My Lady Below Stairs (7 page)

With nerves over what she was about to do? Or disap
pointment that she wouldn't spend the short drive over to Hartwell House in the company of the man whose carelessness with his seed had given her life? Other than seeing to it that Jane had a roof of sorts over her head,
the earl had never troubled himself with his by-blow. Yet
Ian knew without being told that if Lord Somerville had
been there to escort her, those private moments with her
father would have been the highlight of Jane's evening.

His fingers itched to strangle the old bugger for disap
pointing her.

The brougham lurched forward, the harness bells tin
kling a merry tune. His Janie was off to the ball and all
Ian could do was hang on to the coach rail and try not to
fall off.

Or was it?

“Hold a moment, friend,” Ian said to the other foot
man. I’ll be right back.”

Gripping the carriage rail, he worked his way along the bouncing rig to the right side door, finding what toeholds he might, swinging by his arms alone when he couldn't locate a resting place for his feet. Then just as
they neared a corner, he pulled open the door and swung
his body into the moving carriage, feet first.

Jane yelped, but he covered her mouth with his hand.

“Easy, girl. ‘Tis only me,” he said with the same soothing tone he'd use for a spooked mare. “If ye cry out, Tom
will stop the carriage and Lady Sybil will be found in a
compromising position with a mere stable hand.”

Her eyes widened in the soft carriage lamplight and then she bit his finger as hard as she could.

“Ow!”

She leaned forward and clamped
her
palm over
his
mouth. “Guess you don't like being surprised either.” Jane withdrew her hand and crossed her arms. “Now, what are you doing here, Ian?”

“Trying to talk sense into ye while there's still time to stop this foolishness.”

Her mouth set in a firm line. “You know I won't listen.”

“Then I won't talk.”

He pulled her across the narrow space onto his lap. She smelled of rose petals and her cheek was as soft as one beneath his palm.

Her eyes were enormous in the dim light. “Ian, I—”

“Ye don't need to talk either, love.”

He caressed her jawline and lowered his mouth to hers, stopping a finger-width from his goal. Her breath
feathered across his lips, warm and sweet. A rough roust
about like him, he knew he didn't deserve her, but he
couldn't help himself. He looked into her eyes, hoping to
see invitation, fearing he might not, and wondering what he might do if he didn't.

Her eyelids fluttered closed.

There is a God in heaven!

He covered her mouth with his. They'd played at kisses before, teasing and nipping, and all the while, his
mind had wandered to what might come next. Should he
try to touch her breast? Was she wearing lacy drawers?
Was there any chance she'd lay her sweet body down be
side him on his little string bed?

This time, the kiss was all he wanted. Some sign that
despite all the luxury into which Jane had suddenly been
thrust, she still held a place in her heart for him. The wonder of her lips beneath his, her breath filling his lungs, her cunning little tongue tangled up with his, it was enough joy to flood his whole body.

He poured his heart into the kiss. If he could just show her how much she meant to him, how much he'd dare for her, maybe he could turn her from this path that led her
away from him.

She moaned softly into his mouth and tugged his lapels, urging him closer. He wrapped both arms around her, his hand slipping beneath the ermine cloak to the unbearably soft silk of her gown. So thin, this shield of
fabric that separated them. He savored the weight of her
on him, her softness against his hardness.

He longed to pull the pins from her hair, but he knew she wouldn't thank him. Ian settled for kissing his way along her jaw and nuzzling her ear. An earbob dangled from her soft lobe, a filigreed fancy of diamonds and
emeralds. He pulled back and looked away.

Another reminder of what he couldn't give her.

Maybe... the thought took a while to form because just the thinking of it stabbed his brain... maybe it was
wrong of him to hold her back.

“Ian?” Jane palmed his cheek and turned his face to
ward hers.

She was so lovely, all decked out like a lady. If they never found Sybil—and they probably wouldn't if she didn't wish to be found—-Jane could keep up this pretense for the rest of her life. She'd never want for any
thing ever again.

Ian couldn't even promise her a full belly. Unless a
body counted filling it with another brat every year. What could he offer Jane but a life of hard labor at the side of a workingman? He'd hoped to dazzle her with that new position
he'd been offered only this morning. A wee cottage on a country estate didn't seem so grand a thing now. And if he somehow lost that post, the thought that she might know hunger because of him made his gut roil.

“Keep kissing me like that,” she said softly, her hand massaging his chest, “and I'll be of a mind to listen to whatever sort of sense you want to talk into me. But bel
ieve me when I tell you, I have to do this. For a little while, at least.”

He clasped her hand and held it still over his heart.

“Why?” He hated himself for not leaving the bouncing carriage the same way he had come, but she was the finest thing he'd ever seen, let alone had sitting on his lap. He couldn't bear the thought of leaving her until they rounded the last corner before Lord Hartwell's grand estate. “Why must ye, Janie? Ye dinna owe his lordship a thing.”

She drew a deep breath. “It’s not that. It’s because Mr. Roskin threatened to give you the sack if I didn't
.”

Anger burned in his chest. “And ye think I'm not man
enough to take care of meself?”

“No, Ian, it's not like that—”

“Then what is it like?” She didn't trust him to fend for his own neck, let alone hers. “By heaven, woman, ye've no faith in me at all.”

And maybe she was right. He ground his teeth together, lifted her off his lap and across the narrow space to the opposite seat. The carriage made a sharp
turn and began to slow. Ian caught a glimpse of Hartwell House at the end of the block, every window ablaze with
light. Lady Sybil's future husband waited inside that festive manor.

Maybe his Lady Jane's future husband.

“Happy Christmas, love,” Ian said as he swung open the carriage door. “Do what ye think ye must, but I'll be leaving Somerville House after the first of the year.”

“Ian, wait.”

“I'm not a man to be hiding behind a woman's skirts.”
In truth, he couldn't bear the thought of tending the stable while Jane slipped deeper into her role as Sybil, spiraling farther and farther out of his reach. “I wish ye well of your choice, Janie.”

Ian Michael vaulted out the open door and trotted
alongside the slowing carriage. He hauled himself up be
side Edward on the rear rail as the brougham came to a
halt before the columned, arched front of Lord Hartwell's
imposing edifice.

Edward hopped down and opened the carriage door with a flourish. He extended his hand to help her alight and Jane emerged from the enclosed carriage. From her graceful movement to her elegant costume, her transformation into Lady Sybil was flawless.

Only Ian noticed that her expression was strained and the tip of her nose was redder than the cold should have made it. She was fighting back tears.

Keep fighting, Jane,
he thought fiercely. If he saw a tear
fall, he'd disgrace them both by swooping her up and carrying her away.

Instead he fell into step with Edward behind her as she walked up to the tall double doors. Liveried porters swung them open at her approach, and light and heat spilled out into the frosty air. Strains of a string quartet pierced the night.

The massive doors thudded closed behind her, swallowing Jane up and shutting Ian out.

Ian cleared his throat before he trusted his voice. “Now what do we do?” he asked Edward. Normally his work ended once the horses left his master's stable.

“Now's when we nip round to the kitchen. There'll be food and drink aplenty on a night like this.” Edward nudged him with a sharp elbow. “Bound to be a comely maid or two hereabouts, if you can catch one what ain't busy serving at table.”

Ian's gaze shot back to the closed doors.

His Jane belonged to the glittering world behind them
now. And she was as far above the likes of a stable hand,
or even a Man-of-All-Work, as the waxing moon over his head.

Ian dogged Edward around the massive residence, past
spots where long shafts of light spilled onto sparkling snow. They passed a spreading oak with a heavy branch stretching near one of the tall windows on the upper story. Before he thought better of it, Ian put his foot in a low crotch of the tree and shimmied up the
rest of the way to peer through the wavy glass at the rev
elry inside.

“What are you doing?” Edward said, hugging himself
and hopping from one foot to the other against the cold. “If you're caught playing peep-Tom, we'll both be in for it.”

“No one's looking this way. I'll only be a moment. Just remember that tin of tobacco I promised ye.” Ian leaned
in to improve his view.

The dancing had begun, stately and elegant. The fine
ladies and gentlemen moved through the prescribed steps
with grace and refinement. Along one greenery-festooned wall, seated matrons gossiped behind their fans. A few young bucks were gathered around a steaming
wassail bowl, sipping from silver cups and eyeing the row
of wallflowers in speculation. One of them screwed up
his courage and approached a slender miss in a pink gown
so pale it seemed only a ghost of the color.

In stark contrast, Janie was a splash of red silk, making a dipping curtsey to a man and woman Ian decided must be the host and hostess of the affair, the Marquess and Marchioness of Hartwell.

“What do you see?”

Ian couldn't very well admit he was watching Jane. “I think I see Lord and Lady Hartwell.”

“Good man, that. So they say.”

“Aye,” Ian agreed as he took the marquess's measure. Robert Braithwaite, Lord Hartwell, was a tall man, powerfully built, his dark hair shot with silver. “He wants to put an end to child labor, ye know.”

Ian had read some of his lordship's impassioned speeches on the subject in the tabloids.
A formidable
man with a good heart, despite his lack of understanding,
he
decided.

“Mayhap someone should remind his lordship that poor families will be even poorer for the lack of their children's wages,” Edward pointed out with practicality.

Ian nodded. He couldn't remember a time when he hadn't worked, mucking stables or polishing saddles for one fine lord or another.