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The Earl's Marriage Bargain Page 18


  Jane gathered up the sketches and set them aside, blew out the candles and wriggled down in the bed. He had taken a chance on her, too. Ivo had rescued her from social disgrace, given her the opportunity to paint, when he must have been hurting over Daphne’s betrayal. He must still be hurting, she worried as she began to drift off to sleep. Was there any hope that one day, if they both worked at this marriage, he might come to love her as she loved him.

  Jane sat up, wide awake in the darkness.

  I love Ivo? When did that happen?

  She lay down again, shaken. This was dangerous, it made her so much more vulnerable. Dangerous, but wonderful, too.

  * * *

  Days passed and the frightening, glorious, reality of loving Ivo coloured every one of them. Jane did not think she betrayed herself because he certainly showed no signs of the alarm a man might be expected to feel on discovering that the other half of a marriage of convenience was inconveniently in love with him. He remained kind and amusing and, when he took her in his arms, passionate.

  Responding to that passion was dangerous. She knew she was too inexperienced to hide her feelings, that she should try and remain cool and modest in her response, but it was impossible. Ivo felt so strong and solid when he held her against him, she felt safe and in peril all at the same time and she wanted the peril, wanted his heat and the urgency she could feel him controlling.

  * * *

  ‘The wedding night seems a long way off,’ he said three weeks before the day, after one long, delicious kiss in the laundry where he found her after drawing sketches of the head laundry maid and her little team.

  The women had trooped off to the drying yards, lugging dripping baskets of linen with them, leaving her in the steamy warmth, her hair lank and her face red. ‘I look a mess,’ she protested when Ivo caught her up and kissed her.

  ‘You look flushed and lovely and decidedly wanton,’ he countered, picking her up and sitting her on the long sorting table. ‘I want to make you even more disordered.’

  ‘You make me feel disordered,’ she said, trying to make a joke of it. ‘Ivo—what are you doing?’

  ‘Helping you cool off.’ His hands were busy with the fastenings of her bodice, then he tugged at the shoulders and she found herself sitting there in her chemise. One glance down at the thin muslin and she realised what his gaze was fixed on—the curve of her breasts pushed up by her stays.

  At least I am so red in the face with the heat he will not see my blushes, she thought as his hands fastened on her waist.

  ‘Ivo!’ The downward pressure of his hands pulled down the edge of the stays until she felt her nipples escape. It felt...

  Goodness, that feels so... Touch me, Ivo, please...

  As though by arching into his hands she had spoken out loud he moved in closer, bent his head and touched his tongue to the brown aureoles showing through the damp cloth, licking, fretting as she felt them harden and her breasts began to ache.

  ‘Ivo... Yes.’

  What do I look like? she thought wildly as she fell backwards into a pile of table linen.

  Ivo was pressed between her thighs, bent over her. She could feel the hard thrust of him, intimately tight against her, even through skirts and petticoats and his breeches. Then she stopped caring about anything but Ivo and wanting him. There was too much fabric between them and she wanted bare skin, to run her hands over those muscles she had seen at the inn. Her hands made claws and she raked them down the unyielding cloth of his coat, moaning in frustration at not being able to touch him.

  His right hand was on her thigh now, pushing up her skirts, and she arched against him, not knowing what she wanted, only that she needed something, needed him...

  Then Ivo pushed back, pulled her upright and jerked her bodice back into place. ‘Someone is coming, I heard the yard gate bang.’ He looked at her. ‘Oh, hell.’

  ‘Coal store.’ Jane managed to totter to her feet, grabbed at her sketchbook and ran for the door into the room where the fuel for the boilers under the coppers was stored. Did it have another door out? She was not sure, but anything was better than being caught in an amorous tangle amid the damask cloths.

  They collapsed against the door as it swung closed behind them, both panting.

  ‘There’s the door to the yard,’ Jane whispered, nodding to where light came in around the battered old planking. Behind them the room filled with the sound of chattering as the laundry maids trooped back in.

  ‘Miss Newnham’s gone,’ one of them said. ‘Fancy His Lordship wanting us all painted—never heard the like.’

  ‘She’s nice,’ one chipped in. ‘A proper lady, she is, interested and not talking down to us.’

  ‘Aye, well, she’ll want her washing done, just like the rest of them,’ the head laundry maid interrupted. ‘How’s that fire, Madge? Do we need more wood under the big copper?’

  There was the sound of metal rattling. Jane held her breath and felt Ivo tense beside her, then the girls called, ‘No, it’ll do another half-hour. I’ll get these tablecloths in, shall I?’

  Jane and Ivo both slumped against the door.

  Just like naughty children up to mischief, she thought and was seized with the urge to giggle.

  Beside her she could feel Ivo shaking, then a muffled snort escaped him. He took her hand and took three long strides to the outer door, cracked it open, peered out and then they were outside and round the corner into the shelter of the open wood store.

  Jane slumped against one of the posts and gave way to helpless giggles. Ivo sat on the saw horse and laughed until the tears ran down his face.

  After a few whoops he managed to get himself under control. ‘Lord, I think I’ve cracked a rib again.’ He pulled out a handkerchief, looked at Jane and passed it over, then wiped his hand over his face. When they had both calmed down he grinned at her. ‘“A proper lady, she is,”’ he quoted, setting Jane off again.

  ‘We cannot go into the house looking like this.’ Jane straightened up at last, gave a last swipe at her face with the handkerchief and tried to pin back straggling locks of hair.

  ‘The rose garden,’ Ivo said, holding out his hand.

  It was surprising that, after such a tumult of sensation, she could feel calm and happy and at ease with him. They strolled down through the back gate without encountering anyone and made their way round the side of the East Wing into the rose garden, sheltered by high hedges and, more importantly just at the moment in her view, secluded from most of the windows in the house.

  * * *

  ‘I am sorry, that should not have happened,’ Ivo apologised. ‘I am afraid my feelings got the better of me.’ Something certainly had and he was not sure what it was. Desire, obviously, but there was more than that. Jane had looked content, happy, pleased to see him and walking into that steamy laundry room had felt for a second like coming home, which was ridiculous.

  And then the deliciously damp and disorderly look of her, rosy and round and perfect. And her response. Even thinking about that breathy ‘Ivo... Yes’ made him hard all over again. But it hadn’t been that kiss or the feel of her soft and urgent under him, the promise of the heat between her thighs, that was making him feel so off balance. It was the laughter. Sharing that laughter with her, that moment when they were hiding like two naughty children and both of them had reacted in exactly the same way.

  Now Jane was frowning at him, all laughter gone. ‘What was wrong with it? I mean, we could have chosen a better place, somewhere that didn’t have the staff walking in every few minutes, but...’ She seemed to realise what she was saying, blushed, then carried on stubbornly. ‘I liked it, you making love to me. I did not want you to stop, although I know you had to because it would have been embarrassing.’

  Ivo was conscious of the scent of the last late roses, of the soft green grass all around them, of the high, concealing hedges, of Jane
, still flushed and deliciously flustered and wishing they had not stopped—and all he had to do was take two steps and she would be in his arms and... And then a gardener would come in and start pruning, or shovelling manure on the beds or...

  Oh, God, beds. Think about manure, he told himself desperately.

  ‘You are a respectable lady. I should not be debauching you on the laundry room table. We are not married yet.’

  ‘We are going to be,’ Jane pointed out.

  ‘Yes. In a while. Do you not want to wait until your wedding night?’

  Jane broke off a rose and twirled it under her nose thoughtfully. ‘Not particularly. I mean, you are not going to decide not to marry me just because you’ve already...’ She seemed to be searching for the right phrase, then left it hanging. ‘It always seems as though one has to wait because otherwise the woman might change her mind having tried it. Not that I am going to change my mind.’ She smiled at him. ‘I think I am going to enjoy...being with you.’

  ‘So am I,’ Ivo said, realising that he meant it. ‘And not only the bedchamber parts,’ he added, just for the pleasure of seeing her blush. ‘It is a long time since I laughed about something like that.’

  ‘Like that?’ Her eyebrows shot up and she grinned at him.

  ‘Something ludicrous. And you have to admit, the pair of us hiding from our own staff, caught like young lovers sneaking off to misbehave in the haystack, is certainly lacking in dignity.’

  He sat down on one of the carved stone benches and she came and sat beside him, then lifted her feet on to the seat and leaned back against his shoulder. ‘Nice,’ she murmured and then was silent.

  Ivo probed the thought that he should not feel like this, not when he loved Daphne. But he owed Jane his affection and his thoughts because she was going to be his wife. Daphne was lost to him, of her own free will, and for the first time he felt not pity and anxiety, but the stirrings of anger. If she had been unhappy, why had she not written to tell him so and ask to be released from the engagement? As a gentleman he would have had no hesitation in agreeing, however much it hurt.

  He shifted on the seat so that Jane could lean more comfortably against him and put his arm around her. Somehow he could not imagine Jane failing to tell him just what she thought and felt.

  Chapter Sixteen

  4th October

  Dearest Verity,

  The Dress was delivered today! It still needs some alterations, but I cannot believe how elegant I look in it.

  It is of white silk with fine gold embroidery down the front and around the hem and the neckline.

  Lord Westhaven has insisted that I wear the most exquisite parure of diamonds and emeralds—there is a tiara and a necklace and earrings and bracelets. I tried to say that it was too valuable, but he says it will be mine to wear when Ivo and I are married, as will all the other jewels in the family collection, which is even more terrifying.

  Did I tell you that my ‘diamonds’ are paste? Goodness knows who sold the real ones—I suspect Grandmama.

  Only two weeks and you and the others will be here and then I will be married. It seems that I cannot wait—and yet I am so frightened I wish time stood still.

  I am falling in love with Ivo. I never expected to. I never meant to. And he loves Daphne still, I am certain. Sometimes he is so quiet, withdrawn inside himself, and I am convinced he is thinking about her.

  I want to take a hammer and go back to the hermitage and smash the inscription I told you about, but then he would know that I know... And I want to hate her and I try so hard not to because that can help none of us.

  6th October

  Darling Jane,

  He will come to love you—how could any man who is not a fool fail to once he is married to you? And you would not love a fool, so it is certain. Although I have to warn you, it might take a while before he realises it—men are not naturally talented at examining their feelings.

  Besides, that silly woman Daphne is married to her rakehell husband. Will tells me hair-raising stories about the man’s profligacy and debts. Your Ivo will soon come to realise that he has had a very lucky escape.

  You are right not to hate her, although in your shoes I would want to give her a good shake. And push her in the lake, if truth be told.

  Now—gowns. Armed with your instructions, we bridesmaids—I cannot keep serious at the thought of my being a matron of honour!—have ordered gowns in various shades of cream and emerald and will look very fine...

  * * *

  The day after Verity’s letter arrived Jane laid out the drawings of every one of Lord Westhaven’s indoor and outdoor staff on the longest library table and held her breath.

  The Marquess walked slowly down, pausing at each image, then back, and then at the point where Jane had to breathe, once more. ‘These are excellent,’ he said gruffly. ‘Quite exceptional. Partridge has informed me that the staff are very much gratified by the attention and I am most gratified with the result.’ He peered at her from under beetling brows. ‘It was a great deal of work, I imagine.’

  ‘I find sketching relaxing, my lord.’

  He grunted. ‘Painting this many will take some time and will not be as relaxing, I imagine.’

  ‘You wish me to paint them all in oils? I had thought uniform-size canvases would be best.’ She showed him the modest panel she had selected.

  ‘Partridge and the boot boy on equal terms, eh?’

  ‘I thought so, my lord. I had hoped to convey the person rather than the role.’

  ‘An interesting conceit. Very well, but begin with Partridge, Mrs French and Cook or the servants will think the revolutionaries have taken over the establishment and declared equality for all. Order what you need for supplies, Ranwick will deal with it, although I imagine you will not have time to begin on these until after the wedding.’

  Jane was not so foolish as to take that for a question, instead of the command it was. ‘Yes, my lord.’

  The old man regarded her steadily. ‘You are a good girl. Are you happy? Eh? No second thoughts?’

  ‘No, none at all.’ Just hopes and worries and awful moments when she wondered at her presumption in thinking she was ever going to be able to cope with this new life, with the man she was falling deeper in love with every day. And then, when she was ready to flee, Ivo would find her in some secluded part of the house or garden and kiss her and she had to fight the desire to drag him into the nearest bedchamber.

  ‘You are good for the boy,’ he said.

  ‘He is not a boy, my lord.’

  ‘No, he is not, is he? But when you are my age anyone under forty seems a mere youth.’ The sudden smile was almost a grin and he looked so much like Ivo in that moment that Jane laughed. ‘He is down in the garden. Run and tell him that Foskett has written to accept my offer for that land to the west of the Long Plantation. He’ll need to make certain the steward marks it out accurately because I trust Foskett as far as I can throw him, the old fox.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Jane ran downstairs, humming under her breath. All those portraits to look forward to and the Marquess apparently approving of her. And there was Ivo leaning on the back of a garden seat and contemplating the fountain, all broad shoulders and long legs and the not-handsome face she had come to love.

  ‘What are you smiling about?’ he asked as she came to his side.

  ‘You, looking very fine in the sunshine. What is wrong with the fountain?’

  ‘It has two dribbling nymphs and one with a drooping spout. We need a plumber to sort it out before the wedding.’

  ‘I agree, dribbling nymphs are not at all the thing. Your grandfather has sent me with a message about Sir James Foskett and the land he is selling, and, Ivo—he is pleased with the drawings and wants me to paint all of them in oils. Is that not marvellous?’

  ‘It is, although there are the devil of a lot of them.
He is handing you a vast task.’

  Jane shrugged. ‘There is no time limit set, although I am not to begin until after the wedding, he decrees.’

  ‘And not until after our honeymoon.’ The heat in Ivo’s eyes fuelled the warmth inside her. ‘I am not having my wife giving all her attention to the staff.’ His voice dropped to a growl. ‘Not when I want it all to myself.’

  Jane swallowed. ‘How long will the honeymoon be? Are we staying here?’ It had not occurred to her that things would be different—she would be a countess, of course. Ivo would come to her bed. She would take over managing the household. It occurred to her now that those three things were not quite in the right order of importance. Not for her and, it seemed, not for Ivo.

  ‘As long as you like and we can close ourselves off in our wing of the house or we can make an expedition to wherever you desire.’

  More decisions.

  ‘Will you tell me something, honestly?’

  ‘I will.’ His brows drew together sharply, reminding her of the fighter she had first seen. He was wary, but his gaze was steady when he said, ‘I would not lie to you, Jane.’

  ‘Are you glad that you asked me to marry you?’

  ‘Of course.’ He moved closer, took her in his arms. ‘Can you not tell that I desire you?’

  ‘That is not what I asked you,’ she managed to say, although already her determination to find the truth was blurring. Her body wanted his, her mouth craved his kisses so she could believe, just for a little while, that desire was love. But it would be foolish to deceive herself.

  ‘Yes, I am glad,’ Ivo said steadily. She could not see his face, he was holding her too close for that, but she could believe him. ‘You are brave, intelligent, talented. We laugh together, we desire each other, you fit here as though you were designed for this place.’