Chapter Sixteen
Jane woke, disoriented. The room was beginning to lighten, but full dawn was still an hour or so away. This wasn’t her room in the Spinster House, and—
Lud, I’m naked! And sore between my—
The events of the last few hours came rushing back.
Alex had loved her twice during the night.
Mmm. She closed her eyes, remembering that second time. It had been almost leisurely. She’d been asleep, deep in some very, er, exciting dream of Alex and had come gradually awake to the sensation of a hand on her breast. When he’d seen her eyes open, he’d kissed her, slowly, thoroughly while his hand stroked down her body and the tip of one finger slipped inside her.
And found she was already wet.
He’d smiled at that, and then had shifted, raising her leg and coming into her in one smooth, deliberate, unhurried motion.
The moment his body had been fully sheathed in hers, they had climaxed, together.
God, Jane, I love you, he’d whispered, and then he’d slipped out and fallen back asleep, his arm round her waist.
And I love you, she’d answered, but she didn’t know if he’d heard her.
She stared up at the ceiling, still lost in shadows. The first time she might have been able to blame on the wine, but not the second.
Oh, God, she did love Alex.
She turned her head to gaze at him. He looked so young and approachable in sleep, his long lashes fanning out on his cheeks, his mouth soft. A lock of hair had fallen over his forehead. She wanted to reach over and push it back off his face, but she didn’t.
He’ll ask me to marry him.
When he woke, he would ask—or perhaps he assumed by her actions that she’d already answered yes.
He wanted to marry; he’d been shopping for a wife. He needed an heir. And an honorable man did not consort with a virgin—nor did a well-bred virgin go to bed with a man—without marriage being understood. It was simply not done. Even Isabelle Dorring, if the story was to be believed, thought she’d be marrying her duke.
And he loves me.
She looked back at the ceiling.
And I love him, but is that enough to give up my independence?
She’d wanted for years to be on her own and had schemed and plotted to win the Spinster House tenancy once it became available. She couldn’t throw it all away after two splendid tuppings.
She frowned. No, she wouldn’t belittle what they’d done. Perhaps men could brush off sexual encounters—Randolph had visited Mrs. Conklin regularly for years— but she couldn’t. What she’d done with Alex had been far more than sport.
Lud, what if I’m carrying his child?
She blinked up at the ceiling, a confusing broth of terror and anticipation bubbling in her gut.
If she was increasing, she’d have to marry him. She couldn’t bring a bastard into the world. That would be too cruel to the child, even more so if it was a boy and Alex’s heir....
Oh, God, Alex is an earl! If I marry him, I’ll be a countess.
She felt as if an elephant had suddenly plopped its hindquarters on her chest.
If she married Alex, she’d have to leave everything behind—the village, her office, the lending library, the people she’d known all her life, Randolph. She’d have to move to his house—well, houses, she presumed. She’d have to take charge of his households. She’d have to get to know his staff, his tenants. She’d have to go to London and mingle with the ton.
And he lived next door to his sister. Jane would be swept up into his sister’s busy—and busybodying—life. She—
She pushed the elephant firmly off her chest. She was getting ahead of herself, likely still too affected by what had happened in this bed to think clearly. It had been quite a shock to her system. Well, it wouldn’t be surprising if the female body was designed to crave marriage once it engaged in procreative activities . . . unless, like Mrs. Conklin, one had chosen or been compelled to earn one’s bread on one’s back. The natural scientists would probably have some explanation for the phenomenon based on physiology.
She took a deep breath and tried to get her emotions and her thoughts under control. She might not have conceived. There was no need to make any life-altering decision right now. In a month at the most, she’d know if there were any permanent consequences.
“Good morning.”
She turned to see Alex leaning up on his elbow, smiling at her, his expression open and happy. Dear God, how she loved him. If he were just a man, just a Loves Bridge villager, she would—well, she might—throw away her independence and marry him. But he wasn’t just a villager.
“Oh, Alex.” She reached for him somewhat desperately. She needed to feel him moving in her once more, needed his weight covering her one more time before she said good-bye.
He gave her exactly what she needed, hard and fast. No kissing. No sweet words. Just seconds after she touched him, he buried himself deep inside her, his body covering hers as she came apart. She breathed him in, her arms wrapped tight around him, and wished she could keep him there forever.
“That’s a lovely way to say good morning,” he murmured by her ear, half panting, half laughing. And then he kissed her, as slow and carefully as he’d been fast and hard before.
I love you, she thought as he lifted himself off her.
“I’d better get dressed and go to my own room,” he said, climbing out of bed. “It’s possible that a few servants have recovered from yesterday’s celebrations and are up and about.” He grinned at her. “No need to give the Boltwoods more to gossip about.”
“No.” Though a large enough scandal might force her to overcome her fears.
She watched him move around the room, collecting his discarded clothing. He was smart and funny and kind, but he also had a lovely arse and wonderful shoulders and chest and . . .
And a large—and growing larger—male bit.
Her female bit clenched with the memory of its most recent visit.
Alex glanced back at her and paused, clothing in one hand, gaze sharpening. “Jane, if you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to climb back in that bed and have you again.”
She shivered in anticipation. “That sounds lovely.”
He snorted. “You are insatiable, Miss Wilkinson, but I will not let you tempt me into further misbehavior.” He pulled on his pantaloons and buttoned his fall. “You cannot have your wicked way with me again until you are my wife.” He dropped his shirt over his head so his words were a bit muffled. “I’ll leave for London today, get a marriage license, and—”
His head popped out, and he looked at her. His face stilled. “What is it?”
How was she going to tell him? “I love you, Alex.”
His face grew even more guarded. “Why do I hear a ‘but’ after that? You love me but . . . ?”
She shook her head and looked away, her throat suddenly too clogged with unshed tears to speak.
“But you can’t marry me?”
She nodded.
“Why the hell not?”
He was angry. She tried to stoke an answering anger in herself, but she couldn’t find any fire for it. Instead, she felt the sick, churning distress she used to feel when her father would start shouting. Then she’d slip off to her room—it was usually Mama or Randolph whom Papa was berating rather than her—and escape into a book.
She hadn’t felt this way since her parents died. That was another benefit of her spinsterhood: Her life was tranquil, undisturbed by any intense emotion.
“I don’t want to be a countess.” It was more than not wanting it—the thought made her heart seize.
“Bloody hell! Then you shouldn’t have gone to bed with an earl.”
“I know.” She could blame the wine, but she didn’t want to lie. The wine had only given her the courage to do what she’d wanted to do.
He looked like he would say something else, but instead he started storming around the room. “Where the hell are my boots?”
“Are they under the bed?”
He got down on his hands and knees to look. “Yes. And here’s the bloody cat, as well. She’d better not have scratched the bloody leather.”
Poppy shot out from under the bed, but instead of jumping up next to Jane to give her some moral support, she stalked across the floor and leapt up on a chest of drawers by the door—and then she arched her back and hissed!
Alex finished dressing and strode toward the door as well, still clearly very angry. He put his hand on the latch—and then turned back to sneer at Jane.
“You must make Isabelle Dorring proud, Miss Wilkinson. You, too, are a witch, luring a randy, idiotic man to your bed.”
He didn’t shout, but his cold, precise tone was almost worse.
He paused as if he expected her to brangle with him, but what could she say? He was entitled to his fury. To his pain. She should never have let her body rule her mind.
Perhaps that was what had happened to poor Isabelle. For the first time, she felt true sympathy for the woman.
Her lack of response only seemed to enrage Alex more.
“Since you’ve refused my offer of marriage, madam, I must assume you had a different reason to bed me.” He pulled a coin from his purse and slammed it onto the chest next to Poppy.
That surprised her. “Wh-what?”
He glared at her. “I always pay for my pleasure, madam.” He sniffed, sounding like she’d once imagined a haughty peer would sound. “I believe you’ll find I’ve been quite generous, but then you did, after all, give me your virginity.”
His eyes narrowed, and he said, still in that hateful, demeaning voice, “A word of advice, madam. In future, you would be better served to negotiate a sum prior to any transaction. A man can be quite stupid when his cock is doing his thinking.”
She sucked in her breath.
* * *
Oh, Lord. The distress on Jane’s face slammed into his gut, replacing anger with remorse.
“Jane, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” He took a step toward her and then stopped. She was on the verge of tears.
Well, of course she was. What he’d said was cruel. And unfair. He was the one with experience. He should have kept his bloody fall buttoned.
She’s the one who unbuttoned it.
That was his cock talking. He could have—should have—stopped her.
But she’d been so eager yesterday.
Hell, yesterday? She’d been eager just a few minutes ago. She’d initiated that encounter.
Zeus, as confused and upset as he was, his cock still hardened at the memory of their joining.
Well, the memory and the fact that Jane was still naked, her lovely brown hair loose about her shoulders.
Oh, God. I want her so much I ache—and not just my cock and ballocks.
His heart ached, too. He wanted her love.
But she didn’t want him.
So why had she gone to bed with him? She’d been a virgin. He’d thought she’d meant marriage. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t known he was an earl.
Zeus, he’d never had a woman hold his rank against him, but then, Jane was not like other women. “Why don’t you want to be a countess?”
She looked down at the sheets. That wasn’t like Jane, either. She was usually direct to the point of bluntness.
“I don’t want to leave Loves Bridge. It’s my home. My work’s here. My brother’s here—and soon my nephew or niece.”
He’d thought Jane was more annoyed by Randolph than attached to him. Was she really going to sacrifice her own life to stay near her brother?
She raised her chin. “And I don’t want to give up my independence.”
Ah. That rang truer. Spinsterhood was what she wasn’t willing to sacrifice.
But she said she loved me.
Perhaps she does love me, but she loves her precious independence more.
She might not have a choice. “What if you’ve conceived?”
“I’ll marry you then,” she said quickly. “I won’t have our child born a bastard.”
Thank God he didn’t have to fight that battle.
“And you’ll write me when you know?” It was going to be a long month, waiting for word. And he did need to hear something—he wouldn’t trust silence. “One way or the other?”
“Yes. I promise I’ll write.”
“Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “One other thing.” Since she was new to carnal relations, she might not have considered all aspects of the issue. “I, er, I don’t mean to be insulting. It’s a compliment, really, but as you were a virgin, you might not . . . that is . . . not that I’m an expert, but . . .” How to say it?
“But what, Alex?”
Best to be blunt. “You have a lusty nature, I believe, Jane. Now that you’ve awakened it, I suspect you will need a lot of vigorous tupping to keep you content. You may well find spinsterhood no longer satisfies you.”
Jane turned bright red—even her lovely breasts were flushed.
Don’t look at—don’t even think about—Jane’s breasts.
“It may be difficult.” He cleared his throat again and admonished his cock to stop suggesting he let it remind her now exactly how lusty a nature she had. “You know we’ll see each other from time to time. We’ll likely both be invited to events at the castle, but we won’t be able to do this”—he gestured toward the bed and rumpled bedclothes—and her naked breasts—“again.”
She pulled the bedclothes up to cover herself. “I know.”
“If you haven’t conceived, I’ll have to marry eventually.” At the moment the thought of having conjugal relations with anyone but Jane was revolting, but he did have a title to pass down. He was an earl.
“I know.”
She looked as bleak as he felt.
He would just have to hope that, if she wasn’t enceinte, a few weeks of celibacy would persuade her their marriage was worth any sacrifice.
“Well, then, if you find you’ve changed your mind—for any reason—write me. My offer is on the table until you are completely certain you prefer spinsterhood.”
“Oh. Yes. Er, thank you.”
He nodded. There was no point in belaboring things. “I’m off. I think it best if I leave the castle—and the village—straightaway. I’ll tell Emmett I have business at my estate that can’t be put off. No one should suspect my departure has anything to do with you, but if you hear any gossip that makes you uncomfortable, let me know.”
She nodded.
“Very good.” He glanced at Poppy.
The cat gave him a look of feline disdain and then extended one paw to push the coin he’d slapped on the chest over the side. He watched it hit the floor, bounce, and roll under the bed. He heard it spin in smaller and smaller circles until it finally stopped.
He looked at Jane one last time and left.