The Rebel Page 24

  She might as well have asked the question of the passing blue jay that darted from the hedge as they passed. Nicholas continued to glare straight ahead as he drove the horse and carriage. He gave no indication that he’d even heard what she’d asked, other than flicking the reins at the pair.

  “I know I was not very talkative on our drive to Ballyclough. But I needed time to think and consider everything between us. I needed to think through all that you told me before we left.” A bump in the road jounced Jane against Spencer’s side. She moved away only a little. “I have come to accept that nothing between you and me can be simple. Our pasts, our lives, even the people whom we care for seem to be doing their best to wedge themselves between us.”

  She stared at the familiar countryside. “Though it might appear reckless to someone looking from the outside—this life I have chosen for myself among the Whiteboys and the locals—it fills some need in me. It is a deep-seated need for justice…and for adventure, I suppose. There is security in what you come to be comfortable with…even this. Despite the danger, I consider the ground I walk upon solid…and good.”

  He cast a sharp glance her way. “Are you telling me that you do not want what is happening between us?”

  She looped her arm through his and looked into his eyes. “It would be much simpler if I could say that I do not want it, but I cannot say that.” A layer of darkness lifted from his expression. She brushed her cheek against the wool of his jacket when his gaze shifted back to the road. “I wish I knew how long this thing might last between us, but I have no such gift for seeing into the future. The way I feel about you, though…the way you’ve thrown my emotions and my life into such total disarray, I cannot simply turn my back to it.”

  She moved closer to him, trying to take strength from his presence. “Most people search all their lives and never find even once what I have been fortunate enough to come across twice in my life. I am willing to take the chance.”

  “How about Adams?”

  He hadn’t even looked at her to ask the question, and Jane understood his frustration. After all, she too had been plagued with the same uncertainty this morning…about Clara.

  “He is a dear and trusted friend. Nothing more.”

  Nicholas frowned at the horses. “Perhaps to your thinking. But there is a great deal more at his end.”

  Jane searched for the right words to explain what it was that made the friendship she shared with Henry so different and special. “We’ve known each other all of our lives. We’ve been as close as a brother and sister who are about the same age can be. We’ve shared the same interests and beliefs. And for many years, since Conor’s death, Henry has taken it on himself to fill the emptiness that my parent’s treatment of me has created in my life. He is always there if I need him. And he is as protective of me as you would be of Frances.”

  “I would not face someone who was waiting for Frances the way he faced me today.”

  “I believe you would,” Jane challenged. “Put yourself in his position. What exactly does he know of you? He believes, as we all did, that you came to Ireland to marry Clara. Now he finds that you are spending many hours in my company.”

  “I explained that to him today. But there was no change in his hostility.”

  “That is because Henry is a man of reason and logic. He knows the scandal of my past. He knows that such a past allows no possibility of a future in your society. Therefore, he concludes you and I have no chance of finding a future together…not an honorable one, at any rate.” As he opened his mouth to speak, she shook her head and continued. “He is also aware of how I feel about you…how much I care for you…and this disturbs him. He is determined to intervene, for he does not wish to see me hurt again. You cannot tell me that you would not do the same for Frances…or for any friend who might have suffered in their lives. I believe you would intervene if you thought that ill-conceived choices were about to be made.”

  Jane stared at his rugged, handsome profile. He looked away and murmured a name under his breath. She drew his chin back to her.

  “Would you care to repeat that?” she said, brushing a kiss against his cheek.

  “Stanmore.” He spoke more clearly this time, giving her a grudging half-smile. “He is my oldest friend. And I did poke my nose in his private life last year when I had my doubts about the woman he was set to marry.”

  “I see. And what happened?”

  “The woman turned out to be innocent of all suspicions. They’ve since married. And now, I’m happy to say, Rebecca and I are the greatest of friends.”

  Jane wrapped her arms around him and hugged him fiercely. “You see…given time, you and Henry could end up friends, too.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Oh, you foul-tempered, bull-headed…” She gave up on the words, drew his face down to her, and put all her frustrations and passion into a kiss.

  As she kissed him, Jane felt the carriage come to an abrupt halt, and she found herself pulled onto Nicholas’s lap. His mouth slanted over hers with a kiss deep and hot enough to set her entire body on fire.

  “I want you,” she whispered raggedly when his mouth left hers.

  His lips touched and teased the fevered skin of her throat, and his hands were already beneath the cloak, caressing her breasts.

  “I want to make love to you, Jane.”

  She thought for a moment that the meadow they were crossing would serve them as well as any bed, and then an idea dawned on her.

  “How long can you be patient?” she asked with a smile, scrambling off his lap and taking up the reins of the carriage herself.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “You shall find out.”

  “Very well. Then you be sure to pay complete attention to your driving, for I shall be otherwise engaged.

  As the phaeton raced across the countryside at the breakneck speed, Nicholas’s mouth and hands continued their teasing play. Jane thrilled to the feel of his attentions until the pressure in her body was so overwhelming that she thought she would lose her mind if they didn’t arrive at their destination soon.

  The ruined stone castle sat high on a ledge looking over the Blackwater River. Deserted by people and time, Jane—as Egan—had many times taken shelter there against the weather.

  “I thought we’d never get here,” Nicholas said, reluctantly withdrawing his attentions as the edifice came into view. “Where are we?”

  “Just a little place I keep in the country,” she joked, urging the horses up a slope toward the castle wall. “They call it ‘Cuchulainn’s Seat.’”

  Nicholas gazed up at the impressive rise of the walls and then at the rolling valley. The two ducked their heads as she maneuvered the carriage through the narrow, ancient gate and brought the horses to a halt.

  “Are you coming?” she asked, stepping down from the carriage and taking the basket of food Mrs. Brown had sent along with her. She backed toward the door of a square tower that formed most of the western wall.

  The intensity of Nicholas’s blue gaze on her made Jane shiver with anticipation. She saw him take a blanket from the seat and start across the courtyard after her. It was dark in the spiral stairs leading up to the upper story of rooms that had surely been inhabited at one time by the lord of this castle and his family. Near the top, she stumbled once, nearly losing the basket of food, but Nicholas was beside her in an instant. As he set her back on her feet, he claimed a kiss for his efforts.

  She led him to the only room on the upper floor that still had a part of a roof and three standing walls. The wall facing the valley, though, had long ago crumbled to the riverbank.

  “This is one of Egan’s secret hiding places,” she said quietly, watching the room fill with Nicholas’s presence as he walked in. “You mention it to anyone, and there will be a price to pay.”

  His silence only made her skin burn hotter. When he dropped the blanket to the ground and approached her, she realized that this was to be nothing like
the experience she’d shared so many years ago with Conor. That was simply the discovery of passion’s fires by two innocent youths. What she was facing now was a man. And Nicholas Spencer was a man who’d spent his life in the company of worldly women. She was certain there was little he did not know about the ways of love. Fears and insecurities cast a shadow across her mood, but he was quick to hold her close.

  “Stay with me.” He growled against her lips as his hands undid the tie of her cloak. The garment pooled at her feet. He turned her in his arms and had her lean against a wall while his hands started undoing the buttons on the back of her dress.

  “I am frightened,” she whispered, pressing her forehead against the cold stone.

  “I am, too.”

  She felt the air, so cool on her skin, as he spread the back of the dress.

  “I want so badly for this to be right. For me to be able to show you…how much I love you.”

  Stunned by his words, Jane turned in his arms, only to be overwhelmed by the depth of emotion she found in his blue eyes.

  “Nicholas…” The words caught in her throat. Tears burned her eyes.

  “It is true. I love you, Jane.” He kissed her deeply, thoroughly, while his hands peeled the dress to her waist. The feel of his hands holding her breast through the thinness of the chemise made her arch her back for more. Her breathing stopped altogether when he slipped the straps of the chemise, as well, down her arms. When he drew back, she saw his eyes darken as he gazed at her breasts before returning to her face.

  “You are so beautiful.”

  She gasped out loud as his mouth lowered and he took her flesh into his mouth. There was no longer a doubt, but only need in her soul. She felt herself melt, become moist. Her arms wrapped around him. Her body was ready, eager to accept him. Drawing her down onto the blanket, he pushed her clothing down over her hips, helping her to extricate her legs.

  He quickly shed his own clothing, and a moment later the walls rang with her cry of ecstasy at the joining of their bodies. She felt the sky wrap around them, lifting them both up on a cloud of infinite blue.

  I love you.

  His whisper echoed in her mind again and again, but Jane tried to blot it out, trying for once to lose herself in this one miraculous moment.

  All rational thoughts soon fled and only the throbbing pulse of the love dance was left. Even time hung suspended, counted only by the beat of their bodies pounding together as two souls rose up to that joyous moment of release.

  Later, as she lay in his arms, Jane thought again of the declaration she could not make. No matter what she was feeling, ‘love’ was a word she could not say.

  Love, she thought, dashing a tear away, was something their world would never allow.

  ***

  Patrick found his man in Cork City’s old Butter Market. The young fellow, organizing the goods on his cart before the ride back to Woodfield House, spied him and dropped a crate of tea onto the cobbled ground.

  Under the pretense of helping him lift the crate back onto the cart, Patrick whispered the message that had to be delivered to Egan before nightfall. “…to meet at the same time and place as the last. Liam says Egan should come early. Finn is to be there. Be sure to tell her.”

  Casually rising to his feet, Patrick picked up his youngest son. The lad had lagged behind a little to stare at a brilliantly painted gypsy wagon. He lifted the boy onto his shoulders, pleased that the message had been delivered without any trouble.

  As father and son started off toward the river, though, Patrick failed to notice the two dragoons watching carefully even as they followed at a safe distance behind.

  ***

  Clara shifted a little, forcing herself to sit straighter in the chair. The sharp end of one of the French stays was digging mercilessly into her flesh. It had taken two maids, working under her mother’s supervision, to squeeze her into the undergarment. Surely, some cruel woman-hater must have devised the insidious thing.

  Frustrated, she glanced down at her breasts propped up like pillows by the stays. Her nipples were barely concealed by the dreadfully low neckline of the dress. She was certain that if she were to reach forward even a little, or allow anything to tug even faintly at the dress, and she would be spilling out of her gown like spring water over the dam.

  And for what? she thought, the warmth rising in her cheeks. The baronet had not spared her a glance.

  Clara wasn’t blind. Since sitting down to dinner, Nicholas’s attention had been focused on Jane. Jane and her high-collared black dress, so conservative that it didn’t reveal even an inch of skin. Jane, who had managed to show up for the second time today to a meal. Jane, who actually participated in the conversations at table and even seemed not to take offense at anything their parents said. Jane, who actually smiled at an attempt at humor on the part of Sir Thomas.

  Clara found herself disliking this Jane a great deal.

  “Lady Spencer, you have been very mysterious, today, spiriting your daughter to Cork City and back.”

  Clara shifted again, trying to ignore the pressure on her ribs. This was the second time her mother had asked this question tonight.

  “Not at all,” their guest replied cheerfully. “I just thought it would be good for Frances to see what your shops had to offer. Of course, we couldn’t help picking up a little of this and a little of that while we were there. Fanny picked out a lovely bonnet.”

  “Well, if you would like to go again, I should love to accompany you. I know of the dearest little milliner’s shop, not far from the new Butter Exchange.”

  “That would be lovely.”

  “But how about you, Sir Nicholas?” Lady Purefoy turned her attention to the baronet. “Tell us which little corner of our countryside you were exploring today.”

  “I went to Ballyclough with Miss Jane.”

  His blunt response drew every eye in the dining room. Lady Spencer and Frances exchanged a quick look. Sir Thomas, his glass half way to his lips, grunted and downed the wine before sitting back in his chair. Catherine gaped for a moment before recovering herself. Clara thought that it might be the first time in her life that her mother had been struck speechless. The color had risen in Jane’s face, and her gaze was now fixed on her plate.

  Clara began to seethe, and she shot darts with her eyes at her sister. For most of the day, she’d been brooding on the fact that Jane was going more and more to Ballyclough. She didn’t like it, not one bit.

  Henry had never wanted Clara herself to come and visit him everyday. Henry had never asked her to join him on his visits to the parishioners. Henry never shared his thoughts or his plans with her. Clearly, it just came down to this—Henry was infatuated with Jane.

  And so was Sir Nicholas.

  Obviously, having a tarnished reputation was what a woman needed to attract attention these days.

  Her own malicious thoughts shocked and hurt the young woman, and her chin sank to her chest.

  But the bitterness continued to eat away at her. The thoughtlessness of her sister to want to take away both men was appalling…unfathomable. For all her talk of having loved only one man in her life—of her devotion to Conor, of the grief she still carried—all of it was nothing more than a lie. Jane was just looking for sympathy. And attention. And obviously, Clara thought, she had succeeded.

  “I…suppose…we should leave the men to their port and their cigars.” Lady Purefoy finally managed to get out. She rose to her feet, and everyone else followed suit.

  Clara’s eyes remained on Jane. There were silent messages passing between the baronet and her older sister. Even as an observer, she could feel the heat in the air between them. When Jane left the room ahead of the rest of the women, Clara saw the scarcely concealed desire in the man’s eyes.

  She was quick to follow her sister out. She was riled and resentful enough to say something while the women crossed to the Blue Parlor. But as she made her way along, Clara saw Jane disappear up the stairs.

  H
er brutish Shanavests must be calling, the young woman thought. Going into the parlor with their guests, Clara already began planning her talk with her sister. It was time someone advised Jane about the futility of her attempts.

  It was time someone told Jane that she didn’t have a chance…with either of these men.

  ***

  Though Sir Thomas had wanted to toast everyone in London society individually, Nicholas had excused himself before the second bottle of port appeared.

  She hadn’t said anything to him, but Nicholas knew that she’d be gone. A trip to the stables had confirmed it. Queen Mab was not in her stall.

  Strolling back up the hill toward the house, Nicholas could think of nothing more tiring than joining everyone in the parlor. It seemed he could think of nothing else but Jane. Hell, he didn’t care to think of anything else but Jane.

  Visions of their lovemaking this afternoon played again and again before his eyes. The haunted look in Jane’s eyes when he’d confessed his love was an image he would never be able to blot out.

  Nicholas glanced up at the dark lines of the house and tried to guess where her workroom might be. He wanted to be surrounded by nothing but her.

  “I thought I might find you out here.” His mother’s voice drifted out of the shadows of the arched entryway. “I am disappointed, though, to find you alone.”

  “No more than I.” He’d made a pact with himself today. There would be no denying of his feelings for Jane…publicly or privately. “What are you doing out here, m’lady?”

  “I tire of drinking wine with our hostess, I’m afraid. And though Clara is ostensibly playing at cards with your sister, she looks like she might cut someone’s head off.”

  Lady Spencer took a couple of steps into the night and looked up at the star-filled sky. “So, with Jane shunning our company and Sir Thomas retiring to his study a few minutes ago, I decided that whatever excitement Woodfield offers, it must be out here.”