The Rebel Page 33

  “Society chooses to not see them.” Jane offered. “Those above consider these people only good for cleaning their houses and sweeping their streets, for plowing their lands, for digging out their quarries, and serving in their armies and in their ships.”

  “And that is only the honest work.”

  “And they wonder why those in slums like this riot. And they wonder why people like those in Ireland and in the colonies in America chafe under the heavy yoke.”

  “Yes.” Nicholas’s grasp tightened. “But not everyone is so ruthless. Not all of us are blind.”

  He returned the greeting of a crippled old man leaning against the bare planks of a house before turning his attention back to her. “I brought you here because I wanted to show you my cause, Jane. Doing something for these people, especially those who are young and homeless, has been my own way of alleviating my personal guilt. And though this is not as heroic as anything you have done in Ireland, it is a starting point for me.”

  She shook her head. “You can make a difference here. The mere immenseness of the poverty of cities makes any contribution much more heroic than anything I have done.”

  “But there is so much to do.”

  He looked into an alley so tangled that no light reached the ground. Jane could see movement at the end of the alley, but whether it was human or animal, she could not tell.

  “I brought you here so you would know that no matter where you go or live or decide to spend the rest of your life, there are people who will need you. Everyone in this country is not a Musgrave. There is bad and good. There are those who want to dominate, and some who want to share the bounty. And then there is one who wants you at his side in life and love…for eternity.”

  She was so affected by his last words that the noise and people around them had become a blur. All she could see was Nicholas. A tug on her skirt, though, drew her attention to a little girl who was looking up with huge brown eyes at the two of them.

  “Beggin’ yer pardon, Sir Nicholas, sir.”

  She dropped her hand from Jane’s skirt when their attention turned to her. She was dressed in a filthy and torn print frock and a broken black chip bonnet. Jane saw the child was wearing no shoes. “Ye doan know me, sir, but I’m Bessie’s sister.”

  “Bessie, you say?”

  “Oy, sir. A whiles back I used to share a room—‘twas jist a hole, sir, really. But Bessie an’ me was livin’ with my brother…off Drury Lane. And then the Irishman and his slut come an’ tossed us, sir.”

  “This is quite a history for one so little, Miss…Miss…” Nicholas crouched down until he was more on at eye level with the child. “Since you know me, then perhaps we should be properly introduced.”

  A soft blush crept up the dirty cheeks. “My name is Sally, sir.” She gave a shy curtsy and pushed her long rusty hair under the bonnet as she looked up at Jane.

  “Nice to meet you, Miss Sally. And this is Miss Purefoy.”

  “Good to meet you, Sally.” At Jane’s smile, the girl blushed deeper and rubbed the palm of her hand on her thin dress.

  “Do I know your brother?” Nicholas asked.

  She shook her head. “But ye might be knowing Bessie…or maybe not. She’s two years older than I, an’ last winter—after we got tossed by the mick, ye found ‘er an’ took ‘er to one o’ yer houses…the one by the market.”

  “Why did you not come with her.”

  She blushed again. “I was afraid, sir…I ran an’ hid. But I ain’t afraid now. D’ye remember her?”

  “I am sure I will remember her as soon as I see her.”

  “Last summer, Bessie an’ me used to go about the streets sellin’ watercreases.”

  “Did you?” Jane asked encouragingly.

  “Aye, miss. We’d go, ‘Four bunches a penny…watercreases!’ Our mum learned us to needlework and knit when we was little. I used to go to school, too. But I wasn’t there long. I’ve forgot all about it now. ‘Twas such a time ago.” The girl’s fingers twisted nervously before her. “But my mother died a few winters back, an’ my brother took off last month, an’ I had to move out o’ the place here…” She pointed vaguely toward a nearby alley.

  “Where do you live now, Sally?” Nicholas asked gently.

  “She looked down at her bare feet. “I’ve been on the streets for a whiles, sir. But I’ve not been goin’ hungry. I work…I goes to a woman’s house till eleven o’clock on Saturday nights. All I have to do is to snuff the candles and poke the fire. They is Jews, sir, and have their Sunday on Saturday, an’ they won’t touch anything; so they gives me my vittals an’ a penny besides.” The child’s feet shuffled on the dirt. “But winter’s coming, I know…an’ I miss Bessie.”

  “Then you shall move into the same house with Bessie.”

  Nicholas continued to talk to the young girl, but Jane found herself concentrating on him while fighting her own emotions. She had loved him before, but now—as she watched his gentle and caring dealings with Sally—her affection for him grew even greater.

  When they worked their way back to the carriage and climbed in, they took Sally with them. Whatever else Nicholas had intended to show her, though, was put aside. Bessie, it turned out, was not at the house ‘by the market,’ and as a result Jane received a tour of several of a group of houses that Nicholas, she learned, had created to shelter street children. It was almost noon before they found the sister and settled Sally in with people who would care for her.

  When they finally returned to Nicholas’s house on Leicester Square, it was early in the afternoon, and they were told that Frances was visiting her friend Elizabeth and should not be expected for dinner.

  “Thank you for today,” Jane said under the watchful gaze of the fierce looking steward. There were messages waiting for Nicholas when they’d arrived.

  “I have to see to a couple of correspondences in the library,” Nicholas told her. “Why not try to rest and come down and meet me there later…whenever you are ready.”

  She nodded and went to her room. Once inside, though, resting was the last thing on her mind. This side of Nicholas—the philanthropic part of him—had opened her eyes to the rest of his character. For the first time, she thought, she could really see him. Understand him. Much the same as she did, Nicholas presented only one side of himself to society. His was an attitude of a confirmed rake—sporting, independent, careless, and self-centered. He was outspoken, arrogant, and openly disdainful of the system that mandated how he should live his life. But in private, he could pursue his own valuable interests without the pressure of society’s constraints. His generosity was for the sake of people in need and not contingent on the fashionably fickle philanthropies of the ton.

  It was through the people she had met in their tour who she had learned today that Nicholas had established so far nearly a dozen safe houses for children across London.

  Standing before the window, she knew that she admired him and loved him for the man that he was and couldn’t wait to tell him so.

  An hour was all that she was able to stay away. Dressing in a soft yellow dress that she once again wondered how Fey had managed to have made for her, Jane cast a final look at herself in the mirror before going down. Of everything in the trunk, this was the least conservative of the garments, and as she descended the steps, Jane’s stomach was already dancing with the memories of their lovemaking in Ireland.

  There was no denying it. She loved him. She respected him. She desired him.

  ***

  The visits yesterday seemed to have paid off. The letters he’d received this morning were very encouraging. Nicholas sealed the last of his responses and handed them to his waiting steward.

  “Have them delivered this afternoon, Charles.”

  “I shall have it done, sir.” The burly middle-aged man assured him. “And how was your ride with Miss Purefoy this morning?”

  “It was fine,” Nicholas answered, straightening the papers on his desk.

  “I hop
e you ain’t tired her too much.”

  “I did not.”

  “Jack tells me you missed more than a few of the famous visiting places in our fair city.”

  Nicholas lifted his gaze at the jocular tone of his steward. “Miss Purefoy had already seen all that rubbish before. And before you ask…yes, she appeared to have enjoyed our little excursion. And yes, you may report all of this to Mrs. Hannagan.”

  “She’ll be pleased…though I’m guessing she already knows.” The man grinned crookedly, showing a missing front tooth and managing to look only slightly less ferocious. “We’re all thinking Miss Purefoy’s a keeper sir. We just thought you might need to be told.”

  “Thank you, Charles. Now did I mention that I wanted those letters be delivered today?”

  “Aye, sir.” With a polite bow the steward left the room only to knock a moment later to announce Jane’s wish to see him.

  Nicholas immediately rose to his feet. He felt almost foolish, the way his heart swelled in his chest when he saw her face.

  “Am I intruding?” she asked shyly when Charles closed the door on his way out.

  “No. I am quite finished.” He came around his desk. “How was your hour’s respite? Recovered from our jaunt?”

  “I was too restless to lie down.” She glanced back toward the door and smiled. “I made the mistake of saying the same thing to Mrs. Hannagan, and the sweet woman was ready to call in for a doctor to have me bled. I have to thank Charles for coming in and putting her mind at ease.”

  “They are quite the pair, those two. They have been with me for years and can be quite entertaining.” He let his gaze wander appreciatively over the dress she was wearing. “Mrs. Hannagan is easily rattled, but Charles took far too many blows to his head in his youth to let anything affect him.”

  “Blows to the head?”

  “He was a boxer. A very good one, too, until a sly fox blinded him in his left eye at Wetherby’s on Drury Lane. After that, the poor devil took quite a beating from that side for several years.”

  “So you took him into your service.”

  “Had to. He would have been killed if he’d continued to fight.”

  She continued to stand by the door, so he approached her.

  “But I don’t want to talk about Charles right now.”

  Her dark gaze flashed with awareness. “What do you want to do, sir?”

  He took both of her hands in his and placed kisses on the soft palms. “Where did we leave off our conversation this morning?”

  Instead of answering, she freed her hands and slipped them around his neck. “I do not feel much like talking right now.”

  Desire surged in his loins. “Then what exactly do you want to do, miss?”

  She raised herself on her toes and brushed her lips against his.

  “This.” She repeated the kiss—this time with much more heat.

  Nicholas lost himself in the seductive play of their mouths as soon as she pressed her body against his. She was all woman and fire, and he couldn’t get enough of her. His mouth slanted deeply over hers and his hands were possessive when they caressed her back, her breasts, cupping her bottom, and pressing her hard against him.

  “I want you, Jane. By ’sblood, I have missed you.”

  “I have missed you, too.”

  Her hands moved beneath his jacket as he tasted the skin of her neck. His hands began to loosen the laces on the dress.

  “We should go upstairs.”

  “No. Here.” She pulled him toward the nearest chair.

  He was too focused on the moment to object to anything. His jacket was tossed to the floor. The front of his breeches were opened as he sat back on the chair. Jane lifted her skirts, and he drew her onto his lap, impaling her with a single thrust as she straddled him.

  Nicholas echoed her groan as her muscles closed around his member in the tightest of fits.

  “You are so exquisitely perfect,” he murmured. He pulled down on the neckline of her dress, freeing her ivory breasts. He sensed her holding her breath as his tongue started running in circles around one of her nipples. With her moan of pleasure, he greedily took her fully into his mouth.

  Jane dug her fingers into his hair and guided his mouth to her other breast as her hips rose and moved around him.

  He struggled for a moment to keep her steady and try to salvage some of his restraint. But when Jane’s head fell backward, she looked like a goddess riding him, and he lost all control.

  Their release was fast and joyous, and each clasped the other in their arms as the fulfillment of their desires bonded their bodies and their souls.

  For a few moments each of them fought to catch their breaths. Their bodies were still joined at the most intimate of places. Her dress was a shambles—half on, half off her body. His own shirt was partially unbuttoned and her cheek was pressed against his shoulder.

  “Well, this was certainly a most pleasant surprise.” He whispered against her hair some time later, once he’d found his voice. The soft laugh he heard made him smile.

  “I cannot believe I seduced you,” she whispered, sighing contentedly.

  “So…trying to take all the credit, I see,” he teased, sliding his hands beneath her skirts and along the smooth skin of her thigh. “Do you mean you refuse to recognize how strategically I planned all of this?”

  Before she could respond, a soft knock on the door jerked Jane off his chest. She looked frantically at him before trying to back off his lap.

  “One moment, Charles,” he said, grinning in spite of himself. He pulled up his breeches while trying to help her adjust her dress. “The poor devil will be terribly shocked.”

  A second knock came, but before Nicholas could call out again, the door opened slightly, and Clara’s face appeared.

  CHAPTER 29

  Shock had made her stare for a moment longer than she should. Shame then made her stumble backward as she turned and ran frantically upstairs.

  Clara needed a place to hide, but upon arriving at the top of the stairs, she looked wildly about her, not knowing where to go or which room was safe.

  They had not officially arrived yet. Lady Spencer was still outside chatting with some lady who had been passing in an open carriage on the street. Servants were running about, either outside seeing to the luggage or inside preparing to receive the guests. One of them had told her that Miss Purefoy was in that room—the library—so Clara had knocked. Hearing no answer, she had simply peeked in.

  She brought a hand to her mouth. It was only obvious what they had been doing. Too…too obvious. Crazy thoughts of pretending the whole thing hadn’t happened ran through her head. She would just go back outside with Lady Spencer, she thought, and wait to enter the house officially with her. Whirling to run back down the stairs, Clara didn’t make it a step, for Jane was facing her on the top stair.

  “We…it was raining endlessly…in Bath,” Clara stuttered. “So we decided to come back to London…sooner than expected.”

  “Come with me, Clara.” There were tears in Jane’s eyes when she took hold of Clara’s arm and dragged her up another flight of stairs.

  The young woman went along without a struggle. At the top they entered a bedchamber that she realized was Jane’s.

  “A lovely room,” she whispered. “Bright sun comes in though those…”

  “Please do not do this to me.”

  Clara turned and watched her sister leaning against the closed door.

  “Do not pretend that nothing has happened, or that you failed to see us downstairs.” Jane pushed herself away from the door and took a step toward her. “Be honest with me, Clara. Let me bear the guilt and the blame. Release your anger, somehow, instead of pouring it in.”

  “Jane, you are a grown woman. What you do with your life…”

  “What I have done with your life that we are discussing now,” the older sister said brokenly. Her cheeks were flushed. “Clara, I know you asked me, pleaded with me to leave Nicholas alon
e. You said that you were interested in him. That you were somehow planning to convince him…to marry you.”

  “But you could not do it.”

  “No I couldn’t. The fact is…I…we…love each other. And though I know that there is no chance of us ever having a future together, at the same time…if you really wanted him…if you loved him even close to how much I love him…if you knew the man that he is…then I would…I would stay away.” Jane batted at the tears coursing down her face. “But he deserves more than a mere contract. He deserves someone who will truly care. And you deserve to find a man who can love you, as well.”

  Clara sat on the edge of the bed and battled her own raw emotions in response to Jane’s fierce sadness.

  “It is the most astonishing thing to be in love, Clara. As desperate as my life might appear to you—despite the fact that I may never have a settled future—loving Nicholas and being loved by him has given me something I have never had before. He has given me something I never felt with Conor.”

  Henry’s face was so clearly etched in her mind’s eye that Clara had no difficulty conjuring his image now. She did indeed know what it was to love…and to feel its pain. “But we are not all born to be strong. We cannot all simply go after what we want and succeed in getting it.”

  “But you were born strong.” Jane crouched before her. “You and I are sisters—we are made of the same stock. While I have led my life as a rebel, you have strived to conform and to obey, to be the perfect daughter to our parents. In the process, though, you have caged up your own spirit.” Jane’s hands cupped Clara’s. “You cannot continue to shoulder blame for me, to be the ever-compliant peacemaker in our parent’s home. You cannot go on forever saying and doing what pleases everyone else and forget about yourself.”

  A memory long buried forced tears to Clara’s eyes. She looked down at their joined hands.

  “Blame belongs to those who have sinned, Clara. My past is my own doing. The life I have led has been led by my own choosing. Our parents’ differences are as old as time, and there might never be a way to resolve it. But that is their life, not yours.” Jane’s voice dropped low, her tone filled with conviction. “Break the shell, Clara. Let me see my own sister. I thought I was seeing a glimpse of it that morning when you asked me to leave Woodfield House and Nicholas’s life. But I know now that wasn’t really you. Your reaction to what you witnessed a few moments ago confirmed it. You do not care for him enough even to fight.”