“Very well.” She shrugged. “But my point is
that you are here today, but you shall be gone tomorrow. My
understanding is that in Quebec, you were sent to fight. It was
impossible not to get involved. Here, you are visiting with your
family. Why not simply enjoy the beauty of the countryside?
Entertain yourself with all this area has to offer? In substance,
you will leave here as the same person that you were when you
arrived. There is no need for you to know any more about us.”
His gaze narrowed. He leaned toward her.
“Why are you so set against me learning about your cause?”
Jane shrugged and walked away a step. She
looked up at the blanket of stars overhead and tried to keep her
tone light. “I am trying to do you a favor…save your
holiday…eliminate undue concerns.”
“I did not ask for your charity, but your
knowledge.”
She felt him move close beside her. She
tried to hide the unexpected shiver that coursed through her when
their arms brushed.
“Of all the people you have met since
arriving, why are you asking me?”
“Because, despite your birth and parentage,
you have chosen the more difficult path. And you are the only
famous rebel leader that I have had the privilege of becoming
acquainted with.” Even in the darkness she could feel the weight of
his gaze on her face. “It was quite impressive to hear Sir Thomas
use Egan’s name in the same breath as the others who are such a
thorn in the side of the Crown.”
“And you thought, ‘How sad that he is so
blind.’”
“Hardly! I was oddly grateful for his
ignorance. There is something impressive and yet disconcerting…in
the irony that an Englishwoman is a leader in such a movement.”
There was no mockery in his tone, only quiet admiration. “When you
first became involved in all of this, did you ever think that one
day you might be considered a hero to those you fight for?”
“Or think that one day I would be hanged as
a traitor?” Jane looked down, digging the dirt with the tip of one
boot. She was not accustomed to being complimented. “The paths we
travel are not always the same ones we started on…or would have
continued on…if we were given the choice.”
“Do you regret your involvement?”
“I am content to be the person that I have
become. I am resigned to the role I seem destined to play. But I
would sacrifice all…sacrifice myself…if I could change just a few
of the tragedies of the past or even one tragedy to come.”
Jane dropped the bunch of grapes into the
dirt beside the path. A breeze, scented with late blooming flowers
and cool on her face, stirred memories long buried, images of faces
long dead.
“I became Egan to close off the pain…to
forget…” A sudden tightness squeezed at Jane’s throat. She would
never have become Egan if those five young men had not been hanged
so unjustly. She would never have lashed out at the viciousness of
this country’s ruling class if she had not seen her lover’s corpse
rotting upon the gallows.
If Conor had lived, the extent of Jane’s
involvement would most likely have consisted of pining for him
during his absence. She was no hero. The man she’d loved and his
four unfortunate friends were heroes. She was just a survivor.
When Jane felt Nicholas’s fingers brush away
a tear that she had unknowingly shed, she turned and their gazes
locked. She had an uncomfortable, hollow feeling that too much had
been revealed.
“Will you someday tell me about your
past?”
“My past is an open book…up to where the
change was wrought in me. Ask anyone and they will surely tell you
all about it.”
Too much emotion lay too close to the
surface, and Jane recognized her vulnerability at this moment. Her
feelings were too raw. The scabs of old wounds were opening up.
Jane drew a deep breath, summoned her strength, and turned toward
the house.
“Someone like Henry Adams should be able to
tell you…whatever it is you wish to learn about this country’s
past.”
“How foolish of me to not have guessed. He
is a man who seems to be all too familiar with everything and
everyone around here.”
She was too wrapped up in her own thoughts
and ignored the disapproval in his tone.
“Though my life is my own, Sir Nicholas, I
know that there are expectations that go along with being a guest.
Perhaps we should retire to our respective places. Good night.”
She knew the formality of her words sounded
forced, but she had to get away.
Jane moved quickly along the garden path,
praying that he would not follow. As she walked, she made herself
breathe normally and forced herself to be calm.
She couldn’t explain the melancholy she
found herself suddenly afflicted with. With just a few words,
spoken there in that same spot in the garden, the years had melted
away and long-buried memories had burned their way up from within,
destroying her insides on their way to the surface. Now she could
feel the fiery ache once again in her flesh and in her very
skin.
But this was not what she had worked so hard
to become. She had never expected time to heal, but to teach her.
And she had learned over the years how to survive. She’d struggled
and finally succeeded in keeping herself above the molten flood
tides of remembrance. But this night, with this man, she had once
again become vulnerable and fragile.
Wiping away a sheen of tears, she looked
ahead. The sky was clear, the house black and intimidating. The
breeze was coming from the east, from Waterford. And Jane
remembered.
Nine years ago, she had walked down this
same path to meet a man she’d loved. It was the eve of her
birthday. She was turning seventeen, and Conor had met her under
that same trellis at midnight. A kiss. It was to be a farewell
kiss, but neither had known it. They’d only whispered of the
future.
How could they know that he would be
arrested the next day and executed before a fortnight had passed?
How could they know?
“Jane,” Spencer called after her.
A painful cry broke free with the next
breath, and she quickened her steps.
“Jane!”
As the tears streamed down her face, she
hurried through the garden gate, hoping to escape into the house.
But his strong hands caught her just as she reached the landing,
spinning her around to face him.
“Jane, what’s wrong?”
No words would escape her lips. The tears,
though, she fought to control. The past was behind…why did it still
haunt her?
She struggled against the pain, forcing it
back, and in a moment or two managed to look up into his face.
“If what I said upset you…I had no idea that
your friend meant so much.” His fingers squeezed her shoulders. “It
was none of my bloody business to…”
“What friend?” Sobriety came instantly as
she realized how disconcerted he seemed. She wiped at the wetness
of her face with back of one hand.
“Reverend Adams. I have no right to be
critical of him. It is just that you say he is only a friend, but I
find myself…hell, I find myself competing with the man for your
attention at every turn.”
“Competing for my attention?” She found
herself actually smiling up at him through her tears. “Why? Why
would someone like
you
…want to compete for
my
attention?”
“You can mock me or continue this stubborn
ignorance of my interest in you…” His thumb gently brushed away the
wetness under her eyes. “—but I ask you to forgive me for the way I
spoke of your friend.”
The baronet’s face was deadly earnest, but
Jane was too consumed by his words and his touch to notice. The
need to take comfort from another human being, to feel the
unfamiliar warmth of a man’s touch almost overwhelmed her with its
power. She stared at the glimpse of skin beneath the open collar of
his shirt, at the solid pillar of his throat, at his broad and
muscular chest. In an instant, she felt a different kind of heat
stirring in her middle. A soft glow seemed to flow into every limb,
softening the aching there and replacing it with another.
She abruptly tore her gaze away. What was
wrong with her? She was clearly losing control of herself. She
needed to regain command of her unraveling emotions.
“It is I who should be sorry,” she managed
to get out. “This…how I acted…was totally inappropriate. My tears
have nothing to do with Henry…or with whatever it was you
said.”
He didn’t look convinced. While still
holding her shoulders tightly, he looked more closely into her
face. “Then why are you so upset?”
The whispered question went straight to her
heart, taking her to yet another level of awareness. The caress of
his breath against her skin felt so right.
“Ghosts.” She searched and found her voice.
“From time to time, I have ghosts that haunt me.”
“So your tears have nothing to do with Henry
Adams?”
“Nothing at all.”
Jane shook her head and felt the warmth
continue to spread through her as his face relaxed. She had not
allowed herself to dwell on his striking good looks until this
instant. She had not noticed that they were standing beneath the
protective stone arch of her home. Jane had not allowed herself to
admit that she was wishing that the distance between their bodies
might disappear.
She immediately tried to make herself push
him away, but she couldn’t. Nicholas lifted one hand from her
shoulder and tenderly touched the bruise by her mouth.
“Now that we are getting around to
apologies, I should tell you I am very sorry for this.”
Jane had every intention of making some
light remark, but the next breath was caught in her chest as she
felt his fingers trace the lines of her lips.
“You are so beautiful, Jane. You are so
alive and beautiful.”
She had to deny this. She had to walk away.
But his touch had let loose a flood of sensations, and she found
herself fighting just to stay afloat.
“I don’t think this…is a good idea.”
“You are quite right.” The words were
drawled as if he meant it. Suddenly, though, she was wrapped
tightly in his arms, and his lips were crushing hers.
She forgot to breathe. She could find no
reason to complain. All she was conscious of was the consuming fire
that was racing through her.
Her hands seemed to move of their own
accord, pulling at his shirt, feeling the muscular lines of his
back. He groaned his approval. Powerful arms gathered her closer to
his body, pressing her to him until there was nothing left between
two hearts pounding wildly as one.
Passion had been something she had
experienced long ago, but buried away. She’d believed no man could
ever conjure in her the need she had once tasted and even become
consumed by. But now, wrapped in Nicholas’s steely grip, she found
herself burning.
As he kissed her, she opened for him,
driving them both an inch closer to an edge of oblivion. She felt
his tongue searching, tasting. As he pressed her back against the
stone arch, his body followed, scorching every inch of her with his
heat.
“Jane.” He tore his mouth from her lips and
pressed it to her throat. His hands glided down over her
body—touching, possessing—and all she could do was clutch his hair
and drag his mouth back to hers for another searing kiss. “I knew
it would be like this between us.”
His mouth moved to her ear—teasing,
biting.
…
be like this between us…between us…
The words reverberated in her mind.
Us…
It was almost as if she were floating
outside of her own body. As if in a dream, Jane looked down at
herself. Nicholas’s mouth was tracing a path down her neck while
his hands were on her back, sliding over the curve of her buttocks,
pressing her to him.
Us…
And then, as something clicked in her brain,
she was back in her body, conscious and nearly panicked. The moan
in her throat became a cry, and the hands that couldn’t bring him
close enough, suddenly pushed to get free.
He stopped instantly and took an immediate
step back. “Jane…”
Jane still had difficulty catching her
breath, but she made sure to speak the words that were screaming
within her. “There is no
us
, Nicholas. There can never be an
US
!”
She raised a hand to silence him as he
opened his mouth to speak.
“And please…please…” she begged him as she
edged toward the door. “Forget what happened tonight. We both made
a mistake. And it can never…
will
never…happen again.”
Jane ran inside, not knowing how she would
ever be able to forgive herself for nearly seducing her sister’s
future husband. Never again, she swore silently, climbing two steps
at a time to her workroom beneath the roof. Never again would she
allow herself to be alone with Nicholas Spencer.
Not for a second.
***
From the window of his darkened bedchamber,
Sir Thomas watched the baronet walk back into the night. Even from
this distance, he sensed the man’s frustration as he ran a hand
through his hair.
“She is far more of a handful than you
thought her to be,” he murmured.
As he always did, Sir Thomas had been
waiting for Jane’s return. Standing by his chair, he’d happened to
see her come up the pathway, only to be approached by the visitor.
And then he’d watched them walk down into the gardens.
The sight of the two of them had given him a
moment’s pause, but he had quickly shaken off the thought. There
was no chance of anything developing between them. Jane wouldn’t
allow it. Perhaps he should have advised the young man about it
during their private talk after dinner.
He’d been correct—as always. It hadn’t been
long before he’d seen Jane practically run back toward the house
with Spencer hot on her heels. And now he was looking at the
frustration of a man rejected.