Breathless (The House of Rohan 3)

She was really quite ridiculous, staring at this dismal pile of stones and cooing. She didn’t like Elsie Humber, that much was certain. They’d have a royal battle once he left them alone, and he was only sorry he wouldn’t be there to see it.

So she was happy to be getting married, was she? He took leave to doubt that, and she most certainly was not looking forward to the marriage bed. She’d been nervous as a kitten in his arms. That idiot St. John must have been clumsy indeed.

He’d expected her to be in tears. Pleading for escape. Instead she was settling in by the fire, taking off her shoes, of all things, and demanding baths and cups of tea instead of rescue.

He shook his head. She was playing some game, and he wasn’t sure what the rules were. But he was a seasoned gamester, and he knew how to adapt. She was happy to be getting married, was she?

Maybe marriage was a bad idea. She was already a disgraced woman. He could keep her as his mistress and there was nothing the Rohans could do about it. They’d never find their way through these tortuous roads.

And if they weren’t to be married, why then he could have her tonight. If he wanted to hold to a sham of a ceremony it would be at least tomorrow before they could lawfully be joined.

She said she was delighted to be married. Perhaps he would have to disappoint her.

And see how much wine she needed to keep that calm, annoying smile.

Miss Jane Pagett was safely stowed in the post-chaise, with Long Molly by her side, Jacob thought, climbing into the driver’s seat and taking the reins. Molly was a good old soul. She’d worked her way up from the streets to run her own very expensive brothel, which she kept with an iron hand. But she’d always had a hankering for the stage, and Jacob knew she’d jump at the chance to play a motherly soul.

Author: Anne Stuart

Besides, in truth she did have a strong maternal streak. She looked after her girls, keeping them safe and clean, banishing any gentleman who didn’t know to follow the rules or dared to hurt any of her little chickies. He had no doubt she’d be just as protective of Miss Jane Pagett, and a good thing, that. When he’d received Lucien’s note he should have done as requested and sent one of his best men along with Molly to see Miss Jane safely back to the bosom of her family. But he hadn’t been able to resist the chance to see her in full daylight, to see if her mouth was as kissable. Lucien was going to be very annoyed with him.

He didn’t care. Her mouth was just as kissable as he’d thought. Even more so. She had a cold, her nose and eyes were red and swollen, and she was still the prettiest morsel he’d seen in God knew how long. He couldn’t quite understand why he was so infatuated. It wasn’t as if he’d suddenly developed a taste for quality—he’d had any number of titled ladies and they’d been no better than one of Molly’s doxies. Sometimes even less honest with their favors.

She was no particular beauty, but he’d had plainer girls, prettier girls, taller girls, shorter girls, thinner girls, fatter girls. He’d long ago lost count of the women he’d had—when he’d had the itch there had always been someone available to scratch it.

So why was he suddenly so interested in a little bit of fluff from the upper classes?

She was still wearing the ring. That had been a devilish impulse on his part. He’d known the ring was too small but he’d still managed to get it on her when he’d been busy seducing her with his mouth. A treat like Miss Jane Pagett shouldn’t have to settle for that miserable little piece of shit her fiancé had provided for her.

She was still wearing that as well, though on the wrong hand. Not that he’d given her any choice. If she wanted his ring off she’d have to stop thinking about it, and he could think of only one way to do that.

Scorpion had been right mad at him for tossing away such a valuable piece of glimmer. Too bad. A sad little girl like that needed diamonds more than some over-bred whore like the Duchess of Carrimore. If he got the chance he’d take it off her finger, but he’d do it for her sake and no one else’s.

It looked pretty on her hand. A big, brassy, tacky diamond on her elegant bone structure. He looked at it and thought mine, in a totally irrational spurt of emotion. But she wasn’t, and he certainly didn’t want her to be. He’d just really like to get a better taste of her.

That wasn’t going to happen. She was engaged to someone worthy, and he made it a rule never to interfere with someone’s life simply because he was hungry. She’d be safely deposited at her family home in London, still a virgin, minus the telltale ring, and she could forget all about the blackguard who kissed her in the darkness as he stole diamonds.

And if he had to kiss her to do it, so be it.

Molly was probably telling her all sorts of stories about him. Lies, of course, but he doubted he was going to come off in a good light. It didn’t matter. She’d given him a good long look and hadn’t recognized him, which didn’t surprise him. That room had been pitch-dark, but he had eyes like a cat, and he’d seen her very clearly. She definitely wouldn’t have seen him, and today he’d kept his head down, the cap pulled low so that even if she remembered him she’d have a hard time thinking of her jewel thief as the driver with a rough Yorkshire accent.

It would be a longer trip back. He wasn’t going to change cattle, and there was a limit to which he would push his horses.

And to be entirely truthful, which wasn’t like him, he wanted more time with Miss Jane Pagett. No, he wasn’t going to touch her. That one kiss had been dangerous enough, and he couldn’t afford to get tangled with a young lady of quality. He made it a habit not to despoil virgins or people who didn’t have it coming. Not out of any essential goodness, he told himself. Such things were just more trouble than they were worth.

It was a cold night, and he wondered if Long Molly had remembered to get some warm bricks for their feet. Probably not. He jumped down off the driver’s seat, headed back into the inn, and a moment later came back out with two warm bricks wrapped in wool shawls that he’d had to pay dearly for, opened the carriage door and found himself looking up, directly into Jane Pagett’s face.

He quickly ducked his head, shoving the hot bricks toward her. “These mun keep tha warm,” he said in his thick Yorkshire accent before backing out and closing the door behind him. He cursed. She’d had a good look at him, but that meant nothing. She’d never seen him before in the clear light.

Worse was the good look he’d had of her. Her soft, kissable mouth, her huge brown eyes, his diamond ring flashing on her finger.

He vaulted into the driver’s seat, grabbed the reins and started forward with a sudden jerk, no doubt throwing his passengers into disarray. It was nothing compared to his state of mind.

Maybe he’d better not take his time. He had a certain love of danger, but Miss Jane Pagett put the fear of God into him.

13

Pawlfrey House was a disaster, Miranda thought as she followed Mrs. Humber’s sturdy figure up the first wide staircase, then another, down one long hall until the surly woman finally stopped, turning to look at her out of mean little eyes.