what had transpired…?

Neither of which was acceptable to Hawk.

His hands moved to cradle each of her cheeks as he tilted her face towards him. ‘Look at me, Jane,’he ordered firmly, when she kept her lids determinedly closed. ‘Jane!’ he rasped impatiently as she did not immediately comply.

Jane bit down painfully on the trembling of her bottom lip as she resolutely kept her lids closed. ‘I think it would be best if you left me now, Your Grace—’

‘How dare you attempt to put a distance between us by addressing me in that cold, distant way?’ he cut in fiercely. ‘Jane, you will look at me now!’ His hands moved to her shoulders, digging into the softness of her flesh as he shook her.

How could she possibly look at him ever again? How could she bear to look into his face—the hard, arrogant face that she loved—and see the disappointment, the disgust that must be written there as he recalled her wanton writhings as she pleaded with him to pleasure her?

‘Look at me, Jane!’ Hawk demanded again harshly, as he sensed that inwardly she was withdrawing even further away from him.

Minutes ago he would have sworn that Jane had wanted his attentions, his caresses, but now he doubted that certainty. Jane could not even bear look at him—as if the very sight of him repulsed her.

Had Jane merely acquiesced to his kisses, the intimacy of his caresses, because she had not been strong enough to deny him? Or, worse, because she felt beholden to him for aiding her escape when she could no longer tolerate Lady Sulby’s cruelty?

The thought that that might be the case filled Hawk himself with revulsion.

He released her abruptly to sit up on the chaise, his face turned away as he stared sightlessly into the flames of the fire which minutes ago had bathed Jane’s nakedness so seductively.

Had he forced his attentions on Jane? Had Jane surrendered to the Duke of Stourbridge because she’d felt she had to, rather than to Hawk the man because she desired him as fiercely as he desired her?

Oh, yes, Jane challenged, thwarted and disobeyed him when it suited her, but had she felt unable to do so just now? The very force of his desire having alarmed her into submission?

He was sure that had to be the case when he recalled how distantly she had addressed him as ‘Your Grace’, immediately after his caressing hands had brought her to a climax it must now shock and revolt her to recall.

His expression was grim as he stood up abruptly to pull on his rumpled shirt, his back towards Jane as he refastened the buttons with fingers that were not quite steady. ‘I believe it best if I leave you, after all, Jane,’ he rasped harshly.

Jane had taken advantage of Hawk’s distraction to pull her chemise back into some sort of order, wincing slightly as the material brushed against breasts that were still achingly sensitised from his ministrations, between her thighs was even more so.

She stared up at the rigid implacability of Hawk’s back, at the silkiness of his dark, gold-shot hair brushing the collar of his shirt in unaccustomed disarray—a fact he seemed aware of too, as he pushed impatient fingers through the mahogany darkness before pulling on his waistcoat and jacket and turning to face her.

Jane almost recoiled from the fierceness of his expression. His mouth was a thin, uncompromising line above his clenched jaw, and those golden eyes glittered coldly as he looked down his long, arrogant nose at her. Every trace of the indulgently attentive lover had now disappeared from his harshly etched features.

But she refused to allow herself to show weakness. Her nature was such that she refused to be cowed by anyone—least of all the arrogant Duke of Stourbridge. ‘By all means return to your sister’s guests, Your Grace,’ she told him lightly as she swung her legs to the floor and sat up on the chaise. ‘But I trust you will understand if I do not join you?’ She quirked mocking brows.

She knew she should pick up her gown—her beautiful gown of cream silk which had been thrown aside so uncaringly only minutes ago!—and cover her semi-nakedness, but the stubbornly proud part of her nature refused to let her do so. Minutes ago Hawk had seen her in all her naked glory, making it far too late for her to act like an innocent miss now.

Even if that was what she was.

Or had been…

Jane was sure she would never be completely innocent ever again now that Hawk had introduced her to such a world of physical intimacy and pleasure.

She forced herself to meet his imperiously haughty gaze. ‘Would you please tell Arabella that I have retired to my room with a headache?’ Her voice was husky, the headache she had just mentioned actually becoming a reality as Hawk’s face darkened ominously at her words. ‘I think it better if we do not return to the house together after such a long absence,’ she added.

Hawk knew that the gossips present tonight would be sure to make much of the fact that although Jane had left the ballroom earlier in the company of the Earl of Whitney it was on the arm of the Duke of Stourbridge that she returned some time later. And he had already caused Jane enough distress for one evening without adding the ruination of her reputation in Society to his list of crimes. As it was, his return and Jane’s absence were sure to be noted.

He nodded abruptly. ‘I will make your excuses to Arabella. But do not remain out here alone for too long, Jane,’ he continued harshly. ‘I was not the only man attracted by your beauty this evening,’ he added, with a disapproval he had no control over.

Her eyes widened briefly before her gaze became mocking. ‘I do believe that one lover in an evening is more than enough for any woman!’

His mouth tightened at the mere thought of Jane ever sharing of her lush beauty with any man but himself. It was unacceptable. Insupportable. Unbearable.

She belonged to him, damn it!

His jaw clenched. ‘If it really is your wish to avoid being seen again this evening, then I suggest that you go to your room by way of the back stairs.’

Like one of the servants, Jane acknowledged dully. But was that not what she was? Here on sufferance only? As a temporary companion to Lady Arabella?

And as occasional lover of the powerful Duke of Stourbridge…?

Her chin rose proudly. ‘I think not, Hawk.’Her tone was coldly dismissive as she deliberately used his given name. ‘I have no intention of behaving in the manner of a serving girl returning to her room after an illicit tryst with the master of the house!’ she added, as he frowned darkly.

His face darkened ominously. ‘I do not think of you as a servant, Jane—’

‘Then do not suggest that I behave like one!’

As was usual for them, Hawk acknowledged grimly, they were arguing now they were not caught in the throes of physical desire. But for Jane to even suggest that he thought of her in the same terms as one of the maids at Mulberry Hall was utterly ridiculous. Utterly provoking!

His mouth twisted grimly. ‘I believe you were the one to suggest that as your given role, Jane. Not I.’

Her eyes sparked with temper. ‘You implied it, Your Grace,’ she snapped.

‘No, Jane, I did not,’ he sighed. ‘But who am I to argue with a woman when she has made her mind up to something?’ he added grimly.

Her eyes glittered. ‘You are the arrogant Duke of Stourbridge!’

‘Undoubtedly,’he drawled, with an acknowledging inclination of his head, absolutely positive that Jane was trying to provoke an argument with him. Another argument with him…‘I believe, Jane, that we will resume this conversation when you are feeling less argumentative.’

‘And I believe we will not!’ Jane snapped, as she stood up to begin pulling on her gown.

Hawk’s breath caught in his throat as he watched, stood transfixed at her agitated movements.

Jane could have no idea how beautiful she looked, with her red hair falling in loose curls almost to her waist, that silky chemise barely covering the fullness of her breasts and the alluring curve of her thighs before she pulled her gown over that nakedness. But Hawk was very aware of it as his body once more ached, throbbed with the return of his desire, leaving him in no doubt that he would find little rest tonight in the loneliness of his ducal bed.

It had been this way since he had first met Jane, he acknowledged ruefully. At Markham Park she had been a constant source of disruption, as he had been at first irritated by her and then amused by her. She had become more than an irritation on his journey to Mulberry Hall, and even the work that had kept him so busy about the estate the last few days had not been enough to dispel thoughts of Jane once he retired to his suite for the night. The added memory of their time together in the stables was enough to totally chase away any idea of rest.

But tonight, with the taste and feel of Jane still upon his lips and hands, he knew that he would find sleep impossible!

‘As is your wish, Jane,’ he bit out tersely. ‘But that has been the usual way of things in our acquaintance to date, has it not?’ he added hardly.

Did he really believe that? Jane wondered frowningly. Did he really believe that, given a choice, she would leave his side ever again?

She loved this man. Loved him as Hawk St Claire. Loved the Duke of Stourbridge.

And there lay the real problem.

As Hawk St Claire there might have been some hope, albeit a slim one, of him one day returning her love. But as the Duke of Stourbridge—a man destined to marry well in order to provide the ducal heir, to take as his wife a woman of a status and breeding suitable to be the mother of that heir—there was absolutely no hope of Jane, a woman who did not even know who her real father was, being able to measure up to his exacting standard.

She forced a deliberately mocking smile. ‘As you say.’ She gave a derisive nod. ‘Please do not let me delay you a moment longer from returning to your sister’s guests.’

His eyes glittered dangerously. ‘You will not dismiss me in that contemptuous tone, Jane!’

Jane’s soft laugh was deliberately taunting. ‘I am so sorry, Your Grace.’ She made him an exaggerated curtsey. ‘Please forgive me, Your Grace.’ She eyed him tauntingly as she straightened. ‘For one very brief moment I actually believed you when you said you did not believe I was subservient to you!’

Hawk wanted to shake her. Wanted to put her over his knee and spank her.

But more than either of those things he wanted to take her in his arms once again and make love to her! Completely this time. Wanted to bury himself deep inside her silken sheath before losing himself in the inferno of her inner heat.

But as he dared not trust himself to do either of those first two things, knowing either would immediately lead to the third, he took the only other course open to him—he turned sharply on his heel and strode forcefully, determinedly, away from her and from the privacy the summerhouse offered to his real needs and desires.

Jane waited only long enough to ensure that the Duke had really gone before falling down onto the chaise in a devastation of grief-stricken tears so heated they seemed to burn as they cascaded unchecked down her cheeks, knowing she had alienated Hawk for ever with the wantonness of her behaviour.