---

---

 

Helena’s remark proved prophetic.

From the moment Jane set foot in the Oldhams’ lavishly decorated ballroom, she felt like the heroine in a fairy story. At the theatre, she’d caught a glimpse of the ton en fête, but nothing prepared her for the sophisticated, stylish, glittering crowd jammed into this huge white and gold space. She entered a magical place, where violins played sweet music, the scent of lilies and orchids filled the air, and jewels sparkled like legendary treasures.

She’d been grateful to Helena for introducing her to Madame Lisette. But on this, her first foray into high society, she came to understand quite what a massive favor her friend had done her. The deep red dress clung to her body in a way that had made her self-conscious in the shop. She’d protested at how low it was cut across her bosom, but the others had talked her out of choosing something more modest. Her courage had received its reward when Hugh’s eyes lit up at the sight of her before they left Half Moon Street. For a few fraught seconds, she’d wondered if he meant to escort her to the ball, or whisk her into bed.

The red should clash horribly with her hair, but even Jane recognized that the color was superb on her. It made her look like a sensually confident woman, instead of a frightened girl. It made her look the way she felt when she lay in Hugh’s arms and until this moment, had never felt anywhere else.

Still, Cinderella must have been nervous before that fateful ball. So was Jane. She couldn’t help contrasting herself with the drab, careworn creature she’d been at Cavell Court. That sad woman would never put on such a flamboyant gown and set out to stake her proper place in the world.

Butterflies swooped and dipped in her stomach when she ventured into the ballroom at Hugh’s side. Then she lifted her chin and summoned all her pride. She was Cedric Norris’s daughter, with a bloodline going back to the Norman Conquest. She was Hugh Rutherford’s wife. She had every right to join this daunting new milieu.

Even without her new friends’ warnings, she’d known that she’d be the cynosure of all eyes. Not only was she a new face, and the daughter of an earl, but she was also Lord Garson’s bride. It was soon apparent that the denizens of this brilliant world held Hugh in high esteem. The woman he chose was of abiding interest, not just because of the old scandal with Morwenna, but because people were genuinely fond of him. Everyone she met expressed the warmest good wishes for her happiness.

Sooner than she’d dreamed was possible, her terror subsided, and she started to enjoy herself. All night, gentlemen besieged the new Lady Garson, wishing to dance with her. She’d thought Hugh was being kind, when he reserved two dances ahead of time, but soon she was glad he had. Because flattering as it was to have all these elegant fellows clamoring for her attention, the only man in this throng who meant a jot to her was her husband.

Now at last it was time for the supper dance. She thanked her most recent partner, Sir Charles Kinglake, and turned to watch Hugh approach, tall and striking in his somber black. To her mind, her husband was the handsomest man here, with his classic features and chiseled jaw. His face reflected his character and goodness. Her heart did one of those strange little somersaults, as she reminded herself she was married to this magnificent man.

He smiled with the mixture of tenderness and affection that always turned her brain to custard. Her heart stopped flipping like a landed trout. In fact, it stopped altogether. The chatter and music and frenetic activity receded into a strange, echoing silence, so when her heart stumbled back to life, all she heard was the throb of blood in her ears.

“Has my wife got time to dance with her poor, neglected husband?” he asked, holding out one white-gloved hand.

“I might be able to fit you in,” she said lightly, curling her fingers around his.

When Sir Charles bowed, the candles cast a sheen over his golden hair. “Garson, I haven’t had a chance to congratulate you on your marriage and wish you both well. Lady Garson is utterly delightful.”

“Thank you, Sir Charles.” To her surprise, she didn’t sound flustered. In fact, she sounded as though she was accustomed to spectacular gentlemen calling her delightful.

She had a brief recollection of the dull, lonely life she’d planned for herself after her father’s death. Instead of respectable and stultifying spinsterhood in some shabby seaside resort, here she was at the heart of society, being treated like a princess and making wonderful new friends. What a lot she owed to Hugh. He really was her knight in shining armor.

“Thank you, Charles,” Hugh said. “I’m a very lucky man.”

He even sounded like he meant it. Feeling like a shaken champagne bottle, with happiness fizzing up ready spill over, Jane let Hugh lead her onto the dance floor. The orchestra played the introduction to a cotillion. She wished it was a waltz, then reminded herself she and Hugh would waltz later.

She’d whirled the evening away with a stream of partners, but she reached a stage where she hungered for her husband’s nearness. In the last few weeks, his touch had become an addiction.

As they took their places in the square, she stared up into his eyes and saw them darken with intent. “Are you desperate to dance, or may I take you out for a walk on the terrace?”

Susan had told her about enough balls for her to understand that “walk” was a euphemism for “privacy.” How delicious. She smiled at Hugh. “Did you read my mind?”

“It happens with married couples. My parents never needed to finish a sentence.”

“How very…economical,” she said drily, while the idea of such intimacy squeezed her susceptible heart.

He bustled her through the French doors before she had a chance to offer her excuses to the other dancers. The night outside was mild for March, but still cold enough to discourage guests from lingering. Flaming torches lined up along the balustrade, turning the large garden below into a region of mysterious shadows.

Jane laughed as Hugh tugged her toward an alcove around the corner of the building and out of sight of the ballroom. He rushed her across the flagstones so fast, she felt like her red satin slippers barely skimmed the ground. “Where’s the fire?”

He hauled her into the darkness. “If I told you, I’d shock you,” he muttered, as he backed her into the wall.

The saw of her breath betrayed her excitement, then she forgot to breathe altogether when Hugh’s mouth crashed down onto hers. Searing heat stole all thought, and after a startled hesitation, she kissed him back. With a rumbling growl of satisfaction, he set to driving her mad.

By the time he pulled away, her knees felt like wet string. She sagged against the cold stone behind her and gazed up at him. In the darkness, she could make out his high cheekbones and that determined jaw.

“I should take you back inside.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “You must be freezing.”

The places he didn’t touch were cold. Where he touched, her blood pumped hot. “Let’s stay a moment longer.”

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his body. “Is that better?”

She felt surrounded with Hugh. “Yes.”

They stood without speaking, and her soul fluttered down to lie easy in a way it hadn’t all night. Gradually she became aware of sounds apart from the music and laughter from inside. The rustle of leaves in the breeze. The tinkle of a distant fountain. The call of a night bird.

“I’ve missed you,” he muttered. “A pox on all those blockheads who insist on dancing with you.”

His mocking self-pity was amusing, but even nicer was the note of sincerity beneath the humor. “Do you mean that?”

“I do, although there’s some consolation in knowing you’re coming home with me.” He firmed his grip until her breasts squashed into his chest. He was crushing her lovely dress, but she didn’t mind. “Are you enjoying your triumph, my darling?”

She loved it when he called her his darling. It made her all gooey, like toffee toasted in a fire. “Oh, yes. Your friends have been so kind to me.” She pulled away and pressed one hand to the ruby and diamond necklace she wore. “Thank you again for my present. I love it.”

Before they left Half Moon Street, Hugh had come into the bedroom just as the new maid Peggy finished dressing Jane’s hair. He’d been carrying a flat leather case, which he’d presented to Jane after Peggy had gone. What she’d found inside had robbed her of words. A glittering array of gems, fashioned into a necklace, a bracelet, earrings, and pins for her hair. She’d blinked back tears of poignant emotion, as she’d stared down at his magnificent gift, and wondered just why she was crying. Even now, with Hugh’s big, strong body sheltering her from the cold, the memory of her overpowering and puzzling reaction to his present lingered.

“On this special night, I wanted you to wear something bought just for you,” he said, as he rested his chin on her hair and tightened his embrace against the cold. “You’re welcome to use any of the family jewels, but I hope you’ll treasure my small tribute to how happy you’ve made me.”

“Oh, Hugh…” she said, lost for words, and feeling like crying again. Which was stupid when she should be ecstatically happy.

She’d long ago accepted that he was a romantic—only a dyed-in-the-wool romantic would pine so long for a lost love. And presenting her with that extravagant gift had been a romantic gesture, however unromantic their dealings might be. Yet some instinct made her keep that revelation about his character to herself. She didn’t want his past sorrows intruding on her evening. More selfishly, she didn’t want to shift his focus to Morwenna in a moment when his thoughts were all for his wife.

“I haven’t bought you nearly enough presents. Clearly it’s a lack I need to make up for.”

Although her sentimental heart still overflowed, she mustered a light tone. “Every man should have a hobby. If you want to shower me with baubles, I approve.”

“I thought you might,” he retorted. “We’ll need an extra carriage for all your finery when we go back to Derbyshire.”

“When do you plan to go?”

“Whenever you like. But I thought you might want to enjoy the season first.”

She rested one hand on his shoulder. “I do, but I’m also looking forward to starting our real life.”

“I am, too, but we can spend a few weeks being frivolous. It’s time you had some fun, Jane. Let me—” He stopped abruptly and shifted closer, taking them both deeper into the shadows.

“Here you are, George. I’ve been searching all over for you.” The woman’s voice was warm with tolerant affection.

“Just sneaked out for a cigar, my love,” the man said. “I’ll be inside to dance with you any moment.” The couple were out of sight around the corner, although within earshot of where Hugh and Jane stood.

“Well, you’d better hurry. The supper dance is nearly over.”

Jane caught the faint tang of tobacco on the air. She hoped to heaven the man had just arrived. The thought of anyone eavesdropping on her conversation with Hugh made her cringe.

“You’ve danced with me a thousand times since we married. Surely the thrill is gone.”

“Never,” the woman said with a touch of irony.

Jane buried her face in the front of Hugh’s crisp white shirt, as his hold tightened in reassurance. She didn’t fancy the idea of being caught kissing in the shadows like a naughty maidservant. Although at least the man she kissed was her husband.

“It’s Lord and Lady Frame,” Hugh whispered.

The man’s voice had sounded familiar and Jane realized she’d promised him a quadrille later in the evening. He was a bluff, middle-aged man, and she’d rather liked him when they were introduced. Right now, she wished him to Hades. And his wife, too.

“Perhaps they’ll move on,” Hugh murmured. “It’s too cold to hang about.”

No such luck. “It’s so hot in the ballroom, I almost appreciate this brisk air,” Lady Frame said.

Lord Frame gave a grunt of amusement. “Brisk? It’s colder than a witch’s tit.”

“Then why the devil are you out here?”

“My darling, we’ve been married twenty years. You must know that when a chap needs a puff, he’ll brave any weather.” He paused. “Can I interest you?”

“George, think of the scandal if anyone sees me.”

“There’s nobody around, Delia.”

A silence fell, presumably while Lady Frame shared her husband’s cigar. How Jane wished they’d be convivial somewhere else. Hugh’s nearness kept the worst of the chill at bay, but her feet threatened to freeze to the paving.

“What do you think of the bride?” Lord Frame asked after a few moments. “Before tonight, everybody was saying she must be the greatest fright in Christendom. Garson seemed determined to hide her away from society, which only fueled the rumors. But it turns out she’s a comely wee thing.”

Jane felt Hugh go rigid against her. She placed a placatory hand on his cheek and shook her head. She didn’t want him to rush out to defend her honor and draw attention to their rendezvous.

The woman laughed. “Not so wee. She just looks that way because Garson’s such a big brute.”

“Not to mention a lucky dog.”

 “That he is,” her husband breathed in Jane’s ear, making her skin tingle with awareness.

“A fitting rival to the beauteous Morwenna,” George went on. “And the bride’s clearly done him good. He doesn’t look nearly as hagridden as he did a month ago. He’s been like a parson at an orgy, ever since the spectacular Mrs. Nash threw him over in favor of her husband.”

Like the fall of an ax, Jane felt the exact moment Hugh’s arms dropped from around her. He was as taut as a violin string. The sound of Morwenna’s name had shattered the atmosphere of delicious conspiracy between them.

It also shattered the shell of deluded happiness that had lasted all night. All week. She’d been acting like a giddy girl, madly in love with her new husband. She’d been acting like she was Hugh’s first choice and not a glorified broodmare, here to provide him with an heir.

An heir that might already be growing in her womb. After all, nobody could accuse Hugh of shirking his duty, when it came to begetting the next generation of Rutherfords.

Feeling suddenly awkward, she lifted her hands from his shoulders and placed them over her stomach. Not to shelter the place where a baby might lie, but because her insides curdled with nausea.

The awful thing was she had only herself to blame for her current misery. Hugh had never tried to deceive her about their marriage.

“Yes, she’s pretty, and that’s a beautiful dress she’s wearing. Someone clever has been giving her advice about how to make her mark in society.” Pity infused Lady Frame’s voice. “But I feel sorry for her. I think a lot of people do. Everyone knows how mad he was for Morwenna, and I doubt he’s changed his affections. I saw his face the night Robert Nash came back. I’ve never seen a man so heartbroken.”

“What a sentimentalist you are, Delia. Men love the woman who shares their bed.”

“George, I despair of you, I really do,” she said. “After all our happy years together, that’s the best you can do?”

“I’m a simple creature, my dear. Most fellows are.” He paused, then went on in a low voice. “And you’ve always filled my bed to my complete satisfaction, so never doubt that I love you.”

“And I suppose I love you,” she said ruefully. “Not that you deserve it. Now pass me that cigar.”

Another silence fell. In an agony of awkwardness, Jane waited for the couple to go back inside. She was cold and wretched, and she wanted to get away from Hugh, before he guessed quite how rattled she was. Amidst the ballroom’s bustle, she might have a chance of hiding her unhappiness.

“Time to do the pretty, my love,” Lord Frame said. “May I have this dance?”

“What’s left of it.”

“I think they’ve gone,” Hugh whispered after a minute or so.

When he placed his hands on Jane’s waist, she struggled not to stiffen. She had no right to resent her husband’s love for another woman, especially when he’d given her so much over the last days. Sensual pleasure. Companionship. The beginnings of a contentment she’d never expected.

He’d given her too much. If he hadn’t encouraged such physical and emotional intimacy, she wouldn’t at this moment feel like drowning herself in one of the Oldhams’ fountains.

“Shall we take up where we left off?”

She gave him credit for sounding almost normal. But she couldn’t forget how he’d frozen in her arms at the mention of his beloved. What a woman Morwenna Nash must be, Jane thought with uncharacteristic spite. Clearly once she sank her claws into a man, he never broke free.

And she, too, had to try and sound as if nothing important had happened. As in any real sense, it hadn’t. The whole world, including Jane, knew her husband loved Morwenna. She might have briefly forgotten that salient fact, but she and Hugh were still bound together until death did them part.

“We’ve been outside long enough.” She struggled to smooth the edge off her tone. “This isn’t the weather for an al fresco tryst. Lovely as it was.” She just about choked on the last four words, although the sad truth was it had been lovely. Up to a point.

“I’m sorry, Jane. Of course I’ll take you inside. You’re so cold, you’re shaking.”

It wasn’t the chill air that made her shake, but she went along with the lie. “I’ll meet you back here in June.”

“That’s a deal.” He leaned in, clearly intending to kiss her.

Despite all her stern words to herself, she tensed. How could she bear to feel his lips on hers, when his heart remained chock full of another woman? She told herself she’d come to terms with this. She would.

But she needed a little time.

At the last minute, she turned her head so his kiss glanced across her cheek.

She hoped he wouldn’t notice, or if he did, he’d think the evasion was accidental. But she felt him go as still as stone, then slowly straighten.

“Let’s get you into the ballroom before you turn into an icicle.” He sounded like the polite man who had proposed to her, not like the passionate lover who shared her bed with such enthusiasm.

Jane told herself that was a good thing. She could maintain some emotional distance from the first man. It was so much more difficult to maintain any detachment from the second one. She’d just had a salutary reminder that if she didn’t keep a corner of her soul for herself, she headed for devastation.

“I’ll warm up, once I’m dancing again,” she said, her voice heavy with unshed tears. She shouldn’t resent Lady Frame’s pity, but she did, how she did. Especially when the woman had only spoken the unpalatable truth.

Hugh took her arm. “Don’t forget you promised me the next waltz.”

“I can hardly wait.” Although right now, pretending to the world—and Hugh—that she was in alt to be his partner seemed an impossible goal.

They crossed the terrace toward the ballroom. Supper must have started. She couldn’t hear any music, and the ballroom only contained a few people, compared to the vociferous multitudes of before.

As she was about to step inside, Hugh drew her back.

“What is it?” she asked, feeling likely to shatter, but still battling to behave like the carefree creature who had sneaked out into the moonlight to steal a few kisses.

He looked deadly serious, his dark eyes searching. He didn’t look like the lighthearted man who had swept her into his arms half an hour ago either. “I meant it when I said you make me happy.”

She tightened her throat against a sob. This was her night. The new Lady Garson had triumphed, however crushed vulnerable Jane Rutherford might feel. She couldn’t face his friends with tears in her eyes. There had already been more than enough gossip about her husband and his romantic entanglements. And the thought of anyone else saying they felt sorry for her made her retch.

It took her a moment to remember she still had the right to touch him. She raised a tentative hand to his cheek and dredged up what she prayed was a reassuring smile. His skin was warm through her delicate satin glove.

“Thank you, Hugh.” She guessed he was waiting for her to proclaim a reciprocal happiness, but the words jammed unspoken in her throat.

He placed his hand over hers and pressed it into his face. “You do make me happy.”

His tone sounded as if he countered some argument, when she hadn’t said a word to disagree. In its way, what he said was probably even true. He’d certainly enjoyed her body, and she couldn’t mistake his pride in her tonight.

He waited for a response, but she remained silent, staring up at him as if she’d never seen him before.

In a way, she hadn’t. Odd how those moments in the darkness had resulted in her taking a clear view of her situation at last. She swiftly slid her hand away from his face and buried it in her skirts.

“Shall we go down to supper?” he asked, his gaze still concerned.

“Yes,” she said, wishing her answer wasn’t a muffled croak. She turned away, before he read too much in her face. A fortnight of marriage had taught her to beware his powers of perception.

He offered his arm, and they went inside the ballroom. Jane squared her shoulders. So what if people were talking about her husband’s devotion to another woman? Nothing new in that.

But something had changed. Something momentous.

Because this evening, Jane had done more than act like a giddy girl in love, silly as that might be. When she’d listened to the Frames talking about her, she’d soon realized that she’d gone disastrously past what she’d promised her husband when she married him.

God help her, no acting was involved anymore. The giddy girl had fallen in love with a man who would never love her back.

And she didn’t know how she could endure it.