The Passionate Love of a Rake. Jane Lark
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stood up again with a self-deprecating sigh, and his fingers touched the betting slip in his pocket. He had an excuse to call on her. Perhaps he would explore what he felt for her. He’d learned to enjoy the pleasure of the wooing as much as the winning, the art of it and the power in persuasion. That was his true vice. He liked very much to feel a woman succumb and submit and mould to his will. Once she was tame, usually his interest waned. But there was still a lot of pleasure to be found in Jane, no matter which direction this led.
Jane knew he was watching her. She could sense his gaze like a dagger piercing between her shoulder blades.
Her fingers pressed to her temple as she tried to quell the ache in her head, and her heart would not cease racing.
She’d seen him pull Lady Baxter loose and the woman walk away with another gentleman. Even from a distance, Jane could tell from Lady Baxter’s movements she had not been happy.
Why had Robert cast off Lady Baxter?
Had he done it because he’d known it was upsetting her?
Jane tried to watch the next race, but felt too angry to pay attention. She should not care what the villain did. He was not for her. No man was. Her future life was solitary. That was what she longed and prayed for, just some peace. Robert would not even wish to be a part of it.
Still she sensed him staring, and a long breath escaped her lips.
She felt so out of control. She’d held so many hopes for her life after Hector. She’d imagined she could, at last, do as she willed. All she wished for was a simple life, friendships, and mundane pursuits. Normality was a treasure she’d ached for for years. She’d thought Hector’s loss would release her from her loneliness, but even in Violet’s company, the loneliness had not abated. There was that stupid Robert-shaped hole in her life again. She had enough to worry over, fending off Joshua. She did not need to become embroiled in Robert’s games as well. The only thing she was certain of regarding Robert was he was trouble.
Jane endured two more races, refusing to look in Robert’s direction again, the ache in her head intensifying with every moment.
Then Violet commented on her silence.
Jane gave up the pretence. The headache was unbearable, and she could not go on.
When she asked if they could leave, Violet was all concern, and Jane felt awful for dragging her friend away.
On the drive home, Lord Sparks and Violet chattered merrily as Violet gripped his arm, and Jane pretended to sleep.
When they reached Violet’s, Jane retired immediately and curled up on her bed. She felt so alone. She had been alone for so many years, from the moment she’d watched Robert ride away. But it had never cut her as deeply as now.
Unable to cry because coping was too ingrained, yet unable to sleep either, her thoughts reeled with recent and distant memories of Robert.
The longing in her heart was for a home, somewhere safe and comforting she could retreat to, but nowhere was safe, thanks to Joshua. There was nowhere to hide away from the pain of meeting Robert again. Oh, she just wished she could die, but then that would let Joshua win, and what she wanted most of all was to fight back against the Suttons. The last Duke had stolen half her life. She would not give the other half to his son. She would suffer anything to ensure Joshua did not win. That was the one decision she could make. It was the only control she had. She would not run, and nor would she let him win, which meant she must also keep coming face-to-face with Robert.
~
Looking in the mirror, Robert admired the cravat his valet, Archer, had deftly tied, and smiled, a mocking twist on his lips. His fingers swept back his fringe. He was a handsome devil. The knowledge boosted his confidence.
Women adored him. Well, every bloody woman except the one he’d wished to keep. His smile turned to a sneer for his reflection.
What did his looks count for? In this respect, not a thing.
He slipped his arms into the black evening coat Archer held up.
Edward, Robert’s younger brother, would call Robert vain to the point of arrogant. Robert preferred to think of his appreciation of his looks as a desire for perfection. To which Edward would say, “more like perversity”.
A self-deprecating laugh escaped Robert’s throat as Archer slid Robert’s coat onto his shoulders.
Robert slipped each button into place himself, while Archer swept a fleck of dust from the shoulder.
“You are in good humor tonight, my Lord.”
Robert smiled again. Archer had been with him through his adolescent and maturing years abroad. The man was a saint, and sinner too, and a godsend. Archer could be counted on for anything. The man was Robert’s right arm, his co-conspirator, and, at times, his saviour.
“I am, Archer,” he answered, giving the man a wicked grin and patting his shoulder.
He knew what Archer was asking. Would there be a lady returning on his arm tonight? Somehow, Robert doubted it, not unless Jane could be persuaded, but, after last night, he thought it unlikely.
“I believe I am a-wooing, Archer. With a lonely night ahead.”
The valet nodded, and the look in his eye told Robert, Archer had his own wooing to do.
“You may have the night off. I’ll not need you again.” If Robert’s luck did come in by some remote chance, he could manage alone. Jane was clearly not a woman who appreciated frills and fuss. He suddenly remembered her excitement over bluebells in the woods at Farnborough when they’d been young. She’d been easily pleased then.
A smile still playing on his lips, Robert left the room.
He felt a sense of purpose he’d not known in ages, and blood pumped into his veins.
Yes, this was what he enjoyed, the invigorating pleasure of the chase.
Robert strode into the Coleford’s soirée with a feeling of expectation and scanned the people gathered in the drawing room.
He was pleased with himself. After a quick trip to White’s, he’d discovered Violet’s whereabouts, and if Lady Rimes was here, then Jane would be, too.
Standing taller than many of those around him, Robert had the perfect vantage point from which to spot his black-clad quarry, but one swift glance revealed nothing.
“Lord Barrington!” Robert turned and faced a slender blonde, a former conquest, Lady Shaw. She wrapped her fingers about his arm as if claiming him.
Robert unwound them about to give her a polite set down, but the Earl of Coleford chose the same moment to welcome his late arrival.
It was a timely rescue, and Lady Shaw withdrew.
“Barrington, I did not expect you, but you are welcome.”
Coleford had been a friend of Robert’s father, and the man had a daughter to marry off, so any bachelor within a thousand-mile radius was welcome. Even Robert’s rakish ways were no deterrence when weighed in balance to his title and wealth.
“Lord Coleford.” He shook the man’s hand and offered a slight bow. “I was unexpectedly available and heard my friend Lord Sparks was attending. I hope you will forgive my intrusion.”
“Forgive it.” The man laughed. “You forget how close your father and I were, Barrington. You should know you are always welcome here. Have you met my daughter?”
Robert was impatient to see Jane but pinned a smile on his face regardless, and greeted Coleford’s girl, an attractive brunette with a bright, wide smile and sparkling blue eyes, but far too shallow and light-headed for Robert’s tastes. He did not do young, and he did not do innocent.